Warren Worthington III

You've reached the voicemail of Warren Kenneth Worthington III. Apparently, I'm not able to take your call at the moment, but if you leave a message, I'll do my best to get back to you as soon as possible.

Possibly faster than that, if you sound female and cute.

BEEP!

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Okay, so this wasn't really a Glacian holiday, and Warren needed to explain in small words to Mallory why it was important that he take the day off (even if it didn't match up at all to the Kaeleeran calendar, either), and that Karla also get the day off, and that somebody take the baby for the evening, and could he please do him a favour and arrange for that? Warren would get double the paperwork finished early to make up for it, and even take on some of Mallory's duties for the rest of the week. One day, that's all he asked.

And then he got to work making certain Karla's rooms were just right.

This... possibly involved far more pillows than was strictly necessary. Some slow jazz. And a few candles. And some bacon-wrapped pineapple, which was hard enough to get in Glacia in the first place, being pretty strictly an Earth thing and all.

Now all he needed was Karla.

[For that lady!]

Signing the paperwork to completely hand over control of Worthington Labs to his father had been the easy part. Warren was still a little grumpy about that, about how quick and painless it had been, once his father had gotten the lawyers into the room and they'd gone over all of the necessary documents. They'd come in before he even had a chance to heat up water for coffee or tea, shoved papers at him with a 'sign here, here, and here, Mister Worthington, thank you for your cooperation,' and then Warren was left to his own devices all over again.

( Cut for violence, NPC death, and use of excessive military force. )

[OOC: NFI/NFB/OOC is welcome, and again, warnings for excessive force/stuff that's all too relevant to what's going on in the news right now, and my apologies that a scheduled canon catchup fell in the middle of it all. Adapted from the only chunk of canon they gave me for Warren that ties into DoFP, over here.]

Warren frowned as he read the letter one more time. This was apparently not a great week for receiving mail, though he had to at least give Mallory credit this time around. The Court Steward had marched into his office and put the letter into his hand personally, insisted that he was delivering it within minutes of its delivery, in fact, he'd held up the postman just so that the poor male could back him up on this.

So, in short, "Please don't kill me, I respect your mail rights, and besides, Cora and Nyles need their tutor and you wouldn't kill me so soon after bringing them home, would you?"

( Not that any of that was on Warren's mind... )

[OOC: Open to anyone who has any reason to wander by Warren's office in Glacia, or phone calls or whatever!]

Warren was going to have to have words with the Estate's gardener.

... Well, okay, granted, it was his own fault for flubbing the landing. He'd picked a tree branch that was perhaps not sturdy enough to hold the weight of a grown man, even if his bones were hollow, and it had snapped underfoot, sending him toppling through several more branches and into a patch of weeds below. There really wasn't much any gardener could have done about the tree branch, considering the height it had been at. The weeds, they were going to have to have words about.

Especially once the oils on the leaves started to actually sink in to his skin. Warren knew witchblood when he saw it- it was impossible to mistake it for anything else, and he avoided it like the plague in the wake of Glacia's war. It was a pity nobody had educated him about poison ivy. Even with a healing factor, that was going to be a horrible mess pretty soon.

Until then, though, he was trudging back into the estate with some slowly healing cuts and bruises, a few sticks and the occasional leaf sticking almost comically from his feathers. Let's see how long before somebody notices, shall we?

[OOC: For anyone in Glacia! Or phone calls, or texts, or whatever!]

Between the multiple days of Winsol being celebrated by the Blood of Kaeleer, and the fact that Christmas was pretty much upon them now, it had been a hectic week leading up to tonight. Warren hadn't really expected a Christmas celebration on top of all of the festivities of Winsol, no, but Karla had insisted, and so he was going to make certain that if they were doing Christmas in Glacia, they were going to at least do it right. He really didn't ask for much - he had a home that felt like home and people that he could call family, and he'd have been happy settling for Winsol as his stand-in winter holiday - but he suspected that Karla had grown pretty fond of Christmas over the years, too, which might have had some role in the tree he'd been allowed to spend the morning setting up in one of the living rooms with Julian and Morton's help.

... Which, to Morton and Julian, had seemed a bit redundant. After all, there was already a Winsol tree up in the other room. But Warren had insisted that if he was celebrating Christmas, he wanted to at least be able to decorate a tree with ornaments that seemed at least somewhat reminiscent of the holiday he remembered. The Winsol tree was lovely in its own way, but it was very... Well...

... Blood.

So he'd ransacked the storage room for some of the less gaudy gilt ornaments that had been left over when they'd re-claimed the estate, picking out ones shaped that seemed a little more wintry than others, like caribou and Arcerian cats and children playing in snow, along with an assortment of golden bells. Up until that morning, he'd been wondering just what use anyone could have for so many damn bells, anyhow. He did borrow a few spare garlands for the tree, though, and he'd asked Karla really nicely if she could maybe hook him up with some tiny witchlights for the whole arrangement. She'd done so, a little distracted, before wandering off to make some more agitated phone calls to Jono. The end result was a tree that looked a little more Christmas than Winsol, especially once Warren got a fire going in one of the fireplaces nearby.

He'd never really celebrated Christmas growing up, and now he was one of the only people around who even knew what it was. But he couldn't help but feel a bit of nostalgic pride as he looked at his tree and wrestled with some fancy paper and ribbon. As it would turn out, claws weren't meant for wrapping presents at all. Thanks for that, creepy space virus.

[OOC: Merry Winsmas! Open for phone calls, or anyone who might be in Glacia for the occasion!]

That morning they had walked. The landens had handled the move, taking care of packing up camp, of leading the march. They'd carried the wounded through the snow, and had scouted ahead until the Blood that were travelling with them had started to behave more like themselves.

And then, on the Consort's orders, they'd travelled farther still, until Yllestad was little more than a bad memory from the day before, completely out of sight. The Blood had been able to help set up camp again, at least, and most had settled in for a few hours to get rest that they hadn't gotten through the night.

Warren hadn't slept yet evening. He should have, he knew, but there was too much on his mind, too much left to oversee, and sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford to enjoy just yet. Not until he shared what he'd been swallowing back since the night before.

That was what this meeting was for, called in one of the larger tents. Karla and her First Circle, less those who were unable to join them in the wake of the smoke. And then certain others, those who weren't of Karla's Court, but who Warren figured needed to hear this all the same.

"I know some of you aren't going to like what I have to say," he said without preamble once everyone had settled. "But we need to use this. We can't let what happened back there just stay back there. It was a tragedy, but it's the tragedy that could very well win us the war. We have to politicize this."


( Read more... )

[OOC: And that's the last of the preplays! Many thanks to trigons_child, heromaniac, blondecanary, and especially glacial_witch, who let us trample all over the Northern part of her Territory! Previous posts can be found here, here, here, here, here, here, and here! NFI, NFB, and OOC is love.]

So, Warren had been sitting on it now for a little while. It had only been a day, according to Fandom, since Karla had formed her Court, but in Kaeleer, it had been two. A very busy two. They were in Haven, now, making the last of their plans before the procession into Sidra and everything that that would entail. And, the entire time, there was something that Warren had been itching to scream from the rooftops, and finally, he'd found a moment edgewise in order to do it.

First, he'd left a message for Bobby. Before anyone else, Bobby.

But, after that, it was fair game. He pulled out his phone, tapped out a quick text, and sent it to everyone on his phone's contact list:

We're engaged!

Apologies to those in Kaeleer, who were getting that text at an obscene hour of the night. Warren had been a little too anxious to share it to bother weeding through his contacts. Plus he hadn't had much sleep lately. Eh, he'd apologize to anybody that had been inconvenienced by that text in the morning.

[OOC: NFB for distance, obviously! If you think you got Warren's text, you totally did! Open for return texts, phone calls, other people who have a reason to be in bed with him in Haven...]

It had been late last night when Warren and Karla had returned to the island, fully intent to get a night's rest before setting off again in the morning. They had plans to visit Captain Chiba in Hawaii for their birthday tomorrow, after all, to get spoiled on his yacht while celebrating Karla's victory during her Offering without a good amount of other company.

Warren wasn't aware of as much that morning when he awoke, of course. What he was aware was that it was his bare chest pressed against hers, arms wrapped around someone who fit more perfectly against his body than anyone had in a long, long while. It was comfortable, for a moment or two of consciousness. Another moment later, and he'd tensed all over, looking down at the top of a head of golden hair that was too perfect to possibly be real.

Too, too perfect.

"Get out of my head."

There was no way this could possibly be Karla.

"Get out of my head."

[OOC: For the lady, who most definitely is Karla. Warren's his Umbridgeverse counterpart for the weekend. Mmm, trauma.]