For maybe the first time in his life, Darlington feels completely out of place. He's been in situations before that were new, frightening, uncanny, but he's always felt like he could fall back on his intelligence, his charm, his breadth of knowledge. Lethe prepared him for much, but not for this, not for an entirely different world. Certainly not for a world that looks like this.
The mark down his throat puts him at a disadvantage, one he's not used to, and it makes him cautious. There's magic at work, certainly, and he doesn't know the rules yet, doesn't have a Virgil to explain it to him. He watches the city flick past in the window, watching passengers as they come and go, noting the way they interact with each other, the pairs of Dominants and Submissives. He doesn't know the rules of the magic, but he's learning the rules of the society.
Turning to the person next to him, he smiles, doing an excellent job of pretending he feels comfortable, even in his paper gown. "Not quite the welcome wagon I would wish for, but the views are spectacular."
ask me about x
Even the shabbiest of Yale's dorms is a world away from the flophouse Darlington is being housed in. He'd happily attend the orientation only to escape the motel. More than that, though, he wants answers. He's not stupid enough to think their captors will willingly provide them, but neither does he think he'll get any keeping to himself. The orientation itself is tedious, the afterparty...unexpected.
Darlington finds himself wearing a long t-shirt reading "Ask me about that night at Manuscript." He knows it doesn't mean anything here where no one knows about Manuscript or Lethe or Galaxy Stern, but his cheeks burn with shame as he's handed his own clipboard, and he avoids looking at the shirt as much as possible. Perhaps he can quickly ask three people about their shirts without having to answer for his own.
Anyway, no one said he had to tell the truth when questioned.
on a flip side
Darlington is not the sort to refuse participation out of spite, but there are some things he's not prepared to divulge to strangers, so eventually he'd taken the shirt and turned it inside out, keeping his statement hidden. Apparently this is frowned upon because the next thing he knows, he's ushered into a smaller room and forced into a massive shirt with a stranger.
the long way around
Darlington has never been much for cologne, and he does have to wonder why there are so many scents being advertised around the motel when its inhabitants can't possibly afford to buy them.
He arrives at the train station smelling of patchouli and pear, and trying to shake off the feeling he's let a ward down somewhere.
[ooc: Feel free to throw a wildcard at him. Will match format.]
Daniel Tabor Arlington V | Ninth House | Submissive
For maybe the first time in his life, Darlington feels completely out of place. He's been in situations before that were new, frightening, uncanny, but he's always felt like he could fall back on his intelligence, his charm, his breadth of knowledge. Lethe prepared him for much, but not for this, not for an entirely different world. Certainly not for a world that looks like this.
The mark down his throat puts him at a disadvantage, one he's not used to, and it makes him cautious. There's magic at work, certainly, and he doesn't know the rules yet, doesn't have a Virgil to explain it to him. He watches the city flick past in the window, watching passengers as they come and go, noting the way they interact with each other, the pairs of Dominants and Submissives. He doesn't know the rules of the magic, but he's learning the rules of the society.
Turning to the person next to him, he smiles, doing an excellent job of pretending he feels comfortable, even in his paper gown. "Not quite the welcome wagon I would wish for, but the views are spectacular."
ask me about x
Even the shabbiest of Yale's dorms is a world away from the flophouse Darlington is being housed in. He'd happily attend the orientation only to escape the motel. More than that, though, he wants answers. He's not stupid enough to think their captors will willingly provide them, but neither does he think he'll get any keeping to himself. The orientation itself is tedious, the afterparty...unexpected.
Darlington finds himself wearing a long t-shirt reading "Ask me about that night at Manuscript." He knows it doesn't mean anything here where no one knows about Manuscript or Lethe or Galaxy Stern, but his cheeks burn with shame as he's handed his own clipboard, and he avoids looking at the shirt as much as possible. Perhaps he can quickly ask three people about their shirts without having to answer for his own.
Anyway, no one said he had to tell the truth when questioned.
on a flip side
Darlington is not the sort to refuse participation out of spite, but there are some things he's not prepared to divulge to strangers, so eventually he'd taken the shirt and turned it inside out, keeping his statement hidden. Apparently this is frowned upon because the next thing he knows, he's ushered into a smaller room and forced into a massive shirt with a stranger.
the long way around
Darlington has never been much for cologne, and he does have to wonder why there are so many scents being advertised around the motel when its inhabitants can't possibly afford to buy them.
He arrives at the train station smelling of patchouli and pear, and trying to shake off the feeling he's let a ward down somewhere.
[ooc: Feel free to throw a wildcard at him. Will match format.]