[Text] (With Pictures!)

[aroundthecoroner]

So it's day 2 of Ikea madness,
and I figured we should set up some kind of cragslist situation,
so that people can get rid of things they really don't want.
Or if you for some reason feel like filling your house with this stuff
follow your dreams?

Anyway I found this yesterday:

[Attached is a photo of a very odd table, the front half of it, anyway. It's sticking out of an apartment wall at an odd angle, legs mostly horizontal. There's a second photo of the back half, which appears to be in another room.

A jacket is hanging off of one of the hooves. Looks like someone has found a use for it, at least.]

If anyone knows how to get this out of the wall
without like, destroying said wall
they're welcome to it.
But to be honest I'm kind of getting used to it.
Might call it "Dave".
This I'm not too keen on:

[Another image, this one of a kind of unsettling chair.]

Frankly you can just have it.
Please.

[Everyone is welcome to post their new furniture they don't want, or offers to acquire more. Michael is not going to moderate, but it's a platform at least!]

Comments

[aroundthecoroner]

[Michael thinks he's getting immune to some of the weirder things here already. The shining glyph is fascinating, but it's not scary or even startling anymore. It probably helps that it's a slow progression, and that he knew it was coming. But now it's got him thinking.]

What all can you do with this stuff? [He motions to the glyph, still from his crouched position.]

And... does it hurt to do it? [This time he sort of flicks his eyes at Carlisle's arms. He definitely caught that rubbing gesture, mostly because he's done it himself in the past, though for what he assumes is a very different reason.]

[tongueamok]

[Carlisle's eyes flick to his arms as Michael's do.]

Oh. Oh no, this is an old injury. Well, not that old, but old enough.

[Not old enough to not bother him, but some wounds are just stubborn. He inspects the table further, stepping over the lines on the pages, which have begun to steam as they evaporate away.]

Glyphcrafting is a thankfully versatile art for someone with skill in it, allowing those who are talented with such inscription to do nearly anything they command, so long as they have the energy to activate their work. Unfortunately, it's equally dangerous in the hands of an incompetent craftsman whose inscriptions may cause more mayhem than they intended.

[aroundthecoroner]

[Michael chews on that information for a moment. Nearly anything, huh? Sounds useful, but you also have to have... "the energy", whatever that is. If it's magic, he's probably disqualified.

He stands up finally, then leans down to flip the table back onto its legs.]

Can the... glyph thing not heal injuries? [And was that a rude question? Maybe healing is way harder or something.] Actually, do we have any doctors around here at all?

[He'll get to the energy question in a minute, he's distracted.]

[tongueamok]

They can be used for such applications, but it's generally not advised, as restorative arts applied to the body create far more problems if something goes wrong with the glyph. That's what trained healers are for.

[Obviously. Deciding that yes, the table is in good enough condition that he should probably figure out a way to get it home -- he really should have thought of that before showing up at a stranger's house on the promise of a weird piece of furniture -- Carlisle collects some of the papers, most of which are blank once more, the ink having vanished entirely.]

There are doctors and healers both at the Clinic. Are you in need of one?

[aroundthecoroner]

Oh, no. I'm fine. I was just asking because of... [Michael makes a vague gesture in the direction of Carlisle's arms.]

But things going wrong with that, uh, definitely sounds like something you'd want to avoid.

[So he super doesn't blame him for not attempting magic on his own body.]

Good to know about the clinic, though. I'd offer to help with that but I doubt I'd be as useful as like, actual doctors.

[tongueamok]

I'm sure they can use all the help they can get.

[Or Kate makes it sound that way sometimes. Even non-medical doctors can be put to work with mundane activities to keep the place running, or taught. Magical healers are another story.

He rubs his forearms, picking at the ink-stained bandage that covers one of his arms; it's more from his nerves and less from any actual, lingering pain.]

I'm afraid there's no one there who could help me with this, though. Magic would only exacerbate these injuries, or I'd have mended them myself long ago. I should be good in a moment to help you carry this down the stairs.

[aroundthecoroner]

I mean, I could get by if I had to, but I didn't exactly finish med school.

[Not a fact he enjoys talking about, but it keeps coming up today.]

I'm a lot better with already-dead people. [And as if that wasn't even remotely a creepy statement-] Sure, though, take your time. I'm not busy or anything, so it's fine.

[Not even sarcastic.]

[tongueamok]

[There's something in one part that makes Carlisle distinctly uneasy: his eyes dart back to Michael, his posture stiffening as his brow knits.]

Already-dead people? You're not, ah. Not a necromancer of any sort, are you?

[Mildly sarcastic, but also serious. Please don't be a necromancer.]

[aroundthecoroner]

[A what? Okay well, Michael guesses that's probably a legitimate danger in a world with magic.]

No, nothing like that. I don't... do magic. Of like, any kind? Least of all zombies.

[That... is what necromancer means, right?]

I work in a morgue.

[tongueamok]

Oh. Oh good. Very good.

[INSTANT RELIEF. The mere thought of undead had Carlisle rattled.]

Honest work, morticians and what have you. Not necromancers. Not that- not that I'd have minded if you were a necromancer. I'd have just not... wanted to cross you. Aheh.

[So... yeah, he'd have minded.]

[aroundthecoroner]

[Oops. He didn't mean to scare the guy.]

Is that stuff a real problem where you're from? Or... is it a problem here? Necromancers, that is.

[He hopes it's not a problem here. Like. Can we not???]

[tongueamok]

It would be a problem here if the ones from back home were brought through the Door. I have been fortunate in that regard.

[It's not yet, Michael. Not yet.]

[aroundthecoroner]

Seems like a lot of us left behind some bad situations back home. Let's hope we all stay lucky, huh?

[Not that he would know if the killer he was hunting showed up here. What a comforting thought.]

[tongueamok]

Yes. Let us hope.

[Thinking of home seems to rattle him, as well. There isn't much that doesn't rattle Carlisle.]

Well, I believe I'm good to help get this downstairs now, if you don't mind. I'll, ah. Give my partner a call and see if he can't bring it home from there.

[aroundthecoroner]

[Michael is for some reason surprised that this guy has a partner, but then he chides himself because that's clearly a mean thing to think. And maybe he means the other kind of partner? Like the work kind? Probably not, though.]

Right, sure.

[He opens the apartment door, thankful he thought to do that instead of just humiliate himself by forgetting until they're both encumbered with table, and lifts Dave's back half.]

Do you guys live far? If it's easier, I could just help you get it there.

[tongueamok]

[Definitely not the work kind of partner, but Carlisle doesn't elaborate. He sidles over to one half of Dave and gives it a lift. Boy, does he hate stairs, but this table is worth it in his mind.]

We're in Spire 2, down near the river. It's quite a walk, but if you don't mind helping walk it that far, it'd save him a trip. He's probably patrolling at the moment, or busy with paperwork. Guardsman, you see.

[aroundthecoroner]

[Michael hates stairs, too, but they've become a part of life now, so he might as well get used to them. He starts toward the hall-slash-stairwell with his half of the table.]

I don't really know my way around yet, but yeah, it's fine.

[Is it really fine? It's not not fine, at least. So that means it's... probably fine.]

The guards here do paperwork? I thought they were just like, a volunteer kinda thing.

[tongueamok]

Well, they are, but they turn in reports and what have you, as I understand it.

[Carlisle adjusts his arms, hoping to keep the legs from scraping the stairs as they descend.]

One of their leaders, Miss Tua, is quite fond of notes, so it doesn't surprise me she'd have her subordinates keep records of the goings-on in town.

[aroundthecoroner]

[God, why are these stairs so narrow? Going backwards doesn't help. Michael decides that if he falls and dies and becomes a ghost, he's going to haunt that creepy spider chair. Seems only fitting.]

Okay so we've got... a clinic and guards. What other jobs are there around here?

[Even he's going to get bored eventually. Besides, sitting around isn't good for the whole monster situation.]

[tongueamok]

There's a Speakeasy. Miss Rey runs that establishment. She's an acquired taste.

[He'd say nicer things about people who might be his friends, but he banged his elbow on the wall two seconds prior and is still hissing from the sting.]

There are some, ah. Smaller places around. Individual proprietorship. We used to have a sewing shop, but I know not if it remains open now that the owner has vanished.

[aroundthecoroner]

[Michael raises his eyebrows.]

A speakeasy? Like from the 20s? Is alcohol illegal here?

[He was under the impression there weren't actually any laws. The part about Rey kind of sails over his head; most people are an acquired taste for him, but then he just kind of deals with them regardless.]

I don't think I'd be too useful in a sewing shop, though. Actually, wait. If it's anything like stitching up people, maybe.

[So either he doesn't realize he's talking out loud right now, or he doesn't realize he forgot to say out loud earlier that he was thinking about potential jobs. Either way, enjoy this in medias res, Carlisle.]

[tongueamok]

It's not.

[Said in all seriousness. He's still a little sore about the sewing shop, specifically about the disappearance of its proprietor. He'd rather not have someone sewing up bodies in there, in the unlikely event Emily should return.]

Alcohol is perfectly legal here, and used to be around in abundance. The first bar that was here burned to the ground, and so another was opened.

[aroundthecoroner]

[Oh. He's not sure if Carlisle is offended or just serious about sewing. Either way, dropping that subject. And trying not to drop the table along with it.

Do these staircases get narrower at the bottom?]

Right, someone mentioned that. Not sure why people would burn it down, that seems like it hurts us more than the gods.

[tongueamok]

[They do just a bit. Nothing in the building was made for humans, it seems.]

The first bar belonged to one of the false gods, to be fair.

[aroundthecoroner]

[False gods? Michael guesses that's a fair thing to call them, but he's just been going with the default. He's not especially religious, so it didn't matter.]

Well, yeah, but a bar seems like one of the few nice things they've done. Unless all the alcohol was poisoned or something.