Oh no, Archer's best and only friend.
Captain Jenno Member
Waltzing for Zizi
STATUS: "Gee Sam, this seems like the kinda case that requires the gentle, safe-cracking touch of the sociopathic, sausage-fingered freelance police." 8 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 3 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Captain Jenno
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
- Posts: 809 (0.21 / day)
- VMs: 0
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Username history
- Captain Jenno 10 yrs ago
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8 yrs ago
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"Gee Sam, this seems like the kinda case that requires the gentle, safe-cracking touch of the sociopathic, sausage-fingered freelance police."
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9 yrs ago
Blue in Dallas
Bio
Rain pattered dismally against the office’s windows, made liquid brass by the faint glow of the streetlamps below, and streaked against the glass like tears. Once, the words “Jennofski & Jennofski” had been painted in gold across these jalouises… but now there was only an outline, a ghost that had lingered, long past its time, when the acid rain had taken the rest to its grave.
The Octo P.I. could sympathise with that.
But as long as he remained, those names would never be forgotten. Not in this, the office that had been his home, his sanctuary, and his prison.
A perfectly preserved memory, kept sealed within the bell jar of personal tragedy.
OctoP.I. sighed, deeply.
“Of all the octopode's profiles in all the world… you had to read mine.”
Hi all, Jenno here! Or Captain. I'm your resident blues harpist, and part time octopode! (But let's keep that between you and me, eh? Nobody suspects a thing.)
If you want to know anything just drop me a line via DMs and I'll get right back to you!
The Octo P.I. could sympathise with that.
But as long as he remained, those names would never be forgotten. Not in this, the office that had been his home, his sanctuary, and his prison.
A perfectly preserved memory, kept sealed within the bell jar of personal tragedy.
OctoP.I. sighed, deeply.
“Of all the octopode's profiles in all the world… you had to read mine.”
Hi all, Jenno here! Or Captain. I'm your resident blues harpist, and part time octopode! (But let's keep that between you and me, eh? Nobody suspects a thing.)
If you want to know anything just drop me a line via DMs and I'll get right back to you!
Most Recent Posts
<Snipped quote by Captain Jenno>
The one who controls the Spice controls the universe
The Spice Must Jenno.
<Snipped quote by Captain Jenno>
Your name is actually Geno Jennifer.
You cannot fool me.
CURSES. And I can't even deny it, because you have control of my true name!
Archer did not go with grace and dignity, when his time to dance with a Wallmaster came. He had been putting his whole into firing back volleys against the Poe in the room with him, on the assumption that the less magically inclined of them would be fighting off those mortifying spider-hands – but when he felt the strength of one sealing itself about him, he realised how silly that assumption had been. And had he been anyone else, he didn’t doubt the fear would have winded him.
But he was Archer Anders, the biggest drama queen Castle Town ever chewed up and spat out: and he made sure everybody knew it.
In those few instants before his abductor finished wrapping its clammy digits around his mouth, Archer bellowed: "Magus, this is your fault, you useless, cucco chasin’ son of a- mmf! Mrnf!”, before being wrenched suddenly and brutally upwards and into the ceiling.
And the entire way he squirmed, kicked, and yelled into the cold, dead skin of his attacker. He tried to twist his way out of its powerful grip, to no avail, and then tried to strike a fire right there in its palm, instead, but couldn’t draw the breath. In fact, he couldn’t draw any breath. And what little energy he had, he squandered on fruitless attempts at escape.
Until, bordering on unconsciousness, he heard his brother’s words, tone-neutral and so characteristically condescending: “Be like water.”
Archer let his body fall limp.
Flump. Bang!
He felt himself drop like a sack of lumpy potatoes- surprisingly handsome potatoes, but potatoes with wounded pride- as he went crashing into the strange, soft floor of the Sheikah temple. The ground gave nicely, actually, but as he stared up, bleary-eyed at the ceiling, he realised he felt somebody’s elbow jammed into his lower-back.
Startled, Archer leapt back to his feet – then stumbled awkwardly a few steps forwards, before twisting around and igniting some frankly pitiful fires about his quivering fists. He would need to regain control of his breathing before he could conjure anything decent again, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop panting. Still, the charade went on: "Haah… back for round two, are you? This time I’ll show you how… haaah… an Anders… ah, Goddesses, you’re one’a us, aren’t you?”
Archer felt the fight leave him all at once, and he slumped back against the wall behind himself, eyeing the bars across the way. Muscles burning, an awful cloying in his mouth.
He was quiet for a moment, maybe the longest he’d been quiet in his natural born life, and then once he’d caught his breath, he gestured to the wall of bars between the pair of them and freedom.
"So, uh. I'm Archer. What’re you in for?”
But he was Archer Anders, the biggest drama queen Castle Town ever chewed up and spat out: and he made sure everybody knew it.
In those few instants before his abductor finished wrapping its clammy digits around his mouth, Archer bellowed: "Magus, this is your fault, you useless, cucco chasin’ son of a- mmf! Mrnf!”, before being wrenched suddenly and brutally upwards and into the ceiling.
And the entire way he squirmed, kicked, and yelled into the cold, dead skin of his attacker. He tried to twist his way out of its powerful grip, to no avail, and then tried to strike a fire right there in its palm, instead, but couldn’t draw the breath. In fact, he couldn’t draw any breath. And what little energy he had, he squandered on fruitless attempts at escape.
Until, bordering on unconsciousness, he heard his brother’s words, tone-neutral and so characteristically condescending: “Be like water.”
Archer let his body fall limp.
Flump. Bang!
He felt himself drop like a sack of lumpy potatoes- surprisingly handsome potatoes, but potatoes with wounded pride- as he went crashing into the strange, soft floor of the Sheikah temple. The ground gave nicely, actually, but as he stared up, bleary-eyed at the ceiling, he realised he felt somebody’s elbow jammed into his lower-back.
Startled, Archer leapt back to his feet – then stumbled awkwardly a few steps forwards, before twisting around and igniting some frankly pitiful fires about his quivering fists. He would need to regain control of his breathing before he could conjure anything decent again, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop panting. Still, the charade went on: "Haah… back for round two, are you? This time I’ll show you how… haaah… an Anders… ah, Goddesses, you’re one’a us, aren’t you?”
Archer felt the fight leave him all at once, and he slumped back against the wall behind himself, eyeing the bars across the way. Muscles burning, an awful cloying in his mouth.
He was quiet for a moment, maybe the longest he’d been quiet in his natural born life, and then once he’d caught his breath, he gestured to the wall of bars between the pair of them and freedom.
"So, uh. I'm Archer. What’re you in for?”
Gonna post for Archer tomorrow.
Sorry, sorry! We had a killer storm today so my router's been kaput for most of it. I tried tapping a post out on my phone but it was... not great. Tomorrow or my name isn't Jenno Jennofski.
Gonna post for Archer tomorrow.
"Not enough..."
In that otherwise still darkness, Zephyrus was lost in a heavy, heady thought. Not so much startled into action by this new presence as he was shocked into contemplation.
This was not so difficult a puzzle. If anything- he heard Archer’s voice remark dryly within his head- it was a junior word jumble at best.
And yet it caused him pause. How simple it would be to defeat the fool who offers oneself. It was obvious, blood was the key to this room’s test: but would offering it only make them weaker, when the temple inevitably betrayed them?
And the thought worried him. Not because of its potential, but because he’d thought it. In an instant, he had made this small puzzle into a sizable trap.
Perhaps it was true, then. Perhaps his people were not solely the people of shadow, perhaps they were also the people of blood.
He threw another glance into the blade as it swung by them. His own red-soaked image stared back at him, but did not reflect the sorrow which hovered just behind his eyes. It was hard to gauge in just an image, whether a man was weighed down by the guilt in his heart.
He waxed introspective for a few moments more, before this brief respite of personal meditation was broken by a sharp stinging in his forearm.
"Whoops."
Zephyrus suddenly drew air through his teeth, and tightened his jaw – but made no other sound. Best not to show weakness to total strangers, just yet.
He winced as he glanced down. An arrow already tainted with blood – he would need to see an apothecary as soon as they returned to town.
He opened his mouth, with the visible intent of reprimanding Jillian, before he caught his own blood slinking off into the darkness, just as that of the Gerudo had done.
"Not enough...", another rattle came, like the chittering of old bone.
Zephyrus narrowed his eyes about the place. Would they get nowhere, if not for the shedding of blood? How little Hyrule had changed. He exhaled, and threw one last cursory glance towards his own sanguineous form, before turning and taking a few steps towards that shuddering voice that dared them from the dark.
He unbound the fabric tethered about his guandao – It was useless indoors, anyway. He used it only to gauge the passage of the wind, to better practice his own magic. Zephyrus took a deep breath, and then stood with his pole’s bottom to the ground, and wordlessly he used the blade to carefully lengthen the cut Jillian had left him with. He raised the new wound to the dark, and watched as his blood drifted into the fade.
"”Sheikah blood for the Sheikah temple."
--
Archer heard Alyce’s story, but that didn’t quite mean he had _listened_ to it. The words had certainly gone in, but the few Sheikah Archer knew painted a picture of the race so drastically different that he, with his small-world, big-city sensibilities couldn’t quite picture it.
So when she was done, he did little more than smile, and flash her a tonally discordant thumbs up.
"Spooky story, but I know Sheikah – on a personal level, ya feel? – and they all seem like right honourable people. Boring, can’t hold a conversation for their lives – but they’re good. You’re good.”
He nodded sagely, arms crossed, as though this was the end of the matter.
"'sides, I can't imagine Zephyrus doin' anything that metal. Just the idea of that is crazy!”
Archer laughed at the thought, which he supposed was rather dark of him. Zephyrus would laugh too, when he heard what this one was selling. Imagine him, part of a lynch mob! Zephyrus wouldn’t so much as hurt an innocent spider – in fact he’d chastised Archer for doing just that.
Just as he began laughing, however, Magus somehow managed to ruin the entire moment in a way that certainly wouldn’t have happened if he had been in charge.
The blades, twirling scythes of almost certain doom, slowed to a stop.
"Oh hey, great work!", Archer offered with a smile – credit where credit is due.
Then things started descending from the ceiling, and there were fireballs flying everywhere.
"Oh hey, great work!", he repeated with decidedly less good will, because this was somehow Magus’ fault. Then he shoved Alyce out of the way of a Wallmaster before leaping to the side himself.
On some level he knew as a Sheikah she was probably more than capable, but on another, she looked like a bookish nerd, and book learnin’ wasn’t… fight… learnin’…
Archer didn’t have time to think of clever wordplay, but did make a note to shriek in abject horror the next chance he got – because these big, gross hand things looked like spiders, and there were few things he loathed more.
A blue fireball sailed by his head, and somewhere above a Poe was cackling in that disgusting way only Poes can.
Was that racist? He would ask Lev later. In fact, he would just cut out the middle man and apologise. Archer was no racist – not like those Zora.
In an instant, he’d wreathed both hands in fire, and began hucking crackling balls of flame back the way the Poe’s volley had come: "If you wanna pull it out and measure ‘em, I’m over here!”
In that otherwise still darkness, Zephyrus was lost in a heavy, heady thought. Not so much startled into action by this new presence as he was shocked into contemplation.
This was not so difficult a puzzle. If anything- he heard Archer’s voice remark dryly within his head- it was a junior word jumble at best.
And yet it caused him pause. How simple it would be to defeat the fool who offers oneself. It was obvious, blood was the key to this room’s test: but would offering it only make them weaker, when the temple inevitably betrayed them?
And the thought worried him. Not because of its potential, but because he’d thought it. In an instant, he had made this small puzzle into a sizable trap.
Perhaps it was true, then. Perhaps his people were not solely the people of shadow, perhaps they were also the people of blood.
He threw another glance into the blade as it swung by them. His own red-soaked image stared back at him, but did not reflect the sorrow which hovered just behind his eyes. It was hard to gauge in just an image, whether a man was weighed down by the guilt in his heart.
He waxed introspective for a few moments more, before this brief respite of personal meditation was broken by a sharp stinging in his forearm.
"Whoops."
Zephyrus suddenly drew air through his teeth, and tightened his jaw – but made no other sound. Best not to show weakness to total strangers, just yet.
He winced as he glanced down. An arrow already tainted with blood – he would need to see an apothecary as soon as they returned to town.
He opened his mouth, with the visible intent of reprimanding Jillian, before he caught his own blood slinking off into the darkness, just as that of the Gerudo had done.
"Not enough...", another rattle came, like the chittering of old bone.
Zephyrus narrowed his eyes about the place. Would they get nowhere, if not for the shedding of blood? How little Hyrule had changed. He exhaled, and threw one last cursory glance towards his own sanguineous form, before turning and taking a few steps towards that shuddering voice that dared them from the dark.
He unbound the fabric tethered about his guandao – It was useless indoors, anyway. He used it only to gauge the passage of the wind, to better practice his own magic. Zephyrus took a deep breath, and then stood with his pole’s bottom to the ground, and wordlessly he used the blade to carefully lengthen the cut Jillian had left him with. He raised the new wound to the dark, and watched as his blood drifted into the fade.
"”Sheikah blood for the Sheikah temple."
--
Archer heard Alyce’s story, but that didn’t quite mean he had _listened_ to it. The words had certainly gone in, but the few Sheikah Archer knew painted a picture of the race so drastically different that he, with his small-world, big-city sensibilities couldn’t quite picture it.
So when she was done, he did little more than smile, and flash her a tonally discordant thumbs up.
"Spooky story, but I know Sheikah – on a personal level, ya feel? – and they all seem like right honourable people. Boring, can’t hold a conversation for their lives – but they’re good. You’re good.”
He nodded sagely, arms crossed, as though this was the end of the matter.
"'sides, I can't imagine Zephyrus doin' anything that metal. Just the idea of that is crazy!”
Archer laughed at the thought, which he supposed was rather dark of him. Zephyrus would laugh too, when he heard what this one was selling. Imagine him, part of a lynch mob! Zephyrus wouldn’t so much as hurt an innocent spider – in fact he’d chastised Archer for doing just that.
Just as he began laughing, however, Magus somehow managed to ruin the entire moment in a way that certainly wouldn’t have happened if he had been in charge.
The blades, twirling scythes of almost certain doom, slowed to a stop.
"Oh hey, great work!", Archer offered with a smile – credit where credit is due.
Then things started descending from the ceiling, and there were fireballs flying everywhere.
"Oh hey, great work!", he repeated with decidedly less good will, because this was somehow Magus’ fault. Then he shoved Alyce out of the way of a Wallmaster before leaping to the side himself.
On some level he knew as a Sheikah she was probably more than capable, but on another, she looked like a bookish nerd, and book learnin’ wasn’t… fight… learnin’…
Archer didn’t have time to think of clever wordplay, but did make a note to shriek in abject horror the next chance he got – because these big, gross hand things looked like spiders, and there were few things he loathed more.
A blue fireball sailed by his head, and somewhere above a Poe was cackling in that disgusting way only Poes can.
Was that racist? He would ask Lev later. In fact, he would just cut out the middle man and apologise. Archer was no racist – not like those Zora.
In an instant, he’d wreathed both hands in fire, and began hucking crackling balls of flame back the way the Poe’s volley had come: "If you wanna pull it out and measure ‘em, I’m over here!”
Zephyrus wasn’t sure which prospect terrified him more: that he was peering at his literal fate, or his metaphorical one.
Was this a grim omen of the future to come, or the sanguinary echoes of his people’s pasts? Which would fill him with more dread, as they marched deeper into the darkness?
It wasn’t just his sleeven reflection, at least, and he found some small comfort in that. He had wondered if, for a second, the temple had peered into the dark of his heart, and his heart alone. Sought to answer only the forbidden question all Sheikah carried with them from birth. At least he was not the sole target of the temple’s chthonic will.
But still, the visions that peered back were hollowing. The worst of their kind. The powerless fairy, the wicked and anomalous Gerudo King, the dead child. And him. One of the sinning people. The heretical progeny.
He wondered what Archer would think, watching it drench him. Turn the white of his attire red with innocent blood. He would crack a joke, he would make light of the sorrow growing in Zephyrus’ bosom. Somehow.
He wondered what Archer would think, because he already knew what he thought.
”So it’s true.”
How many men who looked like he did had peered into these blades after committing some great atrocity, he wondered. How many Anders. Had they been the stone masons? The blacksmiths? Or those who marched the undeserving towards a horrifying death. An end so agonising and brutal, that the blood sank into the stones and poisoned them to the temple’s base.
He had heard the rumours, the legends of this place. But he had seen the selfless good in his people, and hoped, dreamed it was folly.
He dropped his gaze to his whitening knuckles, wrapped still around his polearm. No blood yet.
Exhaling, he lifted his head again. He felt a cold breath rattle its way out of his chest.
Not the first to be breathed here, he suspected.
"Lies," he whispered, eventually, although he wasn’t sure how much he believed that. For now, he would need to. For the strength it would lend him. Be like water, don't stop for anything.
He straightened his back. Narrowed his gaze.
"The stone here is quarried from evil, it seeks only to mislead and demoralise us. We should make haste to leave this place, we should…"
Was that a path, in their reflection?
"… hm. Do we all see that?", he gestured on.
Was this a grim omen of the future to come, or the sanguinary echoes of his people’s pasts? Which would fill him with more dread, as they marched deeper into the darkness?
It wasn’t just his sleeven reflection, at least, and he found some small comfort in that. He had wondered if, for a second, the temple had peered into the dark of his heart, and his heart alone. Sought to answer only the forbidden question all Sheikah carried with them from birth. At least he was not the sole target of the temple’s chthonic will.
But still, the visions that peered back were hollowing. The worst of their kind. The powerless fairy, the wicked and anomalous Gerudo King, the dead child. And him. One of the sinning people. The heretical progeny.
He wondered what Archer would think, watching it drench him. Turn the white of his attire red with innocent blood. He would crack a joke, he would make light of the sorrow growing in Zephyrus’ bosom. Somehow.
He wondered what Archer would think, because he already knew what he thought.
”So it’s true.”
How many men who looked like he did had peered into these blades after committing some great atrocity, he wondered. How many Anders. Had they been the stone masons? The blacksmiths? Or those who marched the undeserving towards a horrifying death. An end so agonising and brutal, that the blood sank into the stones and poisoned them to the temple’s base.
He had heard the rumours, the legends of this place. But he had seen the selfless good in his people, and hoped, dreamed it was folly.
He dropped his gaze to his whitening knuckles, wrapped still around his polearm. No blood yet.
Exhaling, he lifted his head again. He felt a cold breath rattle its way out of his chest.
Not the first to be breathed here, he suspected.
"Lies," he whispered, eventually, although he wasn’t sure how much he believed that. For now, he would need to. For the strength it would lend him. Be like water, don't stop for anything.
He straightened his back. Narrowed his gaze.
"The stone here is quarried from evil, it seeks only to mislead and demoralise us. We should make haste to leave this place, we should…"
Was that a path, in their reflection?
"… hm. Do we all see that?", he gestured on.
Edit: Oh my god Zeph, so cereal.
Archer: :'D why me
Zephyrus: :I why me
@Baklava@Furia@Captain Jenno Gonna post the sucka! ANY LAST REQUESTS~
Hey hey! Sorry to be a pain but I added a few things. Didn't have much chance to over the season, sorry about that.
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