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[Audio]

Do people often have trouble communicating with spirits with whom they have no preexisting elemental affinity? I was hoping to expand my magical abilities, but I'd swear even Hyt was easier to contact than- AAAAAAAAAARGH!

[End audio feed. Oh dear.

Action

People walking by house 9 right as Cecil starts to talk to the journal get to see him on the roof, pushing the snow down on the lawn. Some book in the library warned him that it could damage the house, and one can never be too careful. Besides, such an easy task should only take a few minutes, right?

...People walking by house 9 right as his message ends get to see him proven wrong, as he somehow manages to slip and fall face first into the large pile of snow he just removed. Help?]

Kain Highwind has returned to his world.

[His world; not his home. Not for another seventeen years, barring a miracle or some sort of alternate universe, and with no letters to compensate for that absence, either.

Cecil would like to stop writing there, to pretend the letters on the page are not shakier than usual, but he cannot allow himself to be so irresponsible either, considering the state of the house.]

I have too much food for a single person, now, and I'd rather not see it go to waste. Should you want any, please come to house nine. Some of it is already prepared, if that is more convenient for you.

[There, now that's enough. He just hopes that part will soon be over with. Hiding from the world for a few days sounds better every time he thinks about it.]

[Action

Should anyone be visiting the item shop in the morning or early afternoon, they'll be graced with the presence of a paladin! ...Which would normally be an extremely banal and commonplace event, but today said paladin happens to be a) turning the whole place upside down while looking for something, b) muttering some nasty curses that are directed at the items available in the shop, not at its patrons, promise, and c) wearing a long-sleeved turtleneck shirt over his mouth that happens to muffle most of point b). In the middle of July, if one must be reminded.

Some weeks, waking up is just not worth it.]

[Voice

The journal message comes later during the day, weary-sounding and still slightly muffled by that turtleneck.]

Would anyone be kind enough to help me find a razor? My visit to the item shop was... very fruitless. I'd owe you a favor in return, of course.

[Written

The message appears at midday, short and sweet.]

Would anyone like to ride an airship today?

[Action

Cecil cannot offer a real airship ride, of course. The Malnosso are not nearly that generous. But he's learned quite a few tricks with the Batlle Dome over the last two years, and he's now adding the last details to what he believes will be an adequate simulation. He has enough faith in it to share it with others at least, but the program still needs some final polishing.

Not that he minds. Better to work on that than to remind himself that he might be forty now.]

[Today, on the roof of house 9, there is a Cecil. A Cecil that is quite possibly staring at you, wondering where you came from, and pondering whether to invite you in for lunch. Bother?]

[Written]

What sort of weapons do you trust the most? Weapons you've bought? Weapons you've found? Weapons you've received? Weapons you've created?

Or do you not trust weapons at all?

[Action]

[After that kind of question, you'd think Cecil would be in the smithy looking at the blades, or in the Battle Dome using them.

He isn't. He's in the library, watching the snow fall through one of the windows, with a complete lack of actual weapons on his person. The book he's holding might have something to do with the subject, though.]

[Voice; mid-afternoon]

Tell me your favorite color. Be as precise as you wish; I know my shades well, and I need the practice.

[Action;

What exactly he needs to practice will become obvious to anyone present in the plaza after sunset. The fountain is now the center of a circle of lines and patterns of light on the ground. It's not quite large enough to reach the tunnel entrance, but it shifts and changes as Cecil walks around, concentrating. One moment the stones are decorated with red and orange flames; the next, those flames are replaced by criss-crossed lines of white and blue. The show ends at midnight, but he'll happily take requests until then, if anyone has them.]

[Good afternoon, Luceti. Today sure is cold and windy. Who would keep the windows open in those conditions?

Someone in house 9, apparently. Someone in house 9's kitchen, as a matter of fact, as the smell of roasting beef carried by the wind is any indication. And yes, that would be the smell of roasting beef, for once, not burning or smoldering or undercooking or screaming beef. Yes, yes, that is indeed a miracle.

Why, Cecil's so proud of it, he might even offer some to whoever comes up to him and asks for a taste! ...Once they've satisfactorily explained what they're doing in his kitchen, of course.]

Are chocolate-covered almonds safe for squirrels to eat?

[For a man asking such a simple question, Cecil sounds rather worried. Or is that in pain?]

Also, are there any known illnesses amongst the wild animal population? Specifically, illnesses that could be transmitted through cuts or bites?

[...Well. Doesn't that sounds nice? People walking around the forest near the Battle Dome might even find him sitting on a tree branch, holding a bag of those chocolate-covered almonds and doing his best to turn down a small army of squirrels gently. It's not working.]

...If I must truly be affected, I suppose I have no choice to accept it. The ability to fly again is appreciated, though I would prefer it without the balance issues.

[Cecil's voice is soft, slightly tinged with annoyance, and most of all feminine. Yep, a return to the very first experiment he lived through.

Also, as he speaks: plic plic flop plic flop plic plic plic plic flop plic flop plic plic plic. Flop flop plic plic plic flop plic flop flop flop plic plic flop plic plic plic.]

However, I have to wonder where these gems and flowers come from. They do look quite lovely, but I doubt anyone here has a use for them. ...Unless anyone would like to make jewelry out of them?

[Flop flop plic plic flop flop plic plic flop flop plic plic. Plic plic plic plic flop flop plic flop plic plic plic flop flop plic plic. Flop plic flop flop plic plic flop plic flop flop. Okay, perhaps a voice post was a bad idea.

Thus, for the rest of the event, a swan can be seen flying around the village, looking surprisingly not aggressive. Approach?]

((ooc: Cecil is now a swan maiden! Again! (13th century version, after the association with valkyries. Again.) However, he's also affected by the Diamond and Toads fairy tale. Who wants pretty rocks?))

Rosa Farrell has left Luceti.

[It comes abruptly, harshly, flatly. Cecil does not sound in terrible pain as he did the last time he had to make such an announcement. In fact, he sounds very much as though he's forgotten how to inflect.]

...She's left roses and notes for everyone she's met here. Please come pick them up when you have the time.

[That's all he has the energy to say.]

[action; evening]

[At around nine or so, a particularly tired-looking Cecil shows up at Good Spirits. He proceeds to look around for anyone he knows, sit down at the bar, and request a single teaspoon of thirty-nine random bottles of liquor. Yes, thirty-nine. What, it's a meaningful number.

Feel free to tell him this is a very bad idea. It truly needs to be said, even if he probably won't listen.]

[voice; ungodly hour of the night]

[...Definitely won't listen.]

It appears teleporting after ingesting alcohol is slightly more complicated than I believed it would be. To think that I once thought I could cast that spell somewhat decently. I suppose I deserved to learn otherwise on a rainy night, of all times.

[A pause.]

Would anyone be kind enough to help me get down from this tree?

[Well. Well. Now, Cecil has admitted not paid too much attention to the village's population recently, due to numerous events, but he's quite certain there weren't that many people in the streets the day before, and he's also quite certain this is a bad thing. Surely there cannot be enough homes for all these New Feathers?

Luckily, no one's landed on the house's roof yet. That's why he's using it as his observation point.]

[As far as accidental voice messages go, this one is simple enough.

All that can be heard is the journal falling to the ground, and Cecil screaming in pain.

One cannot be expected to take the sudden and brutal loss of a somewhat telepathic father-son connection gracefully, after all.]

[On this lovely first day of winter, Cecil Harvey can be caught anywhere between the plaza and Community Housing 3. Don't hesitate to call out to him, he'll be more than happy to chat! Well, at least until he leaves to finish delivering his son's birthday package.

And by 'package', we mean 'two dirty magazines wrapped in festive ribbons'.

...Um.]

[The feed starts with the sound of the journal hitting something. Something apparently somewhat crunchy yet squishy, considering the noise it makes as it dies. The journal also catches the very voice of fury.]

That prediction said 'your next shower', damn it all! 'Shower'! Not 'showers'!

[...That prediction also said some other very interesting things, mind you, as the journal shows.

Pisces(?)/Aries(??)
Your dementia finally gets you somewhere.
Do us a favor, get the surgery. Please.
Next Career: Satanic Guidance Counselor
Your next shower will be interrupted by a large mildly poisonous insect.]

[Luceti, Cecil has a question for you.]

Which would be easier to prepare: a roast, a stew or a meat pie?

[...Along with one that is slightly less horrifying.]

Also, after a mission, would you rather take the immediate rewards or the points we can trade? Those patches that can hide us from the droids look useful, but that '80%' of theirs is far from reassuring.

[The writing is rushed, and filled with small irregularities that betray the slight shaking of a hand. The letters are deeply imprinted in the paper, obviously due to the writer's panic.

Few are those who could recognize Cecil Harvey's handwriting in such a state.]

It is coming. It is coming, and if we do not stop it it will ~~eat~~ ~~consume~~ crush us. The world will grow cold from the lack of sunlight~~, grow cold and burning from their powers unleashed~~. Terrible winds will rip apart anything that stands in their way. Plants will die; animals will die; only monsters will remain, stronger and more numerous than anything we have seen. Thousands of meteors will fall, and their mere presence will cause the soil to rot beneath our feet. Our minds will be affected by its very presence, maddened by its power. We must go to it, enter it and change its course. ~~Its bowels would be safer than the surface, if those bowels exist.~~ There must be a way.

~~If prayers can be heard from beyond worlds~~

~~I am sorry. I am terribly sorry.~~

[And finally, an inkblot large enough to cover a few words.]

[The feed starts with a crash, though the impact is rather muffled. It sounds as though the journal fell on grass, with perhaps a small rock or two, but it's hard to tell for certain. The whole view being blocked by stained blue and white armor doesn't help.]

...Well, that could have gone better. Perhaps if I waited more time between the spells- No, that'd ruin the effect...

[The armor finally moves away, as Cecil sits up and turns around and- oh. Of all the times for the journal to turn on, and of all the times for him to be dishevelled and dirty.]

Lovely. I hope not too many of you were paying attention, though I'd not bet on that.

[He grabs the journal and closes it.]

[Between Rosa's and Fusoya's arrivals, Cecil is in a good mood. A very good mood. In fact, he's in such high spirits that he's finally decided to rid his room of all those plushies he won in Lucetiland. (...Except for the ones Rosa wants to keep, that is.) And what better way to do so than giving them away?

Therefore, he can be seen offering them to passersby anywhere in the village, anytime during the day. He has monsters, people, even a few items, and if any catch your eye he'll do his very best to give them you. He'll even offer them to the most reluctant villagers, and needle them about it for hours if he has to. He has nothing better to do!

...Well, mostly. Later in the evening, he'll be very deliberately looking for Golbez and Valvalis, no matter how long it takes. Separately, mind you. And it might not be for a purely social visit...]

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Cecil Harvey

February 2014

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Page generated Jul. 5th, 2025 08:40 pm

Lives tied by the deepest of bonds

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