nexus_crossings | UGLY SWETTER CONTESt

UGLY SWETTER CONTESt

Harrowheart has fashioned himself some kind of lumpy snow chair, where he sits next to a sign of questionable literacy and gets busy smoking a cigarette. One of many, judging by the number of butts in the snow near his armrest. His phone sits on his lap playing various holiday songs from worlds across the multiverse. If the mixup is to be trusted, there are a lot of worlds listening to Mariah Carey.

In dripping red paint the sign behind him reads 'UGLY SWETTER CONTEST'.

Does that explain why he's dressed in a gaudy red-and-green sweater with a misshapen reindeer sewn to the front? Maybe, but you never know with him and fashion. When he moves, the googly eyes on the poor deer's face jiggle and its pom-pom nose flops sadly. Along one arm someone has embroidered 'HAVE A HAPPY,' and on the opposite, 'WINTERVEIL.'

He watches people pass and now again decides to explain, "Where I come from, when it's Winterveil – which it is right now – folks got this tradition of wearin' ugly sweaters and singin' songs. I probably ain't goin' home this Winterveil, but I kinda miss seein' that, y'know? So I got a proposition for ya: Show me your ugliest sweater, and I'll give you somethin' to make it worth your while. Deal?"

((This is a real contest with real art prizes! Be sure to check the OOC thread for details and to lodge your official entry. In this thread, remember to provide a link to an image of your ugly sweater! Images are necessary, text won't cut it. You may participate IC with as many characters as you want, but only one character of your choosing may be your official entry. RP in this thread is not time-sensitive, but entrance and voting is. Enter by December 28th!

In this thread all of you are encouraged to go around making fun of each other's sweaters and generally sharing some holiday reverie. Exchange gifts, drink, talk about your characters' worlds' holidays, do whatever you degenerates do when given free reign to roleplay.))

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Harrow takes a drag on his cigarette and laughs a puff of smoke at her description of their winter god. "Sounds like Iamme would like Reynard. He's our resident winter spirit. Older guy, real proud of his mustache. If he likes ya, he might teach ya a little frost magic. If he doesn't..." He's chuckling again with a shrug of his shoulders. Vague badness it is, then!

He motions to himself then and says, "I'm somethin' called a worgen, but don't worry about that. It just means I look human some of the time. Somethin' tells me you're not askin' what a human is, though." He pauses for a brief nod of understanding. "I'm a death knight, too. Undead. They got those where you come from?"

"One will never say no to the learning of new magic, no guarantee that I will be able to use it of course." Still very interesting to learn, all information is good information in Paladin's book. The trick is finding out what is actually useful and what isn't. "And if not, I do appreciate a good mustache." They can look so distinguished, and they tickle!

Midnight black fingers steeple together as she takes in this information and paws through her own to come up with a response. Oh. Yes. Right.

"When a Paladin falls from grace and dies before seeking atonement dark powers can transform them into hateful, undead creatures." This person does not look hateful, nor is Paladin's sword buzzing so: "it does not seem to fit your description."

When they're through speaking Harrowheart laughs. At the mustache joke? Or something else? He doesn't make it clear immediately, but smashes the butt of his nearly-dead cigarette into the armrest of his snow chair. That's when he thinks to stand and offer his seat up with a sweeping motion of his arm.

"Paladins make the best death knights where I come from, too. That's what they say, anyway. Somethin' about turnin' their conviction in the Light into hatred for the livin'."

A few seconds pass before he asks, as casually as he can, "What about me doesn't fit that description?" Harrowheart, are you fishing for compliments?...

"Well that's ominous," the horned creature remarks dryly. "How did you become a Death Knight?" That's probably a better question than 'why' and much more polite than 'then why aren't you mascaraing all those around you?'

Different worlds, different behaviors, more questions need to be asked in order to establish what exactly the Tiefling should be cautious of.

"The fact that you aren't trying to murder me," is the honest answer here. "The lack of blacked armor and glowing blood red eyes for another..."

He grunts thoughtfully at everything they've got to say. Red eyes? Interesting. Black armor? Hmm.

"You know this place – the Nexus – has an anti-violence field, right? Even if I wanted to kill someone here, I don't think I could. It's nice, if you ask me. A nice change. Real different from my world."

He waits a few more seconds before he brings himself back to their original question. "I wasn't a paladin, if that's what you're really askin'. I was just a soldier who died. They decided I was strong enough to be worth raising, so they raised me."

He nods at the Tiefling then, more specifically at their sword, and asks, "You a paladin, yourself?"

"I had heard that but I had forgotten about it. Much like your world mine does not have such a shield." That doesn't really assuage any potential fears over not being murdered by him. "So if there was no shield prohibiting you to do such a thing you would make that attempt?"

Just in case they run into one another grabbing coffee on a different plane.

"How do you feel about that, your second chance at life?" Paladin had never really had a chance to ask an undead person how they felt about the whole thing. Of course they don't usually have the brains or awareness to actually have an opinion on the matter.

"Indeed," a slight bow in acknowledgement and greeting. "My name is Paladin, it is nice to meet you."

"Make that attempt?" he repeats incredulously and punctuates it with a small laugh. "On you? For no reason? Not anymore. Undead gotta function in society somehow, right? We can't go around killin' everyone it strikes our fancy to kill. We got enemies, sure, but we got allies, too. Livin' folk are both, sometimes."

Little bit of an ominous conversation to be having in a sweater featuring a misshapen deer whose eyes are googly and suspiciously placed over the nipples, but what is (un)life without a little contradiction?

"So how do I feel about it?" He looks down thoughtfully, eyebrows knit, mouth shifting side to side. Eventually he looks up, eyebrows raised, and admits, "It's been a real long time since anyone asked me. I think folks find it rude to ask. To tell the truth? It's shit. Not at first, really, but all the little things add up. All the details you don't think about right away. But... Still, I think it's better than bein' dead? So there's always that."

He smiles then, perhaps slightly forced until he speaks. "Paladin. What a name. Was it always Paladin? Was it destiny?"

A slow shrug of the shoulders before hands spread wide in a gesture of either surrender or apology, maybe a little bit of both. When you're a sword everything starts looking like a fight to you. Or something like that. "Apologies, being attacked for no good reason seems to be something that I encounter a lot. You are correct, one cannot go around killing indiscriminately."

But one can try. Those googly eyes are totally unnerving just swirling around in their plastic sockets. Paladin finds herself staring at his nipples far too many times as is appropriate for a first time conversation.

"What small thing?" Black eyes jerk back up to his face and soften slightly. "If you would not like to speak about it I would understand - I do not mean to pry." It's just, well, an opportunity doesn't come up like this often.

"It was not always Paladin," now it is the Tiefling's turn to offer a forced smile. "It is the name I gave myself when I started down this path."

Despite the obvious strain on Paladin's face, Harrowheart's smile in return is incredibly genuine. Not amused, exactly, but comfortable. "Harrowheart's the name I took when I started down this path, too." She's in good company. Or... Perhaps bad company. Remains to be seen, doesn't it?

His smile fades to neutrality as he speaks. "Little things like everyone who knows what 'undead' means lookin' at you with suspicion. Little things like not bein' able to move on – Not just in one way, but almost every way. Little things like... Knowin' any livin' folks I learn to care about are gonna die before me. Knowin' I can only die if I'm killed, or when I kill myself. It's not so much the way things taste or how they feel or not needin' sleep, not really all those physical things most breathers think of right off the bat. It's all the future things. All the ways you're reminded that you don't belong. The consequences, I guess."

He snorts a breath that doesn't fog in the cold air. "But you're a paladin. You probably love hearin' that. Everything's all about retribution with y'all. Don't worry, there's retribution enough."

That does make things a little easier actually and she gives a brief, breathy laugh. "Why did you pick Harrowheart?" The only definition of the word she is ever heard is the farm tool.

As he speaks Paladin nods occasionally in understanding, on things dawning on the horned creature that would have never come to mind without having this conversation. "I too know what it feels like to receive looks of suspicion when I enter a new town or village," being, you know, of demonic blood and all. "It must be very difficult to feel those things, to try and find even footing when the world and your own body constantly reminds you of how you can't." Find that even footing.

A slight shake of her head, glancing down at the itchy sweater for moment before tugging at the neck. "It is true that a part of my vow was vengeance but my greater calling is to protect and to restore that which was broken or lost. That does not always mean with violence."

"Harrowheart," he says. "Because harrow means 'to harrow the land,' like for farmin'. My family's a farm family, and before I joined the Stormwind Army I was a farmer. But it also means 'to scare,' or cause distress. It was the name I chose when I was in the Scourge – real different from bein' a free-willed undead like I am now." He shrugs non-committally. It is what it is.

"I'd ask what sent you down the path of the paladin, but I got it on good authority that usually it's 'cause somethin' horrible happened. I ain't in the business of pryin' into deep questions like that. So... What is it you worship? The Holy Light? A god or goddess?"

Yeah, Paladin is familiar with the farming term but the distress part is new. "Well, do you still identify with your name with your change in will?" He is not entirely terrifying now, which is probably a good thing, Paladin thinks.

A narrow shoulder shrug and Paladin makes a sort of 'perhaps' gesture. "In my case I was simply cornered when my patron god interceded. There had been a misunderstanding between me and another gentleman over a game of cards." Yes, a misunderstanding. Right. And here is the part of the story that Paladin always uses careful language to describe.

"I have two patron gods that currently lend me aid, one is clever, the other is the Goddess of mercy and death. She, I am a bit more fond of."

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