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 Feb 3, 2016 1:26:20 GMT
Open to SayvahnSaturday had come longer than Syd had thought it would take and still he was not sure what he could bring Sayvahn as a token for his invitation. There was nothing he had! There were mountains of stuff, sure, but nothing he could really give the man--except maybe spare paints. Would that be weird? Could he just give a man he just met his deceased cousin's spare paints? What would he say, "Oh, why hello, Sayvahn. Why, yes, thank you for inviting me to your place. Here are some paints that belonged to my dead cousin!" Lively conversation! No, he could not do that. Three o' clock was drawing closer and the sound of the bell chiming from his clock reminded him of his frantic dilemma. He could make biscottis! Yes, that is what he would do.
When Two o'clock had come around, the Ronuvian prepared the biscottis neatly into a small wicker basket then went to clean himself. Once down, he scrambled down stairs and grabbed the basket. On his way out the paints caught his attention once more and with a resigned sigh he scooped them up to bring as well. Gods be damned. He would never make use of them. Dressed in multiple layers of clothing--three to be precise--Syd stepped outside into the frigid temperature then made his way down the street toward Sayvahn's shop. Wait... he was supposed to go to the man's shop, right? He never did get Sayvahn's address! What a horrible mess--horrible mess! "What is wrong with me," he huffed into his scarf. "I used to be more collected than this..." Closer to three, he finally appeared in front of Sayvahn's shop and peered in to see if the man was there.
Smoke tendrils danced from Sayvahn’s lips, drifting to the ceiling as he sighed. Looking around, there wasn’t much to clean. He had already swept, already set out the tea, hot water, bubbling in a container in the back. The blunt was to ease his mind, although there wasn’t much to ease. The meeting with Syd wasn’t formal. It was quite the opposite. Meant to be informal, the get together was mainly, although subtly, to chip away at the boy’s well defined armor. To help him ease into the place, but more so, for Sayvahn to learn about the mysterious child. The mysterious, highly attractive, adorable not a child but man, individual that was set to arrive at his door at some point in the near future.
Tracing a pattern in his wooden counter, Sayvahn breathed, glancing up at the trinkets that lined the store’s walls. Heavens, what was he doing? He was getting too old, too weary for this kind of coy play, presuming he could call it that. But it wasn’t. It was just a nice meeting between people, nothing more, nothing less. Lodan had taught him that much. Taking one last puff, he pushed the blunt into the ashtray, only to glance up into the back mirror and see a shadow- a form lingering behind. He stilled, only to realize with a held breath it had to be Syd. Glancing at the clock, it was indeed three. The shadows, they didn’t exist here. At least, not the ones he remembered.
Turning, Sayvahn put on that smile of his, approaching the door, opening it with a grin and a twinkle in his eye. “My my, Hello my dear Syd.” He purred, stepping aside to let the other in. “Come come, inside— If I knew it was going to be so cold, I would have come to you.” Savyah stated, closing the door once Syd entered the room.
“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 Feb 6, 2016 2:17:41 GMT
Syd squinted his eyes as he made out the silhouette of a man moving behind the glass pane he was currently standing before. As the figure drew closer he was suddenly able to make out details of Sayvahn and realized he was still standing in front of the glass like some perverted peeping Tom. When the door opened and the other man greeted him, Syd's face went red from embarrassment. "Ah! H-Hello, Sayvahn. Sorry... I was just seeing if you were here. Uhm, here, these are for you," blurted the Ronuvian as he held out the paint set for Sayvahn to take then lifted the basket in his right hand. "I also made Biscottis for the tea. I hope you do not mind, but I simply could not come empty handed."
The conversation seemed to continue as he followed the elder into the shop. The cold? It was a bother, yes, but his joints cared not whether he was in doors or not and would give him trouble regardless. At least moving he wouldn't be curled up in a pitiful ball of agony and tears. Moving did help. "No, no. Please--I do enjoy the exercise. It is quiet lovely outside. Perhaps we should go for a stroll a time or two if you do not mind...?" Hazel green eyes watched Sayvahn as followed, trying to gauge any sort of reaction from the other.
A flustered Syd was a great sight to see on a chilly day. The redness of his cheeks, from embarrassment to chill made Sayvahn want to reach a hand out, to caress the soft surface. Instead, he smiled, taking the paint— looking at it for only a moment before his eyes returned to the boy. “No need to apologize—you did nothing wrong. But, what is this? ” He cooed, turning the paints in his hand. His eyes widened slightly in amusement. Paints? The boy was quite considerate for gifts so early. Did that mean that Sayvahn was making good progress? Perhaps. That, or Syd was just very kind. The latter was more likely, but Sayvahn couldn’t help but play with the first. It would be nice, really, if the paints meant something more then a nice gesture, but again, it was far too early, and the boy, far too innocent and young to delve a deeper meaning from the token. Although not the kind Sayvahn normally used, the paints were quite descent. Besides, perhaps returning to a traditional style would be better suited for him these days. Maybe if he asked the boy to be his model, he would accept? It was a thought to muse upon, a thought to play around with. Nothing spouted “scandal” more so then the fostering attraction between a painter and their model. But, again, that was musing for another, more private, time.
“Thank you.” Sayvahn smiled, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder, but only highly, out of consideration for the man. It seemed he was sensitive to touch, something Sayvahn picked up on last time they talked. “I’ll use them wisely. And Biscottis? My, you shouldn’t have. Though, I shall admit, that sounds absolutely delightful—“ Sayvahn craned his neck some, as if to look underneath the coverings to get a better glimpse of the “Biscottis” but, upon seeing nothing, he continued. “And you made them? You must jest. Attractive and a cook? Syd, you’re becoming more and more interesting by the minute.” Sayvahn smiled, flourishing his hand to motion for the other to sit. Upon hearing the proposal of a walk, or two, implying more meetings, Sayvahn paused, only for the smile to grow into a smirk. It seemed like another meeting had already been arranged, and he chuckled at that. “Are you already asking to meet with me again? But we have barely started this meeting, dear.” He purred, resting his weight against the counter. “But a walk sounds lovely—I’ll gladly take you up on the offer, especially if you let me take you out to lunch on one of those trips as well.” Sayvahn hummed, staring at the other from over his glasses, voice like satin as he spoke.
“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 Feb 12, 2016 4:04:29 GMT
"Paints," answered the Ronuvian with a smile that faltered out of his own preservation. "I do not really paint and you said that you do. Since I had them about I thought that perhaps you might make better use of them," continued the auburn haired man surprisingly without stuttering though there was some hesitance to his words. The compliments further instilled upon him only caused the color staining his cheeks to remain as they were. "Ah, no, I would not say I was a cook--I-I simply like to, uhm, well." What should he say? Cooking was not something he had learned out of pleasure but rather from necessity. In Ronuvia, food from others was always a thing one learned to distrust. Thankfully there conversation had drifted from the biscottis to the walking. "Well, yes, I would enjoy meeting you again I think. I mean, here I am now--but you seem quite nice." The shorter male gave pause to frown at Sayvahn. Lunch could turn out many ways and with so many uncertainties his stomach was beginning to knot uncomfortably, but it could not be remained. "I c-can't allow that, Sayvahn, not without returning the favor. If you buy me lunch then a second walk would be in order where I will buy you lunch in return. I will have it no other way."
Raising a brow, Sayvahn looked to the paints. Syd had thought of him, hmm? That was always a good sign, but a mixed one. Regardless, Sayvahn tilted his head and smiled at the boy’s blush. Indeed, it was a lovely color, one even more heightened by those eyes of his— such precious opals. Yet, the other was flustered, and Sayvahn would not tease him too much about the cooking and the paints, despite the nice comment, for fear of making the boy blush too much. But another offered lunch? My, did that make a third date already? Laughing lightly, Sayhan looked at the boy, but the frown on Syd’s lips a moment before bothered him a bit. Such a gesture was not needed. Part of him wanted to bring a finger to those lips, to shush the boy, but that sort of contact, that sort of intimacy, did not belong on first dates. Lips were sensitive, sensual things after all. “The point of taking you out to lunch is to treat you, dear.” Sayvahn mused, leaning against the chair. “If you pay me back then there was no point in me spoiling you— though, I do admit. The prospect of a third date is rather dashing— but hmmm. I don’t know if I’ll let you treat me, though.” He smirked, inspecting the other."Why can't I treat a dashing young man for one, or more afternoons, hmm? I find nothing shameful in that."
“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 Feb 15, 2016 23:49:44 GMT
Perhaps he felt bold or defiant with his retort as he spoke up, frown still prevalent on his features, "spoiling can be a two way path, Sayvahn. I believe in what is fair and do not like receiving more than another." And the words really sunk in. He hadn't missed them the first time. He had not ignored him. Date. It stuck out, how could it not? A rarity it was to come across another gay man--or one who appeared as such. The idea was a bit concerning, however. Trickery was not uncommon in Ronuvia and on occasion utilized to weed out those they found degenerate. He should decline. Syd knew better, he did. Were his words confirming that he too thought this was a date? The pounding of his heart in his chest was loud in his ears while pain filled his head. Nausea over took him and for a moment he felt he would be sick. Something dripping from his chin had him look down at the droplet of blood spilling onto his shirt before he reached up to press the knuckles of his left hand to his nose before the other hand joined to cup the mess. "I-I am sorry. I am very sorry." Not again. "H-Have you a bathroom I c-could use...?" What a mess the other must think of him to be. Only meeting a second time and already he was bleeding in the man's shop. Syd could only hope it was not an omen.
Spoiling a two way path? The thought tickled Sayvan’s fancy, made him smile. Almost even made him laugh. “My, I didn’t realize you wanted to spoil me—“ Sayvahn, began, but something changed in the other. As if, frozen by— what? Words? A feeling? A sudden realization? It didn’t matter. Not when the red appeared. “Syd?” Sayvahn stepped forward, extending a hand, but the boy had already clasped the bleeding area, cupping it to stop the flow. Yet, that red still continued to drip, to pool. “Syd— are you alright?” Blood. Blood was dripping everywhere, and he asked for — “A bathroom? Yes, um, here, come with me. There’s a bathroom back here.” He hesitated to clasp the boy’s arm— but he needed to guide, to let him know it was alright. Was touch the only way for him to do that though? Perhaps not, but he would do so gently. And so Sayvahn opted for the shoulder, guiding Syd gently, lightly, so if Syd resisted, he would easily break free. With quick, but soft movement, he ushered Syd to the back, pulling out a towel from one of the stalls to press against the boy’s hands as they walked.
“Oh dear.” Pushing past the curtain, Sayvahn led the boy to a small back area, where a door lay closed. “I’m sorry, dear. Did I do something wrong? Is it allergies? Here, ah.” Sayvahn slowly opened the door, making sure not to make too quick of a movement. “Here. Don’t worry about getting blood on anything. Now, come on in. I’m leaving the door open, you see? Just keep your head down, and don’t blow your nose. Just let it drip.” Bending down, Sayvahn grabbed more towels from under the sink, ushering for Syd to sit on the top of the toilet seat as he worked.
“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 Mar 3, 2016 5:25:08 GMT
"Y-yes. Ah, s-sorry, Sayvahn. This happens from time to time." And always in the most inopportune moments. Why? Neither himself nor his mother were capable of figuring it out and other medical practitioners within Ronuvia proved to be worthless. The touch had for the most part almost gone unregistered by the freckled man--that or he didn't particularly mind given his current circumstance and his fear of getting the mess on the other's clean floors. How incredibly rude. Barely even ten minutes into conversation and he was ruining things by bleeding. Guided by the care of Sayvahn, Syd was led to the bathroom while being rest assured that the blood was of no concern--at least yet. Did Sayvahn read his mind? Was that even possible? "N-no, you did nothing wrong. I p-promise. I just... this condition I have," mumbled the tattoo artist. Once inside the bathroom, he did as instructed of him while sitting on the toilet seat until time had passed and his nose had finally stopped dripping.
"I-I'm terribly sorry to have made a mess," he finally spoke up and looked to the blonde man. "I will clean it, this I promise. Please do not say otherwise. Please?" Auburn brows furrowed together as he continued to watch the other man before turning his gaze down on his bloodied hands and towel. "I think... I think it would be nice to spoil you too--not just for you to spoil me. If that is alright with you." How awkward it was to sit there on the toilet while speaking to the barber, yet, he felt more comfortable then than he had when he was talking to the blonde the first time they had met.
Knowing that it was a condition did not make Sayvahn feel relieved. Instead, there was confliction: one, at least this wasn’t something new, but the fact of that matter was, it wasn’t new, which meant that the boy often got into this state. Sayvahn’s frown did not dissipate, and furthered as the boy request to clean up the mess. The way Syd pleaded, Sayvahn couldn’t say no. But at least he could express his concerns. “You made no mess, dearie. But if you insist, you can clean it, just, just be careful you hear me? Don’t make this old man worry.” Sayvahn sighed, wishing that he could hug the boy. Yes, it was “just” a nosebleed, but nosebleeds were never a good sign in general. It meant that something was a miss. And Syd just appeared, just seemed, so fragile. Sayvahn leaned against the counter, wishing he could take a smoke but, leaving the boy alone was not an idea he favored either.
However, that desire increased tremendously when Syd said he wanted to spoil him. The feline couldn’t help a smile form, or stop the arousal from spiraling at the bottom of his stomach. How should he play against those words? Probably nothing was meant by it, but the idea tickled Sayvahn’s fancy regardless. “You might regret that sweetie.” Savyahn purred, bending forward, leaning his arm against the sink. “I love being spoiled, even more than spoiling others.” Sayvahn chuckled, looking at the other over the brim of glasses with a soft gaze. “I prefer it much more then having someone repay me, because by repaying me, it means you felt some sort of “obligation”, whereas “spoiling”—.” Sayvahn extend his hand to tuck a loose strand of Syd’s hair behind his ear, fingers, brushing the side of Syd’s cheek as he did so. How soft they were, even though it was such a quick gesture. “Spoiling means you want the other to be happy, which is much nicer, don’t you think?”
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
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