2nd Metal / open spam covering the next few days

[godsays]

[ He never had thought of Mistborn powers as being an addiction, but this may force him to admit he was wrong. He craves the metals, craves the sensations that come with them. He feels as though his body has been wrapped in cotton; no longer can he distinguish the grains of wood through his fingertips, or hear the whisper of a heartbeat from a room away. He can't use lines of metal to sense movement and to chart his surroundings. Can't fall and fly. Can't lean on the emotions of those he meets. He's trapped in his skull, a prisoner of locked doors and gravity.

This is what drives him to some desperation.

There are many risks that come with seeking out metals not metallurgist-crafted. Alloys can be impure; they can be of an incorrect mixture. It's hard to flake off bits of metal. Chewing on them will only result in certain trace metals in the system, and those could be burned off easily and quickly without much benefit.

So: find him anywhere in a public area, focused on some sort of metal. Perhaps determinedly working at the tines of a fork or attempting to chew on a pipe. Licking, in an attempt to taste the composition of an alloy. (This is unsurprisingly ineffective.)

And then, at some point, he may succeed in flaking/bending off/acquiring some metal that can be swallowed. Unfortunately, alloys of incorrect percentage give him a blinding headache and leave him nauseated and down for the count. So feel free to also find him curled into a ball really wishing he hadn't just tried to do that. ]

Comments

[godsays]

He jerks away from the pipe. Reflex, from having been caught. He looks vaguely guilty, though he's fairly sure that no one would have thought to forbid chewing on pipes. These people don't even know about Mistborn, and no one here is paying any particular attention to him.

"Pica?" he asks, wiping a hint of saliva from his lower lip with the edge of his thumb. His eyes travel up and down the - man? - who interrupted him. He really has no idea how to interpret what it is he's seeing.

[dalekemperor]

Well, it used to be a man. Now it's more like a barely animated corpse held together by machines. He quirks a hairless brow over empty eye sockets.

"It is a metabolic illness in which the patient repeatedly consumes things that are not considered food for the base-constituent of its species. Unless, of course, you are one of that rare breed that can metabolise any kind of solid matter, in which case I think a simple request of the cooks here would be a more... dignified manner of obtaining such sustenance."

[godsays]

Cooks. Cooks are not metallurgists. And given that it isn't sustenance, he doubts it would be permitted. At full powers, he could tear through this place... give him duralumin, and that tearing could even be literal.

"It isn't food," he says, finally. "I was looking for metals."

[dalekemperor]

One wonders what he would do with dalekanium. Yes, that's a thing that exists.

"Do you usually do so with your teeth?"

[godsays]

A shrug. "When I don't have anything else." Yes, he's going to pass this off as somewhat normal.

[dalekemperor]

"And how accurate is this... gustatory testing method?"

[godsays]

A somewhat sour look on his face is, perhaps, enough response.