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
How he dragged himself back to MI, Sayvahn didn’t know. He found his way through muscle memory. There was no other explanation. Hours had gone by, and there was no guarantee that Lasair was there. And even if he wasn’t, that would be fine. But right now, right then, Sayvahn just needed someone. Someone who wouldn’t betray him. At one point, the feline ran a hand across his cheek, feeling the blood, now dry, glued to the cut that ran from his ear , close to his eye. Part of him wondered if it would scar. It would’t matter. Nothing mattered then. Slipping through the doors like he had, so long ago, Sayvahn walked the halls, the hollowness, just as awful, just as empty, as he remembered it. First, he checked the room he had found Lasair, and still not finding him, went to the study. Still, no presence. Every room he checked, until at last, the weary man made it to the kitchen— and he smelt it. The faint smell, of alcohol. It was glued into his mind. “Lasair?” The feline questioned, stepping into the room.
Post by Lasair Landevier Lupen on Mar 29, 2016 4:50:06 GMT
“Yeah that’s my name,” he replied as he heard his name called, although he couldn’t be quite sure where it was coming from. His vision was gone to the liquor flowing through his veins, so Sayvahn looked like a blob to the ander. He hadn’t drank too much, at least he didn’t think it was too much. Just a few bottles, nothing too drastic. But then he remembered that these were bottles made from the crop of the northeast vineyard. Those grapes had a way of bringing on their own unique form of drunkenness.
Glancing downward, Lasair remembered that the fuzzy shape in his hand was a glass, and that there was more super sweet grape juice in it. He brought it to his lips and drank some more of the liquid. He couldn’t remember why he started drinking in the first place, but he didn’t feel like stopping. Not until the next bottle was empty, at least.
Freezing, Sayvahn stared down at the wreckage. This is not what he needed. This is not what he wanted. Yet this was Lasair. What had become of him. Sayvahn couldn’t blame the redhead, but part of him wanted to. What was the point of going from one drunkard to the other? It didn’t matter though, if there was a point. The problem was that by the time the barber got to this one, Syavhan’s numbness had swelled to hatred. “Get up.” The feline growled, grabbing' at Lasair's shirt, wrenching himupward. “I leave you alone for three hours, and you turn into this? You’re pathetic. What would the twins think if they found you? Or the others?" The barber spat, pressing the man against the wall to steady him.
Post by Lasair Landevier Lupen on Mar 29, 2016 5:25:47 GMT
Being yanked up by his shirt sobered him up a bit. Not entirely, but it did make him focus and realize just who it was that was here. It only took him a moment to answer the other’s questions. “They’d think I’m a man who likes to drink. That’s already been established,” he tried to keep his voice steady, but the syllables slurred together slightly. Articulating them was difficult.
“You’re angry,” he said a moment later. “Mmmmm maybe getting drunk wasn’t such a good idea. I had a reason for doing it though, I know I did. Can’t remember it now though. Here, I have an idea.” He paused to lift a finger and hold it in front of Sayvahn. “I’ve been working on some magic to help cure the drunken thing. I just need to focus and I think it’ll help here. Unless you want me to keep being drunk.” He lifted his eyebrows as he said the last part, revealing his semi-glossy cobalt eyes in their entirety to the feline.
Humor did not go unnoticed, but Sayvahn’s patience was slim. Instead, Sayvahn’s grip loosened on Lasair’s shirt, eyes lowering as the man stated his “skill”. “So you get so drunk to the point you lose your memory, then use your magic to wipe it away?” Sayvahn knew he shouldn’t be impressed, but luckily his anger was more poignant to hide any amusement that the feline could shed. “Do what you will.” The barber scoffed, letting go of the man. If the man wanted to drink to forget, then let him. Sayvahn wouldn’t bask in the same release. No, he would find some alternative. Some outlet for this pain, for this anger. “I was wrong for trying to seek you out.” Yet, Sayvahn needed him. Needed him to be sober. If not, this would turn into another night, like the night, at the feline’s home. But that place couldn’t be defined as hi shome anymore. Not after what had become of it. “Whether you sober up or not, nothing will change.” Sayvahn stated, legs once again, trembling. Sliding down, Sayvahn leaned forward but the motion, the action, it made the wound at his side burn. Yet, the pain was relieving. Pleasant even, compared to the inner one. “God, I’m such a fool.” Sayvahn hissed, pressing his hand against his face, biting his lip to prevent that scream that wanted to tear through him, yet, the tears, they bit through, running down the lengths of his face, mixing with the blood on his cheek. How funny. He had been able to hold them back for so long, yet seeing a simple drunkard (but was Lasair, realy that simple?) had made him crumble so.
“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 Lasair Landevier Lupen on Mar 29, 2016 5:59:13 GMT
It took him a moment, but the magic came. It was sluggish, slowed by the alcohol, but Lasair had gone lengths to make this specific pathway one that was easy to remember, one that was easy to simply execute. It was a form of toxins, the healing part of the magic. Because wasn’t alcohol just that, a poison? If magic could clear away poisons, why couldn’t it clear away this one? Getting the magic to start was the hardest part, but once it took hold, it grew stronger, coursing through his body as it wiped away the traces of alcohol in him. The process made him dizzy and gave him a headache, but it was well worth it.
Taking a deep breath, he straightened himself and breathed slowly. “I was drinking because you left and I didn’t know to feel about it,” he said quietly. He could see the pain on Sayvahn’s face. It seemed that the pain was unavoidable, magic or no magic. At least the pain didn’t come from him, but he was contributing to it now. He didn’t want to be contributing to it. Walking forward, Lasair looked to Sayvahn gently, the concern showing through his eyes. “You look like you need a hug.”
When was the last time he cried like this? He couldn’t remember. Yes, he had sobbed, he had cried when he thought Mala was dead. But that was different. This crippling pain. The last time he felt like this, it must have been after Anemwei died. It had to be. This sadness that engulfs both the body and soul. He had been alone to deal with it. And now? There was no difference. Lasair was by his side, but he was as far gone, as dead to him, as Anemwei was. At least, until the redhead spoke up. The words, what weight did they carry? What did they mean? Sayvahn couldn’t judge, didn’t want to judge. Pushing his glasses away, the feline rubbed at his face, trying to hide his tears.
“You’re supposed to be in a drunken stupor.” Sayvahn spat, yet malice hardly carried through his words. The thought of the hug was met with mixed feelings. Pat of him wanted a hug, but part of him also couldn’t wipe the alcohol laden kiss from his lips. Any form of contact, any form of intimacy felt disgusting at that moment.
“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 Lasair Landevier Lupen on Mar 29, 2016 6:39:26 GMT
“I can’t undo it now,” he said simply, accompanying it with a shrug of his shoulders. “Sayvahn, I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how I should be acting right now. I don’t know what I should do. I want to help you, want to see you happy. I don’t know how, but the intent is there.”
He sighed, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “If you want me gone, I’ll go. If you want me here, I’ll stay. Just tell me what you want and I’ll do my best to adjust.” He hoped Sayvahn wouldn’t ask for a kiss; otherwise this would feel all too eerily like the night before. It was still so fresh on his mind.
Tensing, Sayvahn rolled the word through his mind. Acting? Sayvahn knew the fox had not meant the word in the actual sense, but the feline couldn’t get the idea out of his head. Not when it made so much sense; that this was all an act for Lasair. This concern, this tenderness, all an obligation to the guild. Nothing more, nothing less. The redhead’s confusion, it was a mixture of obligation, and—what else? Friendship? Indifference? Lasair didn’t know where to cross the line, and frankly, neither did Sayvahn. “I don’t want you to act.” The barber stated, peering at the other over fogged lenses. “I don’t want you to adjust. Just be you, for God’s sakes. Whether that means being happy, or sad. Just be you.” Grabbing at his hair, Sayvahn felt the shortness of it, felt that lack of it. To think that a close crop of hair could him align himself with masculinity. It was pathetic— how could he say such things as “just be you” when the feline didn’t even want to do that himself? “If you want to leave, then go. I’ve already caused you enough trouble, haven’t I? No need to push you through anything more.” The guild leader had said it himself. Lasair had started drinking because of the barber, and apparently, so had Corey. At any other moment, perhaps the situation could have been funny. “I drive people to drink!” Sayvahn could explain, but the humor behind the thoughts were vacant. Yet what he wanted was to not be alone, however, if Lasair chose to leave, then so be it. Perhaps it would be the better, for the both of them.
Post by Lasair Landevier Lupen on Apr 9, 2016 7:30:53 GMT
“I don’t want to be me,” he said quietly. “I would rather act. It implies that there’s a part that needs to be filled, that there’s something useful I can do. Me on my own? I don’t like that. Never did.” He took a few steps towards Sayvahn, looking the other in the eyes, but then turned away, sighing. “I don’t want to anger you further. If you need me, you know where I’ll be.”
Staring at the fox, Sayvahn lowered his eyes, a sigh, intertwined between his lips. When the redhead said something like that, how could Sayvahn be angry? No, correction, he was angry, but now, now sadness lingered more so then actual anger. Getting up, the feline staggered, knees, weak. To think that he was so pitiful, so reduced in front of the guild leader—that was something to be angry about, if anything else. But like most things, Sayvahn tried to shrug it off with a smile. “I’m not angry.” Sayvahn spoke— but he had been, just not right then. Placing a hand on Lasair’s arm, the feline tilted his head in playful jest. “Or well, don’t worry about this old man. Worry about someone else. Like yourself, dearie.” Sayvahn knew when to stop. When to place his problems on his side. And Lasair, there was something inside of him then— remnants of the alcohol, pieces of grief, insecurities that lingered inside of the redhead’s body— Sayvahn didn’t care where it came from, only that it was there.
Entwining his arms around the fox, Sayvahn hugged the man, pulling his body close. “It’s a shame you want to act, though. I rather like the you that you are, even if you don’t.” The blond hummed, that faint smile still on his lips as he peered over the brim of his glasses. “Lasair, the man outside of being a guild leader, who drinks and laughs dryly, who when tired breaks the shell he’s formed around himself.” The same shell that wanted to remain, that wanted to leave and go to another room as if to make sure not to break and to instead recover. Though, maybe Sayvahn was wrong about the whole thing. He thought he understood Corey, and look where that got him. Sobbing, devasted, in the kitchen of M.I. “I don’t know what parts you are trying to fill, but well, don’t worry about angering me. If it involves you dearie, I’ll drop what I’m doing and run, and I assure you, it isn’t because of guild loyalties.” Sayvahn chuckled, removing himself from the man.
“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 Lasair Landevier Lupen on Apr 12, 2016 3:52:22 GMT
The ander kept quiet as Sayvahn spoke, somewhat surprised that the anger from the other had dissolved so quickly. A few honest words was all it took? He’d have to keep that in mind for the future. The hug was less of a surprise, and in answer to it Lasair simply wrapped one arm around Sayvahn. And then he stepped away, scratching the back of his head as he thought about what to say next.
If he hadn’t gone through last, it would be easy for him to shrug of Sayvahn’s words in the sense that they are directed in terms of friendship. But he knew better than that; he knew it was another confession of his feelings, but this was a smaller one than before. So Lasair would do his best to roll with it and pretend he didn’t know the things he does. “I look out for all my members. I don’t want to see you angry or upset, especially because of me. It’s good you’re feeling better now, if only at face value. May I ask what riled you up in the first place? Or would I be better off leaving now before I tread in places it’s better that I shouldn’t?”
Tilting his head somewhat, Sayvahn watched Lasair, emerald orbs, wavering. The older man was expecting a witty retort, a flirtatious quip, some sort of reaction. But what he had received was retraction— even denial. Sayvahn followed Lasair’s movements, at how the fox pulled away, scratching the back of his head— a nervous action. Sayvahn knew the action. Saw Lasair use it, numerous times. But never in regards to something like this, unless, something was different, unless— and there was something different, the barber realized. Lasair knew. The thought didn’t bother Sayvahn. At least, not like it should have. If anything, it saddened him. A joke, played upon numerous times, had grown old, and what hurt the most was not the acknowledgment of denial, but the fact of things had changed. Lasair didn’t reply with a quip. He replied with an “all” meaning, no longer just “you.” In a sense, Lasair was trying to push Sayvahn away. The barber swallowed at that, pushing the coiling in his stomach to the side.
“I see. How noble of you.” The feline laughed pressing a smile, but it faded at the mention of why the feline had returned in the first place. Yes. That was why the blond was orginally here, wasn’t it? To find Lasair and his ability to cure, to take Sayvahn’s mind away from the horrors that lay outside of M.I.’s walls, but it seemed that the fox had the opposite power as well. “You’ve probably treaded into far worse places, dear.” Sayvahn stated, looking for an untouched bottle of wine, which seemed pointless, given the others earlier stupor. “I’ve been taking care of a boy the past few years. He stabbed me, last tonight. Burned most of my belongings, sent EIRAL to my home, proceeded to get drunk in my apartment, then tried to kill me.” Sayvahn stated, reaching into the cupboard for a glass, to realize his hands where quivering, the bones of his knuckles, white. “…I contemplated on striking back. I really did. With a lamp. I was going to hit him with a lamp. But you know. I’ve taken care of him for so long. I hesitated.” Placing the empty glass down, Sayvahn leaned against the sink. Yes, his anger had settled down, but the pain hadn’t. Now, now the feline was just tired, body, weary from his sobbing, from everything. The barber was a mess, his emotions, scattered. Shifting somewhat, Sayvahn left the glass on the counter, opting instead to head to the doorframe.
“I don’t keep secrets. At least, I don’t mean to, so don’t be ever afraid to inquire. I’ll generally tell the truth.” Running his hand across the doorframe, the older man leaned his head against the stone, letting a breath course through him as he placed a hand over his bandaged waist. “There is more to the story, as there always is, but it’s better off that we both part, I suppose. I rather not make you any more uncomfortable than I already am. Besides, I have a feeling that you want distance between us anyway.” The feline stated, offering the other a sympathetic smile.
“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 Lasair Landevier Lupen on Apr 18, 2016 6:06:37 GMT
Lasair looked down as Sayvahn spoke, and then turned his attention to the bottle the other had just handled. He kept his eyes on it as the other moved around him, approaching the doorway, beginning to depart.
Turning his back to the other, he took a few steps away from him, towards the glass that was left abandoned on the counter. He picked it up and held it to the light, examining it with a flat face. “One question, for you to contemplate until our next encounter as I do not desire an answer right now.” He opened up the cabinet and placed the glass down, next to all the other little glasses that looked identical to the one he just held.
“If I did something unforgivable, could you find it in your heart to forgive me?”
Letting his hands fall to his side, he turned away from the feline again, walking further into the kitchen and away from the one that he had done a terrible deed to.
The feline rolled the words through his mind. The man didn’t expect an answer, or didn’t want an answer then. How strange, to ask something so cryptic, yet, Sayvahn would give him this, at least. It was one of the few things that the fox had asked him to do, after all. Yet, if Sayvahn couldn’t answer, perhaps he could give a question as well, let the words tug on both their minds, and not just the feline’s.
“Could you forgive me?” Sayvahn turned, wanting, hoping to see the man’s face, but the fox’s back, it was turned, and so far away. Lasair, was he—was he running away from him? The thought pained Sayvahn, but the blonde pushed through, straightening, clenching his fists.
“If I did something unforgivable, could you forgive me?” Sayvahn’s voice, it was almost pleading. Who knew what would come, what would happen if Corey were to return. If he attacked Mala again, would Sayvahn be able to hold back? Would the fire that lingered on his fingertips really be still, and not jump onto the boy’s clothes, onto his skin, burning him? If that happened, Sayvahn doubted he would be able to forgive himself, let alone have Lasair forgive him. But the idea, the concept, of forgiveness from the fox. It was empowering, it was gentle, it was nice. But right now, it was painful, because somehow, the feline doubted that the feelings would be returned, that the forgiveness, that this love, would be mutual.
Biting his tongue, Sayvahn turned away, holding onto his side as he walked. It was foolish for him to ask such a question, for him to expect an answer for such a question. Perhaps, it would have been better to have said nothing, to have thought nothing, of it all.
“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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