The Time (started, but still you can join)

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You wanted another clock, so here he is.
Name: Lynus "Lyn" Reinagle , Male
Age (when you started the quest): -
History (it made sense to put this section first): A quester, as part of their quest, kidnapped Lynus 's mother on the night Lynus was conceived. As a result he ceased to exist, changing history slightly. The quester's TM offered Lynus the position of a clock instead.
Appearance: He is only an idea now, so he can't physically exist in person. He can see and hear but he can't be seen or heard. Time has no effect on him so he doesn't age. He only takes form when time stops and the time stop doesn't effect him. He takes the form of his 21 yr-old would have been self. He is a tall, thin eurasian with short dark hair.
Personality: He is not very gracious or polite. He doesn't realise that some of the things he says are potentially offensive. He makes a lot of jokes (not necessarily funny) and his policy is laugh it all off. He doesn't hold any grudges except the one against the quester who destroyed him. The Tm refused to tell him who they were, but he stays on the lookout during his work.
Skills: He is able to enter the bodies of willing people or those in the in a weakened state (eg under the influence of alcohol or drugs). As a result, he can enter the human world and communicate with its citizens. He can't stop or start time but he can travel through it, but only by himself.
Prodigies can very quickly learn what other people have already figured out; geniuses discover that which no one has ever previously discovered. Prodigies learn; geniuses do.”

― John Green




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Quinn,

Well. Well well well. I guess I would be pissed as well if the TM made me sleep with random men. Instead, of course, I'm stuck tracking down stupid bloody necklaces. I am smiling broadly.

"Why are you smiling?" He asks, anger flaring. I give a soft laugh.

"Because the Time Master may have saved my life, but I've been planning against him," his face softens, and I go on, "And after that, I can tell you're in."

Alex is actually grinning now. I hold my hand out and we shake. We continue walking down the street. I clear my throat.

"I guess it's only fair if I tell you my Quest, as well," I say slowly, "The TM has me searching for pieces of Jewelry that other Questers have left behind. And I hate it. It may not be as bad as yours," I say hastily as Alex opens his mouth with an annoyed expression on his face, "But it's no different than being a slave. In fact, it's worse, because their's no escape."

Alex nods slowly, "I can see that," he says, "Have you been planning this for long?"

"Since my first few months, after I figured out the system," I say, bitterly, "But almost everyone I've recruited were taken by Clocks last year."

"So you have to start fresh?" He asks, one eyebrow raised. I just nod.

"That's why I was asking about the Clock you were talking to last night," I continue after a lengthy pause, "He seemed...different."

"Yeah, he did," Alex agrees, "Not like one of the TM's minions at all."

"It may just be me," I say, "But he wants out of this as much as we do. And we can use that. We may not be able to confront the TM, but he can. I just feel it"

Cressida gives a loud quork from my shoulder, and flies off in alarm. Bangs and shouts are coming from an alley that leads to another street. Then, what sounds like an explosion and screams. Alex and I look at each other. This can only be Quester or Clock activity. We both run towards the commotion.
And remember...A portkey can be any sort of harmless object...A football...or a dolphin.
~Snape, AVPM

"You are the egg, you are the chrysalis, you are the progeny. You are the rot that falls from stars."
~Will Henry, on Typhoeus magnificum




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Spoiler
Name: Ipqu Ar'siuqqua (has gone by many, many names in his time. Currently known as 'Ivan Alexander')

Appearance: Like his name, Ipqu has changed appearance many, many times. In his mortal years, under the reign of Ur-Nammu of the Babylonian empire, he was a handsome man. About 1'64m, with a wide brow, strong chin and high cheek-bones, deeply tanned skin. His wealth (gained by taking the place of a relative of the King) allowed him to follow the height of fashion in his time. His overall appearance did not change much for a while (save, of course, his clothing). He gained several scars and muscle when he was serving as a sailor on a powerful Phoenician merchant ship, then a few more scars and lots more muscle when he was a soldier in the Spartan army. He promptly lost that muscle and put on several kilos in his praetorship under the roman empire. He lost that lard just as quickly when he was forced to flee to Gaul due to some, ah, unsavory events. His skin bleached slightly over the years, having spent a few more lifetimes moving around the United Kingdom until around 30BC. He stayed mostly unaltered, loosing a finger, his right-hand pinkie in World War One, and got himself a bit of plastic surgery in 2010, correcting several mars and scars he had accumulated. He has, however, kept a long one running down his right leg which he gained as a sailor, way back during the Minoic Empire, and another across his back inflicted to him personally by Leonidas during the second Persian war. Among other body symbols he did not remove is a tattoo reading 'SPQR' on his left bicep, and another complex symbol down his back, identifiable with the Japanese Yakuza. Now living in Victorian London, due to a certain influx of pesky Questers, he wears the traditional suits of the rich. His skin is slightly darker than your average tanned white man, and his physique is lean and fit. His eyes have returned to a shade of greenish-brown, his hair a shade of black.

Personality: Like his appearance, name and pretty nuch everything else, Ipqu has gained, lost and found a score of often conflicting personality traits. To identify them all would be too tedious, however some have stuck to him, and have remained fairly unaltered. He has kept the adventurous spirit of the Phoenicians, at times stoked (he was part of the crew that first circumnavigated Africa, then was one of the first few who stepped on british soil, and also reached the Americas with the conquistadors), and at times kept at bay (he was in Germany during Hitler's advent. Both the world wars weren't very fun either). This doesn't extend to physical adventure only, his thirst for knowledge is/was also quite great. He was a close personal friend of those like Pythagoras, Socrates, Virgil, Voltaire and Machiavelli. He also met Dante once in Florence, but found him too arrogant. He met da Vinci as well, and helped work on a design for an invincible fortress, but had to leave just as quickly due to civil unrest. Another trait that's stuck with him is his discipline, reminded and represented to him in various forms, most notoriously the Spartan army. He never enjoyed obeying orders though, especially now that he's had freedom for so long. However he does enjoy leading, or controlling. Patience was forced upon him at times, and Ipqu has decided he'd rather actively pursue his goals than sit and wait. However if his goal most definitely involves waiting, then so be it. He dislikes... well, a lot of things. It comes with being four millennia old. He also likes just as many things. A brief list of dislikes includes: duck, bland food, tough food, undercooked food, any food that isn't very expensive or better yet made to fit his every desire (he's eaten bad food, he's eaten rotten food, he's eaten prison food. Enough is enough), loud noises (too many wars to count), closed spaces (too many prisons to count), poision (more near misses than most men should be entitled to) and by proxy anything poisionous, torture (again, personal experience), bodily harm (especially when they're harming him), etc etc.

History: (A/N: I apologize this is brief, but really. Four thousand years of history. I've left snippets enough in the other parts of the profile).

Ipqu was born in the reign of Ur-Nammur of the Babylonians, as stated before, though even he has forgotten the exact date. He lived a life of gambling and crime for a time, but was caught. He was offered a quest (by whom is unknown, he refuses to say), and took it. He replaced a relative of the king, and lived an easy life for a time. He never actually bothered to go about his quest until he realized getting deleted wouldn't be fun, and with only a few more weeks to go he completed it. How, one may ask? Why, by completely destroying the Babylonian empire, Ipqu would answer. Unfortunately that also meant having to run, to escape the cruel persecutions and slaughter of the Assyrian conquerors he had aided in their thirst for power. He moved around the mediterranean, serving himself. It's unknown why and exactly when he became a Clockwork, and who gave him the offer (a Time Master is presumed), but it happened when he was in Italy, at the height of the Roman Empire. He then moved some more, to Gaul, then cut to Britain, then back to Africa, South America, the US. He's traveled pretty much all of the globe. He moved back to England at the present time to deal with, as he put it, "particular issues" "that haven't been encountered in many a millennia."

Skills: he can speak most languages spoken and most not spoken; he can weild most weapons used in past, present and future. These are just a few of his skills. He's picked plenty pf things up in his years. Another one being, he can drive pretty muche everything that can be driven, and is an okay cook.

Other: Ipqu is a very, very senior Clockwork, perhaps one of the most senior. Few know his name, those who do fear and respect it. His Master is unknown, even to other Time Masters, his purpose even more shadowy. Nobody is sure if he possesses a particular power, though it is obvious he is unaffected by the passage of time, and/or can move through it at his leisure, and no other powers work against him, it seems. What is certain, however, is anyone that has dared presume himself a threat to Ipqu is now very, very dead. In his time he has been homosexual, straight, and bi. And has gone centuries without paying attention to either sex.
vulgus vult decipi, ergo decipiatur






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Alex York:

I hear screaming from a few streets over. Quinn's bird squaks loudly and flys away in panic. I look in the direction of the screams, wondering what could possibly be happening. And then a boom, I could tell it was an explosion of some sort. I knew what explosions sounded like. More screaming, and people become to round the corner and run towards us. I look at Quinn, and we run against the flow. I take the lead, pushing people out of my way, shoving a few to the ground accidentally. Quinn follows in my footsteps, jumping over a guy I pushed. We turn the corner and I see what is happening. We're back in that main square where that quester was doing his tricks. Why did big things always happen there? Bodies lay on the streets, buildings were on fire, it was pure chaos. I crouch behind a market stand, and Quinn shows up right next to me. I look over the top, and I see the clock from the square two days ago. Not Jareth or Althea, but the other one. I can't remember her name. She's grinning and laughing. She raises her hand, and an explosion follows where her hand was. She was destroying the city! She must have felt our presence, because she turned towards us. I swear and pull Quinn to the ground with me. A second later, flames envelop the stand. I cover my eyes and shield Quinn from the blast out of instinct. I rise and help her up, and we run. We turn the corner, but before we do, I look back, and the clock is starting to follow us. I chuckle a nervous laugh and say, "I don't think she's suppose to be defending us." We turn the corner and run. I look back, and she's gaining on us. We turn another corner, and there's Jareth, standing in the doorway to a buildin.g

"Come, get inside, I can help," he says. Without thinking, I run in the door, and Quinn follows in hot pursuit. Jareth slams the door and looks at us. "I blocked your aura, she can't sense you guys."

I look at Quinn and grin. "I found him."

Spoiler
Wow. Posts look a lot shorter if there aren't many paragraphs :)
This'll be my last post until Sunday, try no to kill me off :P
Save time... see it my way.

"During high school, I played junior hockey and still hold two league records: most time spent in the penalty box; and I was the only guy to ever take off his skate and try to stab somebody."
-Happy Gilmore




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Althea

She woke up the moment another person appeared in Jareth's room. The woman was familiar, but the expression in her eyes wasn't right. Althea glanced at Jareth, but he wasn't there - she could see the mirror empty, not reflecting the room, and she guessed what he was doing. He never let her watch as he talked to the Time Master. Nor watch nor listen, nor he'd often tell her what they discussed at all.
She looked back to the woman.
"Hi, Aria," she said carefully, and the woman frowned.
"Now do you know my name?"
"What do you mean? It's me, I'm Althea, remember? Of course I know who you are."
For her effort, she was hit by something that hurt. And the moment later, everything turned dark.

Spoiler
LH, as you didn't explain how Althea was taken, nor how did you even know her name, I decided to do it here. I'm leaving you to write about where you'd taken her and all. When writing about her, keep in mind that, no matter how little and weak compared to you she is, she's loyal to Jareth and she will not speak about anything without him on her side. You can make her cry if you wish, and I will be writing more of how afraid she is, but don't overdo it, she is brave enough when needs to be.

As you all know, she's not a POV character, really, so these moments of her chapters will be rare, yet I'll have to keep them up at least as long as she's alone.

*

Jareth

He stopped at the end of an alley, still sensing Aria's strength, as he felt two other travelers approaching. They were Questers, no doubt, and he even knew which ones. Turning back, he watched as the two of them - Alex he met earlier and a woman he vaguely remembered - duck to avoid Aria's fire, and then run in his direction. Sighing, he moved into a doorway and waited for them. It wasn't his job to save everyone - they were stupid to come as close, and they got Aria chasing them because of it - but it was his duty to watch over Althea, and along with it over her Questers, and he had to make a move.

"Come, get inside," he said as Alex and the girl came close enough. "I can help." They both obeyed without a second thought, and Jareth slammed the door behind them. He was tired, everything hurt him and the world around him was spinning suspiciously, but he did this one trick anyway. If Aria was to find these two, it would all be useless, wouldn't it?
"I blocked your aura, she can't sense you guys."

Alex looked at the girl and grinned. "I found him."
Jareth frowned.
"I didn't know you were looking for me." He turned to the girl. "Could you tell me your name again?"
"Quinn," she said, reaching her hand. Jareth, adapted to the time he was in, automatically kissed it and bowed, and both her and Alex smiled.
"So, you're a Clock?" She asked, and Jareth looked at the other Quester.
"Yes, I am. Why were you looking for me, again?"
Alex didn't seem to want to go straight to the point.
"I thought you don't want to interfere too much. Why did you save us?"
Jareth frowned.
"What, you wanted to stay out and get killed? Not too late to change that, you know."
"That's not what I meant. It just seems a bit strange."
'Thank you' wouldn't seem too strange, Jareth thought, his head feeling as if it's about to explode.
"Fine, so will I get my answer?" Jareth asked. He smiled at the expression in Alex's eyes. It's not like I ever got a straight answer from you, his eyes were telling.
"Jareth," said Quinn, in a tone of voice as if she's tasting his name on her lips. "Who chooses our Quests?"
Truth to be told, he wasn't really surprised by the question. Every Quester, he supposed, wanted to know as much as they could.
"Your Time Master," he said carefully, not mentioning how many of them is there.
"The one you work for?"
"Perhaps."
"Why would you work for him?" Alex asked. "Or is it her?"
Jareth considered answering the truth, wondering how they'd react.
"I've made certain deals myself," he finally said. "And it's hard to tell the gender. Would you care to tell me the point of this questioning?"

Alex and Quinn shared a long look, and Jareth had a bad feeling of knowing what this is about. Of course Questers didn't like their Quests - even he could hardly imagine being in their position - and it wasn't at all hard to imagine them hating the Time Masters. Family, Jareth thought. Lovely.
"I want to go home," Quinn said. Jareth had to give her credit for that attempt of lying and trying to make him sympathetic.
Feeling playful, he made a compassionate face and slowly nodded, holding his smile as Quinn and Alex started seeming happy with themselves.
"You were a slave," he said then, and their smiles vanished. "You were meant to fight and die, and the Quest you hate saved your life." He turned to Alex. "You were, on the other hand, just an idiot, to lose the chance for the happy life you could have. If you want anything from me, don't you lie to me again."
*

Spoiler
Whoever takes over, please PM me so we can agree on how much Jareth says and what they actually talk about.
• previously ChildOfNowhere
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literary fantasy with a fairytale flavour




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Sorry that this is really long


Lyn.
Time is one the greatest mysteries of all time, up there along with, is there a god? and what is the nature of the universe?. Yet it seemingly so complicated, not many people have the time or the ability to comprehend it. The way I think of it, in fact the way I visual as I travel through it, time is like a water system. The main course of history is a river that is marked in a glowing light. But every time a choice is made, the time stream splits and a little outlet of water branches out on an alternative course.

I could travel amongst the different branches of the time river, but once in the flow of these pathways the current would prevent me from swimming back to ordinary time. And seeing that all the side branches dribble down to nothing and dry up, I would prefer not to get caught in one.

On one hand, some beings - note the use of beings rather than just people-, like me, are able to hop out of the time stream and cross to another position in time. On the other hand, others can see what lies at the end of the possible branches of time and manipulate events to bring veering courses of water back to the main flow. On a third hand, others have learnt to dam the time stream and use the power that collects there to gain great volumes of power. On a fourth hand, others can stop time so that it freezes over and stops moving, or rewind it so that it flows I the opposite direction. On a fifth hand ( I’m running out of hands), some have a combination of these talents, but not all. Even Time Masters only develop three at most. Only the greatest TM could master all four. And in all of time, no such being has existed.

Anyway, back to me. I’m floating above the time stream, around the mid 19th century. The stream has widened and is flowing faster, as human populationa and the number of time-splitting decisions increases. Although the water is a bit murky from the birth of the industrial revolution,(they started chucking out pollution into the atmosphere), that’s nothing compared the blood soaked waters further up stream.

Then it comes, around 1855, I’m guessing, a time freeze right there. I zoom in closer and prepare to dive in, because where there is a time freeze, there is a clock, and where there is a clock there is questers. Maybe she’ll be there. Thanks master, for giving me no idea location.

I plunge into Victorian London, just before the time stop, a few streets away. The alleys are musty and smoky and packed with people of all stations and ages. I as I slide in between I pick up snippets of conversation but my focus on where I am going means, that I barely register the noise.

Until, as I pass to young men talking, one thin, one fat. A line the thin one says to me, jumps out at me.
“Because the Time Master may have saved my life, but I’ve been planning against him.”
Interested I zoom in closer. Only then do I realise that the thin one is a girl. Oops, my mistake.

Two questers, together, talking, now that’s unusual. They begin to chat about, well rather the thin one, begins to chat about her quest. “I guess it's only fair if I tell you my Quest, as well. The TM has me searching for pieces of Jewellery that other Questers have left behind. And I hate it.”

Bang. It’s clicked. When the master briefed me on this protection quest of mine I wasn’t paying attention really, because he is usually very boring, but his gist of speaking was something about a girl who had caused him trouble in the past and how he had given her a near impossible task, something about jewellery. I really started to listen to him when he told me, that if I helped her complete her near impossible quest, in reward he would tell me the name of the quester, the one who killed, rather destroyed me. And bingo I have found her. What was her name? Quinn. And it seems Miss Quinn is causing trouble again.

But then it does really go bang. Quinn and her friend hurry towards the noise, with me sliding off in their wake. But just as they are reaching the source of the noise, time slows and freezes. I feel my self consolidate and then I’m me. You don’t know how much I savour these moments when I can just walk as my self again.

I press myself against the wall and peer round the corner. No point in alerting other clocks that I’m here. And who should I see but young mister Jareth. I’ve never had the honour of meeting him, but he has earned himself quite reputation. His presence here adds a new twist on the situation.

When time thaws and I return to being an idea again, I notice another clock, a young vicious-looking lady. She must have quite a briefing because she is trying to kill my quester and the other quester who Jareth seems to be guarding the other fellow. They run away into a room with Jareth. I glide in behind them.

Side tracking a bit, do you know that sliding through objects like doors is not that hard. All you need to do is fit every one of your atoms through the gaps between the atoms of the things you are trying to go through. Well, it’s easy in theory.

Anyway, Jareth and Quinn and the guy who seems to be called Alex, are talking about clocks and quests and such. More interesting is the fact that the famed clock detector, Jareth, doesn’t seems to have sensed my presence. I guess I’m a bit different from other clocks. To test this idea, I walk over to Jareth ad breath right down his neck. No response. Not even a shiver.

Now Jareth is starting to talk about TMs. Interesting. I’m sticking around to see what the expert says and see if he gives away any information on his master. In addition I need to stay with Quinn, (a) to protect her so that she doesn’t get killed the next tme the crazy clock attacks, (b)to guide her as is my job and (c) she and I need to have a conversation about her plans for rebellion,
Prodigies can very quickly learn what other people have already figured out; geniuses discover that which no one has ever previously discovered. Prodigies learn; geniuses do.”

― John Green




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Quinn,

"You were a slave. You were meant to fight and die, and the Quest you hate saved your life, " Jareth turns to Alex, "You were, on the other hand, just an idiot, to lose the chance for the happy life you could have had. If you want anything from me, don't you lie to me again."

His voice is cold, but I stand my ground. So lying didn't work. That's okay, I still have the truth. Before I can say anything however, I get the odd feeling that someone else is in the room, besides Alex and Jareth. But no, no one is there. I frown, and then notice Cressida pecking at a window. I quickly let her in and she settles on my shoulder. Maybe I was simply feeling her...I shake my head and turn back to the other two, who are both giving me odd looks. I address Jareth.

"You are right, of course," I say, "And I shouldn't have lied. Thing is, lying is the only way I've survived this long. It's ingrained. Yes, I was a slave. When I was thirteen years old, my family was attacked as we crossed the wastelands. We were taken to a mine by a Worklord, Leo Werther. My parents...they didn't last long. A few months. As for me and my little brother, well, it was different. He lived longer than my parents, but not by much. He was killed by our guards for sport. Only seven years old, and dead," my voice begins to tremble as I continue, and I hate myself for it, "I worked in the mine during the day. At night...at night...Werther and his men had their way. For hours on end sometimes. But I think you already know that," I say, glancing at Jareth who stares back stonily, "I escaped when I was sixteen, but two years later, they caught me again, and were going to throw me into the fighting pits, like you said. The deal that the TM gave me was unreal to me, and I agreed to it, not because I was going to die, but because I wasn't sure if had already died. But I was alive, and once I came to my senses and realized what I had to do, I realized that this new life was a slavery worse than anything I'd ever known before. I couldn't escape this, not without help. I'd always only been able to rely on myself, and now I couldn't even do that. And that's when I decided to fight back. Whether you help me or not, Jareth and Alex," I say, glancing at the two men, "I will fight, in any way I can, not only for me, but for the wife and child you left behind, Alex, and all of the other Questers whose lives can never be their own."

I stop talking and breathe in deeply. It's the most I've spoken in a long time, and in surprise, I feel tears on my cheeks. I wipe them away angrily, and Cressida nuzzles my neck in sympathy. Alex looks slightly shocked, but I can't read Jareth's face. Again, I get the sense that someone else is in the room, but I shake it off.

"Well," Jareth says slowly, "I can appreciate that, and I might even be inclined to help you," he pauses, "But first, I'll need your help. You two can help me find my charge, the little girl I was with yesterday, or you can forget any rebellion and get on with your Quests. It's up to you, although I can't guarantee that I will keep your secret if you don't help me. The TM is an...influential being."

He looks me in the eye and I hold his gaze, and for some reason, I can feel a burning sensation around the brand on my arm, a deep pain in the scar on my face, and a shadow of the agony I felt when my pinky was cut off. Above all I can feel the hideous sensation of all the times Werther and his men held me down. I grit my teeth. Jareth gives a small nod, and I return it.
Last edited by RedBird on Tue Jan 22, 2013 4:24 am, edited 1 time in total.
And remember...A portkey can be any sort of harmless object...A football...or a dolphin.
~Snape, AVPM

"You are the egg, you are the chrysalis, you are the progeny. You are the rot that falls from stars."
~Will Henry, on Typhoeus magnificum




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Demetheus

The tune stuck in my head was one my mother used to sing my brother to sleep with every night when he wouldn't stop shrieking. I remembered the memory with some of the only fondness I had for my family. The small smile I had allowed myself slipped as I remembered the love she had always looked at me with. My mother had never sang for me, though.

I walked in the growing daylight, realizing how hot of a day it was going to be. I peered under my hand at the shops around me, busy with customers. I needed to find a job or some other source of income if I was to survive in the this city. My stomach rumbled, reminding me I had forgotten the last time I had eaten.

I saw a bakery at the corner of the street I was on and walked into it, figuring I could steal some scraps. Customers wove a long out the door. I hoped that there might be a piece of burnt bread I could take- something to feed myself with.

I was in luck. I had barely stood admiring some of the freshly baked bread when the baker ran out of the kitchen yelling in rapid French at the man he was chasing. Waving a cleaver over his head, he chased him out the door and into the street where he yelled out to him.

"UNEXCEPTABLE!" he bellowed. "YOU'RE FIRED!"

Hope shone on my face. A job had appeared, one that I could do. But it was what I was scorned for and mistreated, along with... I shook the thought out of my head. I needed money. I needed to eat. I was going to have to get over my fear of others knowing sometime.

The baker reentered his shop, muttering under his breath. "Lousy good-for-nothing... Have to fill these orders myself."

"Excuse me," I asked the still steaming baker. "Are you in need of another baker?"

I squinted at me, my dirty appearance. "Look, boy, if this is a scheme... I don't just let anyone cook for me, you hear? I'm going to have to test you."

I nodded, eager to please this man. I followed him to the back of the kitchen where he looked at my hands.

"There's wash bin out back," he glared up at me, since I was a good foot taller than him. "Wash up to your armpits."

After washing my hands and arms I came back inside. He gave me the dough of some bread, looked up at me and said, "Fix it."

I looked down at the dough in dismay. The wrong proportions had been added, the wheat not even ground fully. This was no doubt what had gotten the other man fired. I looked closer at this bread when it dawned on me.

I was going to have to make a new kind of bread.

I grabbed barley and oats, mixing it into the mess in front of me. I added more water, a little too much, and balanced it out with a bit of flour. The whole time, the baker watched me mixing and kneading until my hands were sore and cramped.

"How long do I out it in the oven for?" the baker asked me.

"10 minutes to start," I told him. "If it's not done, put it in for another five."

The baker nodded in approval, then put my creation into the oven. We waited 10 minutes, then another 5, and then another 5. My mix of grains came out of the oven looking like a piece of bread he would sell at his shop. He cut off the end ad tentatively took a bite. He looked thoughtful, but not overjoyed with the result.

"I like how you added the extra grains for more flavor," he told me. "The texture was unique, but you have the hands of an amateur. I'll work with you, but you have much to learn."

I smiled in relief. He liked my bread well enough.

"You can take the bread home tonight, since it is unfit to sell to customers," he turned to walk out of the store before stopping and turning back to me. "Get some new clothes, and a bath. I will not have someone looking like you work at my bakery. Come back tomorrow, 7 o'clock sharp. I'll introduce you to the other two bakers in my second kitchen.

I smiled at him before taking the bread and walking out of his shop. It looked as though the second kitchen had been taking care of the customers. I looked at the sky and with a jolt realized I had spent 5 hours in the shop. It was too late to met Radius and Gill for the night. I turned down a side street and walked with my bread.

This part of town was no less busy, but much more bleak. Everything was gray. I looked at the people who roamed the poorer part of London, all of them with their heads down.

Through this gray and depressing world, I heard the sound of a beautiful pipe, winding through the street like a kitten through the sewer. I could not help myself, and began to follow the sweet sound.

I found myself in front of a girl playing in the sewage. Every now and then a passerby would throw her a coin. As the sunset, she put down her pipe. I ripped off half of my bread before sitting next to her and handing her the other half.

"So, um," I cleared my throat, realizing I was once again muttering. "So, uh, where you from?"




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redbird, I hope you approve of my use of Cressida


Lyn
I tune out when Miss Quinn started ranting about how her life. How dramatic. I turn my thoughts to other matters while my subconscious registers. My brain is capable of taking in all the information I am exposed at any moment and analysing and storing it with out me being aware of it.

I’m trying to figure out how to get some private time with Miss Quinn. A strong willed gal like her would never willingly let me into her brain, even if it was just for a talk. And if I am trying to make contact with her a lot, I don’t think the drunken man idea would be any good. No, I need to find a way to talk to her any time I want.

Suddenly, her bird pecks at the window. Perhaps…..

I internally groan, I absolutely hate haunting animals, hteir inferior intelligence annoys me. But, do I really have a choice? At least ravens are reasonable smart. I si\wim straight for the bird and slip inside her.

*
Master is talking to pale-man-who-is-more-than-he-seems and coward-boy-who-acts-brave. Me-Cressida sees outside and wants to fly. Me-Cressida pecks at wall-that-is-there but-not-seeable and Master looks at me-Cressida and at man-who-is-no-longer. Man-who-is-no-longer flies-floats towards me and smiles. He whispers in my ear, ^^ You-Cressida, let man-who-is-no-longer share body-shell with you-Cressida, so me-man-who-is-no-longer can help Master fly free.^^ Me-cressida replies ^^ If it helps master, then you-man-who-is-no-longer can join me-cressida.^^ Me-Cressida goes backwards-retreats and man-who-is-no-longer takes over.

I flap down and perch on Miss Quinn’s shoulder. From here I can sit and preen my feathers and squawk, until she is alone and then we can have a nice talk about her palns.
Prodigies can very quickly learn what other people have already figured out; geniuses discover that which no one has ever previously discovered. Prodigies learn; geniuses do.”

― John Green




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I've switched to first person


Franziska

I danced and I sung and I screamed and I lived in the music. I cried and I laughed in it too. I put my soul into the magic of music and out flew pure notes. I played in my own little world for hours, feeling the thrill of the notes.

But the coldness of night and the lack of light slowly leaked in and shattered the dream. As the sunset I placed down my pipe and stopped playing. Coming out of the trance, I was surprised about how substantial the pile of coins in front of me had become. I scooped them up in my hand and deposited them in my pocket, along with the first coin.

As I looked up, I noticed a boy – rather a young man – with pale skin despite the flour that decorated it and reddy-brown hair peering nervously down at me. Obviously taking my noticing him as an invitation, he came and sat down beside me. He tore a chunk from a loaf he was carrying and handed it to me. At first I could not understand his sudden generosity after all the pitiful amount I had received form this city. Then I remembered my pocket full of coins. As I reached into grab one, he mumbled “So, um, uh, where you from?"

Ignoring his question, I handed him the coin. Looking at me in surprise, he took the coin, studied it for a moment before placing it back in my hand. He closed fingers over it saying, “No really, the bread is a gift.”

I took a tentative bite of the chunk of bread and my hunger melted away in my mouth. The bread was grainy and thick and was still a little warm. I gave him a nod of gratitude and took another bit. Again he repeated his question again, this time with more confidence, “So, where are you from?"

I paused for a moment to think, before replying, “I can’t remember” Between mouthfuls i asked him, "And you?"
Prodigies can very quickly learn what other people have already figured out; geniuses discover that which no one has ever previously discovered. Prodigies learn; geniuses do.”

― John Green




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Jareth

The girl, Quinn, opened her heart just like that. Maybe she was provoked by his words, maybe she was just keeping it inside for too long.. Either way, he didn't quite expect it. One could say that was why he agreed.
That one would be wrong, he thought to himself as he finished his short speech about them all needing each other. To tell the truth, in the strange state he was, he really did need them to find Althea, or at least to be there and pull him back to reality when he gets lost in time and space. What will he do with them after his little apprentice is safe? He didn't really know.
The proper thing, seeing what his position was, would be to inform the Time Masters. But they could see everything happening, and if they haven't reacted yet, Jareth guessed, they were probably too busy with their own war even to care about the Questers' rebellion. He wondered which side he should take if it does come to the battle between the Masters and other travelers. Which side would other Clocks take?

Seeing how most of them became Clocks, probably the side of the Questers. And still, Time Masters would win. Jareth knew that, because, unless his family gets really weak and reduced to a small number, one move of their hand could swipe away a whole generation of people. Changing the course of history, of course, and by it threatening their own dimension, but they'd do it anyway. Jareth knew it better than anyone - Time Masters are cruel and cold, they don't care about anyone but themselves, observe but never act to save those who needn't to be saved, pull the strings from the shadows and manipulate everything and everyone. He had those qualities too, though he was sure no one around could quite tell. If he stopped acting at least a bit caring, some of them would most certainly suspect him to be more than just a Clock.

Alex said something about finding a starting point to look for Althea, but Jareth couldn't focus. Everything around him was still clear, but the sounds mixed into dull background noise, and he suddenly felt terribly vunerable. He couldn't sense anything - even the auras of the two Questers seemed transparent, and for the first time ever, he couldn't see the possible futures. He could see nothing, really, nothing but what was there, and that made him feel more scared than a thousand thoughts of war.

In the next moment, everything came back. All the senses, all the auras, all the voices, and even the lights seemed brighter. As if he's suddenly turned into a giant magnet, he could feel the time travelers all around, so far that he was sure he could tell who's passing the Canal right that second, and when is he going to come back. Aria's strength was still in London, but far enough so he knew he didn't have to worry. And there was another one, a Clock with the aura stronger than any other Jareth could feel in this dimension, yet somehow strange. Jareth had a good idea of who it might be, and didn't quite wish to go and look for him - he was sure both had better things to do.

The sensations turned normal again. Alex and Quinn, people around them, he could see and feel the same way as always before. Not too weak to follow, not too strong to handle.
He frowned, feeling another Clock, much closer, and eyed the raven on Quinn's shoulder. Clocks rarely chose to be in shapes of animals, and he didn't know much who could change appearance anyway. This one had something Jareth recognized, but couldn't quite place, so he quickly smiled at the raven.

Quinn gave him a strange look, as Alex and her continued to talk about the ways to find and save Althea, and Jareth started feeling strange again. Not bad strange, though, this time. That sudden rush of everything that he experienced before, that wasn't what he was used to. It was hard and painful and too much, but it was the strongest thing he felt yet. And until the last days, he didn't even know how powerful he might be - nor how much he actually likes it.
*
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Quinn,

The fact that Jareth, a Clock, has decided to help us, albeit with conditions, is incredible, I can't help but smile. Oddly, Jareth does too, though not at me. His quick grin is directed towards...Cressida? I'm momentarily confused, but then I'm distracted by Alex discussing how we are to find Althea, Jareth's young charge. I rejoin the conversation.

"Jareth," I begin, but he doesn't seem to be listening. His eyes are both unfocused and sharp, seeming to take in everything, and as we watch his body seems to expand slightly, like he's standing up taller. Alex and I glance at each other. Seems to happen a lot, I think wryly to myself.

"Jareth," I say again, and this time his head snaps in my direction.

"What?" He asks, not angrily, but powerfully, and for the first time, I fully realize what I've gotten myself into. I take a deep breath.

"You're a Clock," I say carefully, "So doesn't that mean you can feel other Clocks? Like you felt Aria?"

Jareth gives a nod, "That is true, but the sense is limited, not least because of the number of Clocks currently in London, and because of the distance between me and Althea."

I press on, "But Althea is special to you," Jareth's brow furrows, but I brush him aside, "Don't pretend, it's obvious. Doesn't she, of all people, feel different to you, like you could pick her out of anywhere, any time?"

Alex nods next to me, seeing where I'm going, and for the first time, Jareth looks slightly doubtful. The look is gone in an instant, however.

"We could walk the streets," I say, "And see if you can feel her."

Jareth conceeds, and we step out the door, back into the busy London street. Further down, the remnants of the car is still smoldering, as are the buildings behind it. Cressida doesn't fly like ususal, but stays on my shoulder and nips my ear, harder than necessary. I brush her off, but she does it again.

"You damn bird," I snap, swatting at her. She quorks happily and flies up and few feet and then down back to my shoulder. Before I can stop her, she dips her head into my pocket and yanks out on of the bracelets. One of the hard-earned fruits of my Questing. Since the rebellion is started, I shouldn't care about this, but I went through a lot for that goddamn jewelry and I won't let Cressida drop it down some drain.

"Be right back," I mutter to Alex and Jareth, and they nod, and keep walking. I wind back through the crowds, following Cressida. She leads me down a back alley and lands on a wooden crate full of rotten cabbages.

Spoiler
Veni, I didn't know where you wanted to go with Lyn and Quinn (haha they rhyme!!), so I left it open...
And remember...A portkey can be any sort of harmless object...A football...or a dolphin.
~Snape, AVPM

"You are the egg, you are the chrysalis, you are the progeny. You are the rot that falls from stars."
~Will Henry, on Typhoeus magnificum




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Aksel Wolf
"I translate books."

As soon as I had finished my sentence there was a loud bang that shook the building and nearly knocked me from my feet. I offered Ms Grey my hand and helped her up, and then I smelled it. Smoke.

"Fire!" Someone shouted, and then there was panic. People ran out on the street, where I could here more loud bangs. I didn't understand what was going on, and when I looked out from the door I saw a woman, dressed in modern clothes, shooting fire form her hands. She turned into another street and disappeared around a corner.

"We need to get out," I told Ms Grey and held the door open for her. Smoke was quickly filling up the tavern, and the heat was rising.

She hesitated and glanced up the staircase, the face she was making was heartbreaking, but then she quickly turned and hurried outside.

We watched the building burn, when she said: "I have all my things in my room. All my money."

I looked from her, to the building and back again. "Where's your room?"

"Where's your room?" I asked calmly. She explained it to me in a monotonous voice, probably in shock, then she seemed to realize what I was going to do and caught hold of my arm. I pulled loose. "Where do you keep your important things?"

"Please, don't. You'll get yourself killed."

"God will not let me die yet. I still haven't repented for all my crimes." Would I ever be done repenting? No. The answer was clear. Nothing could ever make up for what I had done.

She seemed confused, very confused. "The top drawer, in a box."

"Watch this for me," I said and sat down my trunk.

I nodded and ran back into the building. The first floor still seemed alright, no flames, but much smoke. I found a scarf hanging over a chair and held it up over my nose and face, then I continued up the stairs. It was hotter there, and the smoke made it difficult to see.

I managed to find her room, keeping my head as low as I could, and felt the doorknob carefully. It wasn't hot, so I opened the door. The chest of drawers were at the far wall. I pulled the first drawer and found the box. It didn't feel right to open it, so I took the whole box.

When I was about to exit the room there was a shriek of wood breaking, and a part of the ceiling collapsed into the hallway. I couldn't go back that way. I closed the door to the room, in an attempt to keep the flames out, and opened the window. I was on the second floor, and no acrobat. I had no idea how I would get down from here without breaking something.

A normal person would probably have panicked at this point, but after two hundred years I was beyond feeling afraid, or even surprised. Though I had to admit, this situation made my day a bit more interesting.

I looked at the bed sheet and decided that it was the only way. I quickly tore it in three strips and tied them together. Then I tied one end around a bedpost, pulled the bed closer to the window and climbed out. The last bit I had to jump, and my landing was far from graceful, but my bones was intact.

"Here you go," I said and handed the box to Ms Grey after rounding the building.

I looked down at my clothes. They were slightly wrinkled, and smelled of soot and smoke. My fathers words came back to me, as they always did when I didn't look neat. A man who can't even keep his shirt unwrinkled does not deserve the right to wear one. Not the best saying, but enough to etch itself into my brain.
“Are you looking for sympathy? You'll find it in the dictionary between shit and syphilis”
― Thomas Harris




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Beth

"Here you go."
He handed her the box, and she just stood there, feeling numb. Here you go? That's it? He just entered a burning building to get some stranger's stuff, and he says it as if he's shopkeeper giving her the change back.
"Thank you," she said after a while. "You could have gotten killed."
He shook his head, again repeating the thing about God not letting him die yet. Beth didn't understand that. He took his trunk again, and she followed him away from the building. He seemed lost in his thoughts.
"Mr Wolf? I don't believe you."
He froze, turning to face her. The wind carried ashes over the street; it seemed like snow, gray and born from fire.
"What do you mean?" He asked carefully. She held tight to her box, and smiled a little smile.
"When you say you yet have to repent some crimes of yours," she said. "If you're like this wherever you come, I don't even know what crimes you're talking about."
He stayed serious.
"I would rather not talk about it, Ms Grey."
She gave him a long look. She didn't like to talk about her past either - it was sometimes too hard, and she didn't like to cry in front of people.
"You should call me Elisabeth," she said. "Or just Beth, though that makes me feel a bit like you're.. Anyone else." She looked away, sighed and turned her eyes back to him again. She was pretty sure he didn't notice it before, as he didn't have eyes there, but on the back of his suit there were holes Burt through. "We should find you new clothes. There's a shop round the corner, not very expensive, and they have nice suits. Or do you have them in your trunk?"
I talk too much.
"No," he said slowly, "I don't think I have another one."
Beth's eyebrow furred.

She stopped at the shop she mentioned, and he held the door for her. Entering, she nodded to the owner, and she observed Aksel in a business way.
"What did you do to this one, Beth, set him on fire?" She grinned, figuring she just made an incredibly witty metaphor. Beth blushed and looked away.

They left the store half an hour later, Aksel in nice new dark suit and Beth as a winner in their let-me-buy-you-a-dress argument. There was no more ashes now, and the fire was already probably taken care of, but she didn't feel like going back. There was nothing she could do anyway, nothing but to comfort her other girls. Others who lost their homes just like she did. Beth could almost feel tears in her eyes - she will have to spend the money now. She will have to find herself new place to live, and save for food..
"Are you alright?"
She nodded in reply, hugging herself. She wasn't cold, but it was already getting darker and she knew she'll be freezing soon enough. She's always freezing in the nights outside - whenever she's alone, that is.
Her legs led her to the orphanage, but Aksel stopped her at a crossroad.
"Where will you go now?" He asked. Why does he care for me? I'm nobody.
"My son lives there," she showed him the building, and he seemed a bit surprised. Of course he was; she was young to have a son old enough to live somewhere without her, and besides, he probably couldn't see a reason for her not living in that place with him. Like many others, Beth believed, Aksel was a person who thought that the Sisters will just provide sanctuary to anyone who asks. Well, Beth did ask. And obviously, she wasn't there.
Wanting only to change the subject, she pointed at his trunk.
"What do you keep in there, then? Secrets? Corpse?"
He seemed unease about it.
"Will you tell me what you have in your box?"
She smiled, teasingly, though she didn't feel like smiling at all. Then she opened the box, smiling at the sight of the old necklace her missing lover had given her, and took out a photo of Ben. He was very little then, barely two, and she looked slightly more cheerful. And with more flesh on her bones.
Aksel observed the photo for a long time, with a strange expression in his eyes. Beth almost imagined him crying, but stopped herself. She didn't want to see him cry, and especially not to make him cry.

"Hey," she said, "are you alright?"
"I had a son too," he muttered. "What's his name?"
"Benjamin." She said, feeling strange to talk about him. No other man, including his father, never knew that she's a mother. "Ben, that is. If I may ask.. had?"
He gave her the picture back, avoiding her eyes.
"His name is John," he said. "I haven't seen him for a long time now."
That subject seemed to be the first thing that really made him show any emotions, and Beth felt guilty for making him remember... Whatever it was that he remembered. He looked at her hand as she put the picture back in the box.
"You.. Eh.. Are you.. Married?"
She smiled. She liked him that way, he seemed younger and more, well, human, when he was confused or sad. She liked feeling protective rather than to be the one protected.
"I was never married," she said. "Ben never met his father."
He didn't ask, but she knew what must have been his untold question. Go ahead, ask. If you don't ask, I will not tell you. But yes, I did know his father. More than that, even..
"I loved him." She was barely aware that she spoke out loud. "He left the same year he came, and never returned." Why, just why am I telling him that?
He seemed as if he's struggling with himself, staring at the box in her hands. She knew he was thinking about the photo - about Ben, and probably about the other boy, John, as well. She just had to try and say it.

"I.. Suppose you could meet him." She looked away again, not wanting to read from his eyes that he's about to go home and leave her to go back to her life. Idiot, she said to herself, what did you think will happen now? You didn't have to do anything and he saved your stuff, so you should be the one to walk away and leave the man alone.
"I'd love to."
*
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Demetheus

"So, where are you from?" the girl asked me.

I mentally cringed. Why, out of all the questions I could have asked, did I have to ask the one I was completely uncomfortable with answering? I sighed. My awkwardness had gotten me into another hole again. I could see she didn't quite trust me, and I knew that if she was going to I had to answer truthfully.

"I'm from a place far away from here," I answered, looking down at my beat-up jacket, now covered in flour. "It was suppose to be a better place. I'm glad I'm not there anymore."

She couldn't expect much more out of me. I had never told anyone about my home, or my parents, not even about my brother. That would have required trust, and I had learned to trust no one. After a moment of silence, I spoke again.

"Do you really not know?" I winced visibly and my bluntness. I quickly asked another question, hoping to cover up my awkwardness. "What's your name?"

She looked a little confused, but nodded before answering. "I'm Franziska. Who are you?"

I smiled at her. "Demetheus. Do you have a quest?"



But there was no goat man, there was NEVER any goat man!
— OSP Red