Open ✪ Stokbon Taking Stok

[Chimney]

Chimney sat upon a wooden crate beneath the cloth awning in front of a shop, hiding from the bright hot rays of sunlight. The day had started off warm and comfortable, with a gentle sea breeze wafting in to help stave off some of the heat. But now it was high noon, and the winds had gone still. The salty breeze of the nearby coast no longer reached this far into the city; instead the air was thick with the dust of foot traffic and the rancor of a cramped citizenry who tripped over one another as they went about their myriad ways. Chimney wanted nothing to do with any of that, and so she had found herself a pleasant perch to wait things out.

She plucked a crisp green pear up from out of her inventory, investigating the fresh fruit with a careful and considerate gaze. Brow ever so slightly wrinkled in thought, she sniffed at the pear and smiled, taking a bite out of it. Chew, chew, pause. Chew. Chew. Pause. Held still like a statue of a cow mid-cud, as if waiting for something... more... to happen. Nothing did. Nothing continued to. With a disgruntled huff she pitched the pear in a high arc across the city street, sending it crashing into a small crowd where she heard someone shout in anger at being hit. Ah well... nothing to be done about it.

With a disappointed grunt she spat the chewed bits of pear out of her mouth and began to pick at some of the skin that had caught between her teeth, wondering what the point of food in a game was when you couldn't even taste it. She had not as of yet figured out it was due to her race selection, and instead chose to believe that nobody could enjoy food or drink in this virtual environment.

"How'm I gonna enjoy half my time on this friggin thing if'n I can't even cheat my diet by enjoying some sweets 'n the like here?" she muttered. A child walked by with their parents, eating a candied apple with a giant smile plastered across their face. Chimney scrunched her face up and stuck her tongue out at the kid, ruining the child's day and causing them to cry.

 

[Harlow]

Harlow was no stranger to bustling city streets. He had waded through his share of crowds in his time, and it had long since bothered him. Still, there was a shiver that crawled up his spine, though he couldn't discern the origin. His pace stopped, taking root between his people-weaving, looking around. Something was off.

Just then, he heard it. The severing of a breeze. Over the steps of people and the noise of their breathing, the racket of trade, he caught a different noise. Out from the loose cloth fired a hand, reaching towards the sky as a foreign object soared past, just inches beyond his reach. He stared, frozen still. A miscalculation. Meanwhile, the object, now revealed to be a pear, descended farther and into a nearby person, who shouted at the sudden impact. He was thankful that the object wasn't something particularly dangerous, though still disappointed that he hadn't managed to catch it.

As the victim of the rogue fruit looked around and asked their company to hunt down who had struck them, the others simply shrugged. Surely it hadn't simply grown rebellious wings. It had flown a fair distance, and while he was not asked, Harlow took on the case. His eyelids squinted as he attempted to construct another solvable problem, and trace back the route of the projectile. As he focused, traced along the sky like a stark border on a map, he began to weave his way back through the occupied street, tracing the line back towards the culprit.

Once he arrived, he discovered the assailant, but he could never be too certain. After all, he had been incorrect during his previous attempt at heroism, and didn't want to go boldly accusing anyone innocent of troublemaking. Though, as he scouted with his vision, they stuck their tongue out at a nearby child, who took the gesture far more seriously than he expected, and it seemed to cement any sort of case that this individual was quite the rabble rouser.

"It was you." Harlow approached, coming to stand next to the box that this person sat upon. He scanned the stranger again, hoping to make out whether or not they were a player, or simply another obstacle provided to him by the game. Perhaps the two could be one in the same. "You threw the pear. Correct? I'm Harlow. Over." The way that he spoke was choppy in its conclusions, but clear in pronunciation.

The body that stood before Chimney would be rather unassuming, though evidence that he was of Magia origin was obvious and abundant. The loose cloth of his cloak, tied at the waist, did little to hide the joints of artificial limbs, and his cadence showed no signs to disguise his alien speech patterns. He appeared to be unarmed, though that was seldom much of an indication in this world.

 

[Chimney]

The briefest moment lapsed between Chimney having thrown the pear and her sudden apparent capture, as Harlow stepped into view from the crowded street and seemed to regard her carefully. He spoke briefly, and with a conviction that to her indicated he had already made up his mind and would brook no argument. Whether he actually cared about the pear was another thing entirely, of course. Had it hit him? No, the shout she'd heard had been gruffer. Angrier. There wasn't a trace of resentment or spite in his face that she could detect, and he hadn't come ready to fight. So then he was just... a good samaritan, trying to figure out who'd done the deed?

Well, that was a bit grating. It wasn't his business after all, now was it? But she could work with good samaritans.

She listened as he spoke, her eyes flashing from foot to forehead to quickly take the man in and size him up quickly. Some sort of robot looking kind of guy, with artificial appendages. A loosely worn robe that was straight out of an Akira Kurosawa film, and a calm demeanor to match the wandering samurai vibes he was giving off. She squinted her eyes in the slightest hint of indignation, as if taken aback at the impossible accusation.

"Me? Throwing fruit? Are you not perhaps mistaking me here for some sort of crazed urbane curmudgeon, rather than the fine upstanding woman of well-to-do good intentions that I am?" She scoffed again, feigning insult and injury, and gestured at herself with a hand to invite him to just take it all in.

"Perhaps take a moment to consider the refinement with which I accustom myself, and ask yaself if a woman of such dapper wardrobe has nothing better to do than litter and pester people. What do ya take me for, some kind of loony psycho that just sits on boxes and chunks citrus into a crowd? I'll have ya know I find that sort of assumption to be incredibly insulting, and furthermore, fuck off..."

Adjusting her position, she kicked her legs out from under herself and let them hang more naturally off the side of the box, her boots resting on the ground with legs spread apart in an unladylike way. The tailored pants and jacket now more visible, they showed the rough and shoddy craftsmanship of one wanting to belong to a higher society without the money or status to truly be a part of it. She as, obviously, a poser... But it would be up to Harlow's bravery to point that out to someone as outspoken as her.

Despite the bite of her words there was more mirth than malice, as though she was passing along a friendly greeting to the neighbors in her heavy Brooklyn accent.

"Look if ya must know, some old geezer was walking by and took a bite of a pear. Said it was too hard for his old teeth and spat it out right next to me... then pitched it off into the distance. Honest ta god, I'm just a victim of this whole corrolation versus causation situation that ya've found yourself in. Gotta say though, I'm curious why it'd matter to ya. Are you perhaps some kinda local authority on all things fructose, or did the ol' geezer clonk a friend'a ya's when he sent the pear airborne."

Without wasting a breath or offering a chance for Harlow to contribute, she quickly continued, rotating her hand in the air above the chewed up and spat out remnants of the pear.

"Tell ya what I'll do for you Officer Anjou... I'll fix this here up for ya and you can use ya's little investigative unit at the precinct to bring the bastard to justice." As her hand rotated counter-clockwise, the chewed up bits of apple began to reform themselves on the ground. A few startled yelps came from the street as well as the rest of the pear came rolling across the street and reformed with the parts that had been spat on the ground, forming an entire pear again. Uneaten. Unabused. Sitting there, rewound in time. Chimney gave a cocky smile and nodded towards it, inviting Harlow to investigate.

 

[Harlow]

Harlow stood in silence as the pseudo-regally dressed individual presented him with an initial collection of words, none of which served to plainly dismiss the claim. Instead, the line of questioning was pushed onto him. The sharp-limbed, loose garbed Magia would cross his arms. Though her persona was something that seemed straightforward enough to dismantle, he had no intention of bursting bubbles, nor had his focus ever landed upon any such bubbles. The comments ended with an insult, though it fell harshly upon no heart of his own.

He was just at the brink of raising a finger to lay claim to the fact that they had not properly declined his initial accusation, when they began again, laying a false foundation to the story. If he were to take it as gospel, the true culprit of this scenario was some dastardly elder. With an intense haste, his eyes fluttered with a dim light, and began feverishly flickering to all who were around. In all fairness, there were a handful of elderly folk, and while he couldn't see into most of their mouths right off the bat, it wasn't a bad bet to suggest that one, two, or a few of them had bad teeth. Beneath their clothes, he could not discern the strength of their throwing arms though, so that could be neither confirmed nor denied. He would neglect to attempt to decipher the honesty of the speaker's words though, as he didn't know this person, and he had no base upon which to compare their specific indications of honesty or the contrary.

"Roger." A slight frown came to the corners of his mouth. If he was incorrect again, this would be the second miscalculation in a row! While no one was watching, Harlow was prone to being his own harshest critic when it came to these things. "Negative. I had seen it fly, and wondered if I could successfully discern who had thrown it. Since you protest that it was not you, I must've been incorrect. My apologies. Over." It appeared with no definite proof of the contrary, he was willing to accept the story as truth. While he had been able to calculate the trajectory of the projectile, his interpersonal skills lacked a similar accuracy. If only he were as socially sharp, he could've seen through the lie. Thankfully, in the crime of a thrown pear, the failure of an investigator is rather inconsequential.

His disappointment departed instantaneously as he watched the fruit reassemble before his eyes, previously tooth-torn pieces of the object properly fastening themselves back along the side. "Fascinating." His bare feet trot across the baking cobblestone flooring as he knelt to take it into his hand and examine it more closely. Not a replica, this was the exact thrown object he had nearly caught. "It does not matter who had thrown it. It is only a pear." He spoke without looking back towards the person he was speaking with, "Unremarkable taste anyway. Oranges are preferable. Less bland." Standing, he returned to his previous spot before the deceptive Chimney.

Harlow felt inclined to share one of his own talents, while further reflecting the insignificance of the fruit. Tossing the object into the air, he reached a wrist towards his face, deftly coming to grasp a handle that materialized before his eye. As though magically imbedded, or produced from some sort of projector within, the handle formed just as his fingers closed around it, and as he pulled away, a katana was unsheathed from within. In an instant, the blade whistled, it would slice through the airborne pear before it landed, producing, well, a pair. As he looked down towards the object, it appeared to be sliced cleanly… Though not directly down the center, as he had attempted. If he were to make a habit of these slight computation errors, then his future would be fraught with familiar disappointment.

"Radio check. This is Harlow." He introduced himself, drawing the tip of the rather unassuming katana back before his eye, before allowing it to be reabsorbed into the optical port. He seemed careless as to what public responses might be to his own seemingly magical display, interested only in sharing one of his own tricks with the stranger, becoming visually unarmed once more.

 

[Chimney]

It seemed that she had worried for naught, as the man seemed to just be a typically nosey player who was making it his business to be involved in things. He didn't care about the pear or the man that'd been hit, he just wanted to make sure he had properly guessed the culprit. He admitted fault in his assumption, but whether he believed her lies or was now telling his own she couldn't be sure. Either way... innocent or guilty... it didn't seem as though he actually had a stake in things. Just as she was about to calm down and let the matter go, he whisked up the pear and chopped it cleanly in half with a sword that seemed to materialize out of thin air.

"SHAAAUGH!!! JESUS! HELLO!" She pushed herself back against the wall of the store she sat in front of, getting a precious foot or two of distance between herself and the sword's dangerous reach.
"You uhhhh... Ya make a habit of hacking away at fruits like that, Harlow?" she asked, eyeing the man carefully as her chest rose and fell rapidly, the hyperventilating little lady clearly afraid he might lash out at her just as suddenly.

"Gotta say it makes me a lil' nervous you chopping up produce like that on account of a lot of my less socially concienscious aquaintances have taken it upon themselves to call me a vegetible from time to time. Just when they're being bitter about me leaving the heavy lifting to them, mind you. Which is most of the time. Still it's right slander I say, being the model citizen I am and standing representative of the entrepreneurial spirit of uh... yeah so anyway, that's a nice sword ya got there." Blinking, Chimney seemed to take herself out of her blathering stupor long enough to remember there was something dangerous nearby, and she focused her attention on it carefully.

"Me, I'm more of a hands on sort of lady if I have to get in a bruising sitch-e-ation. But nah, I figure I'm more one for using this here giant head I have under my ever larger tophat, to sort of... lead the situation from the rear, and provide support. Work my magic as it were, ya know? Make sure things go off without a hitch, or else have a plan of action to deal with any headaches that come along. I take it from the HAMM-radio roleplay ya doing there that Harlow is your name, yeh? Well, just call me Chimney if it's all the same to you's. It's a real pleasure to make my acquaintance... innit."
Smiling, she held out a hand for him to take and kiss. Or shake. Hopefully he wouldn't try and chop the thing off. If he did... she'd call it a learning experience, and never go outdoors again.

 

[Harlow]

"Apologies." He spoke as his company seemed frightened by the sudden appearance of the sword. "Negative. Only when they're used as weapons." He replied to the question of whether he minced pears often. Though, as quickly as the sword had formed, so too had it vanished back into the same socket that had produced it. He listened carefully to the words spoken by the individual who would soon be named. The way they spoke indicated to him with some level of certainty that this was a player he was interacting with.

Standing before them, there was quite the stark contrast for any would-be observers. This Chimney's personality oozed from every pore, it seemed, each aspect with its own flavor and intensity, whereas Harlow stood enveloped in a bland grayness that made him, apart from his actions, rather unremarkable from impressions. As her words registered in his mind, he made occasional strikeouts through some information, hoping to pluck out the most useful pieces of information provided, while cutting away the rest. Even as many of his words were translated into the radio-communcation dialect, it seemed that his company practiced a much more convoluted pattern, which would take some learning, but he was catching on quick.

"Affirmative. A pleasure. @Chimney." He replied, mimicking the mannerism, though missing the fact that it took a self-centric twist, as he took the hand. He made no movements to meet it with his lips, and barely any movement at all to shake it. It seemed almost like a lingering high-five, with fingers curled, content with the contact alone as a gesture of introduction. The structure of his palm made no attempt to duplicate the fleshy, human nature of most, and was quite cold and smooth.

Thankfully, he made no movement to retrieve his weapon and lob off the presented limb, showing some semblance of social awareness. "You are like me. Are you not? A Starcalled Traveler, they say." It was his method of making sure this was, in-fact, a player, while also clearly presenting that he was one.

With his back to the road, he was unaware of any such conspiring, but a few of the nearby witnesses had caught sight of his display of weaponry, chattering amongst themselves about their discomforts, as they sent snide glares towards the conversating pair. Use of weapons was frowned upon, unless one was fileting a fish for the market, participating in the usual lumberjack affairs, or putting on show with circus, and chopping the pear, from afar, looked more to be a threatening show of force than a performative act.

 

[Chimney]

As Harlow pressed his hand against hers Chimney did not hesitate to grip it and shake, her own energy and intensity a stark contrast to the quiet stillness that he himself presented. She released his hand after a few rough shakes, smiling and nodding her head at him.

"Real nice to meet'cha, real glad, and I ain't just saying that 'cause ya spook me some. Star-what now? You trying to come onto me already there laddy? Look I know I'm quite the fetching lady but ya can't just start calling me starcrossed lover 'n all that when we've only just met. But gawsh if ya ain't gonna make me blush, huh?" She grinned, but did not actually seem to be blushing... probably choosing to purposefully misunderstand what he was saying just to create a little trouble for him.

"Saying I'm like you and we've got so much in common. Quite the flirt ya are - didn't even end your sentence in over like ya been doing. I guess 'cause there's no getting over me, eh? Eh? Eh? Ehhhhhhh?" She gave a playful wink, which seemed to calm down the concerned citizens around them who could now see that she wasn't in any sort of danger while taking to the magical swordsman.

 

[Harlow]

"That's. I. Negative." A few incomplete processes that were quickly canceled and replaced with another, until he conceded into to a simple rejection of everything. It took a reasonable amount of social finesse to draw a stammered response from the typically structured, stoic swordsman, and this was something Chimney seemingly had in great quantities.

A keen gaze might notice his own eyelids widen slightly in shock at the sudden flipping of accusations, before they shut. Sight, his most skilled sense, intentionally severed, as mental lag struggled to find a way out of this inescapable social hole he had somehow been teleported into. Regardless of whether this was a player or not, they had outwitted them. Someone like this should be good enough at talking themselves out of, or into trouble. A valuable asset in the area of his greatest weakness.

The wink would be another unreturned gesture, and he hadn't even been aware of the growing public discomforts in the first place, but the charm of a cunning troublemaker seemed to dissolve such broiling rumors. It would also churn his thoughts. He hadn't been flirting… Had he?! No, surely not, at least not intentionally. More careful, he'd have to be.

He had a million things to say. Words and ideas, arguments, bouncing around his head, though much like he might in his real body, he chose to surrender and move forwards instead of fighting those battles too. A different subject would be forcefully injected into the conversation, hoping such evasiveness wouldn't also be highlighted, for the sake of not triggering another verbal glitch.

"I'm looking for work." His eyes turned back towards the crowds, which had previously stood gossiping, now breaking apart under the suddenly spun gaze, showing the frailty of their surface tension. The rest of his words were spoken with his face and one shoulder turned away from @Chimney. "If you know of any jobs. Quests. My pockets are empty." He confessed, pausing, before placing a very intentional conclusive note this time. "Over."