Prepare for the #LodanRespawn2024 Existing characters may choose to be displace from/have memories of different timelines, thereby allowing returning members the option to retcon their whole character. These changes are the result of the "Unnatural Fog" plot device that is running between now and the Respawn. The plot is simple: no matter where your character is, that place is shrouded in a thick fog that suspends time, but not thoughts or memories, so even if they're repeating the same day over and over again, they continue to remember, so each time feels like a new day. For those retconning OCs; this is where new versions of themselves have the opportunity to replace the old versions. Official lore and tree updates will be announced asap
Post by Syd Croswell-Miklos on Jan 24, 2016 6:21:48 GMT
Beasts? There were beasts every where wasn't there? Packs of vicious dogs that ran wild in the streets tearing people apart? No, that was Ronuvia and Lodan was different. Bears and wolves in the forest? Of course people should always express caution when approaching such animals and if they did not they would be a fool. Shadow beasts were a concept lost to him, something he was unaware of yet in the presence. Troubled? His mind left the forest to concentrate on the words Sayvahn had spoken to him. He was troubled but he did not want the other to know--his arms? That had caused the Ronuvian to draw his folded arms closer to himself though slowly. "Just a draft," he mumbled nearly incoherent despite the obvious lack of breeze in doors. The rest of the blonde's words confused Syd. Had he heard right...? There were more things that reminded him about the Wizard in just those last few moments to add to the ever growing list. "Not offended, no. Everything is alright... how much do I owe you for the hair cut, Sayvahn? I should go soon..." The last sentence had been a quiet musing to himself but once uttered he finally worked the nerve to glance upward at Sayvahn from behind the fringe of hair that fell over his freckled face, too shy to lift his head.
There was no draft. At least, there shouldn’t be. But Sayvahn let the thought slip. Let his eyes crane over the fragile boy, at how he tightened, coiling deeper into himself, into the confines of the chair. “Perhaps you aren’t offended. But are you bothered?” Sayvahn inquired, leaning forward as well. His hand approached the other’s face, only to brush the strand away to get a better look at those eyes again. He offered him a slight smile, staring into them- and Sayvahn wondered if they were actually blue. Perhaps green, with yellow? He wasn’t sure. But he continued his smile, softening his features. “Hm, as for payment.” He pondered for a moment, removing his hand from the boy’s face to drum on the arm of the chair. “How about Tea sometime? Here, if that is alright. I’ll make sure to have milk, too, since your prefer it.” Sayvahn offered, resting his cheek on the palm of his hand.
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Post by Syd Croswell-Miklos on Jan 26, 2016 5:38:43 GMT
Hazel green eyes watched Sayvahn with mild caution as the man leaned forward and then extended a hand out toward him. There was a slight tense of his shoulders and his eyes squinted slightly but otherwise he did his best not to move so as to not seem overly scared. Why should he be? The man had touched him and handled his hair only moments ago hadn't he? If he was going to harm him in any way wouldn't he have done so by now the tattoo artist kept trying to rationalize with himself. Bothered? He wasn't bothered either--scared. He had been scared. Why? The images he'd seen earlier flashed behind his eyes once more causing the Syd to close them and lean back from Sayvahn before lifting a hand to rub at his eyes. "I am sorry," he whispered not all too sure what else to say to the other. Everything about his mannerisms, the confidence behind his person and the sudden gentleness. They were painful reminders... but they served to keep him grounded where he was and unable to simply decline the offer that came though he knew he should. Albeit reluctantly, the ex-medic nodded as he lowered his hand to his lap. "I think tea would be lovely sometime, Sayvahn, but I feel that I should at least owe you some money as well."
The flinch, the hesitance, then the eventual pull away. Sayvahn followed Syd’s movements, lips pursed. How unfortunate. It seemed that there was another layer than he thought, hidden behind those bangs. It was just being bothered, or offended, then perhaps it would have been easier to get past the walls Syd had built up. But the boy was frightened, of touch, of interaction. It would take more then a few sharp words and fancy movements to lowers those. And more then one brief afternoon. Again, eyes followed the length of the boy’s covered arms, wondering, guessing, perhaps knowing what was under there. Still, it was not his right to ask. So he nodded, offering a light smile.
“Don’t apologize, dear.” He patted the boy’s hand gently, only for a moment, a brief touch, knowing it was to take the opposite affect, but, well, perhaps with enough gentleness, the wall would topple. If apparently a trumpet could take a wall down, why not a gentle pat? Getting up, he reached for the boy’s coat, giving it to him, gently. “You’re welcome to stay longer, but here, for your chill.” He stated, holding onto the back of the chair. Glancing at the cash register, he pondered on the amount, only to return to Syd’s features, at those orbs, and he smiled. “Well, I normally charge 7 pence for a cut, but, let’s see. I’ll subtract two for those beautiful eyes of yours, then one for your gentle words, then maybe two more for those ears having to listen to my taxing words, which leaves you with owing me… two pence. If you so desire to pay me, then you owe me two pence, kind sir.” The man hummed, leaning lightly against the chair.
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Post by Syd Croswell-Miklos on Jan 27, 2016 6:13:23 GMT
The gesture of the coat being offered to him had a strange affect on the Ronuvian as he looked on it with a moment of confusion before finally accepting it albeit hesitantly. The touch to his hand prior had done little to soothe him but the coat? A different matter entirely. Once in his hands, he smoothed his hands over the collar of the fabric before looking up to study Sayvahn as he slipped it on. "Thank you," he spoke up softly and sounding more like himself when he first came in though without the stuttering. Upon hearing the price of his hair cut the artist paused and looked up at the other incredulously. "I-I couldn't possibly. No, I insist the full seven pence. I-I'd have it no other way for good, honest worth." The rest of the man's words had not been lost on him and caused color to rise to his freckled cheeks though whether it was from a humble nature or something else could not be certain. "W-When should I meet you for tea, Sayvahn," inquired the man as he dug into his pocket for the proper amount of patronage he intended to pay then leaned forward to set it on the table.
Although the coat did not have the “rejuvenated” affect Sayvahn had been hoping for, there was a slight change. A lack of a stutter, and even a bit of color to Syd’s cheeks. Red suited him, quite nicely it seemed, and Sayvahn smiled. Indeed, color to the face was much nicer then the pale soft skin of the other, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like it any less. The boys insistence on paying however, that made Sayvan’s eyes roll, still wearing the grin as he put a hand to his hips.
“I see my kind gesture is not accepted. My, I didn’t think you thought so less of me.” He took the two pence- but left the five, pushing it even closer to the boy. “And although I enjoy the compliment.” If that was a compliment. Good honest worth? The aspect made Sayvahn chuckle, as if he hadn’t been wearing a smile for the whole discussion. “You would be paying me for three, almost four, more visits, and I highly doubt you would want to see me that often, though, I shall admit, I surely would not mind your company.” Opening the cash register, he deposited the two pence, closing it softly. Then, he placed his elbow on the counter and leaned forward, flashing the other a grin, looking at the ceiling in a mock act of pondering. “Let’s see. Tea, tea tea. How about Saturday, 3 o’clock?” This way if their conversation went long, dinner could be in store as well.
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Post by Syd Croswell-Miklos on Jan 30, 2016 3:59:03 GMT
"No, no," panicked Syd as he moved to sit on the edge of his seat. "Please, I only meant that you deserved it for your time. I did not mean... that was--please forgive me?" A small sigh escaped him as he hung his head in defeat and his shoulders slumped but then Sayvahn chuckled. Blinking, the Ronuvian looked up and followed Sayvahn with his eyes. The auburn haired man stood from his seat and wrung his hands as he studied nothing in particular on the ground. "I-I intend to leave them for you as a tip then. Tea Saturday at 3 o'clock sounds lovely. I would not mind seeing you. I think you are interesting to speak with," admitted the artist. With a nod Syd then lifted his gaze to Sayvahn and smiled. "I suppose I should, uhm, take my leave but should I bring anything at all...?"
There was nothing the man could forgive. The boy was a sweet one. A little shy, but there was nothing wrong with that. No, on the contraire, it was rather enjoyable, this light banters. Perhaps at one point Sayvahn could get the other to relax a bit. To loosen those shoulders. But it seemed like having him take back the change was a no. Oh well. Sayvahn wasn’t going to keep on denying the boy. “Alright. I graciously accept your tip then.” Saving mock bowed from behind the counter, flourishing his one hand as he still leaned on the other. But the boy continued. Speaking softly, but the words. They surprised Sayvahn a bit, and he too blinked, only to soften as he smiled at the other. “I’m glad I amuse you so. But as to what to bring? Let me think. ” Sayvahn looked toward the other, looking him up and down before he flashed a grin. “How about that smile? I rather like it, you know.” He purred, folding his hands to lean on them. “And it was truly a pleasure meeting you Syd. I look forward to Saturday, immensely.” The man smiled, ingraining Syd's own into his mind until the next time. Indeed, he was looking forward to the next time, and relishing in the fact that there was a definite "next" time as a relative wave of the hand "next time" that was so often used in the city. Perhaps that is what he liked about Syd. That he just wasn't another Lodanite, but something new. Something different. Something adorable, yet attractive. Indeed. Saturday was going to have to come soon, very soon, knowing that the boy was to would be there, waiting at the door.
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Post by Syd Croswell-Miklos on Jan 31, 2016 9:51:49 GMT
Having his pence accepted caused the artist's face to soften considerably making the appearance of his smile more relaxed in nature. The color in his cheeks seemed unwilling to leave them with how the blonde man spoke to the Ronuvian but with the splatter of freckles upon his cheeks and his hair for cover, Syd could not be bothered to worry. A smile was all this man wanted from him? Quite unbelievable, really, but an answer that preserved the expression on the younger male's face. "I will do my best to remember and bring it then, Sayvahn," replied Syd as he stepped for the door then paused to turn back and lift a hand in farewell to the other. He would bring something, thought the ex-medic as he bowed out of the small shop. What could he bring, though? Pastries were simple enough to make but what if Sayvahn did not fancy them? He had time to think and promised himself that he would do so with the expectations of finding something worthy of the eccentric barber. Despite Sayvahn's resemblance to another, Syd could not help but actually enjoy the man's company in those few moments just for himself--until the proposition of visiting his home had come about. The thought made the Ronuvian pause down the street. It was a harmless invitation he had to remind himself and snapped himself out of his thoughts when he heard a stray dog bark. The sound sent a chill down his spine and he hurried home faster than when he had left.
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