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
Open to Sayvahn Another boring day in the life of Edgar Anapello. He sat behind the counter, lazily reading a book as the sun slowly crawled across the sky outside his windows. Business was slow on both fronts these days. There were a handful of regulars who still needed their renewals from time to time, but besides them, the river of business had dried out to only a trickle. It had forced him to spend more and more time opening his barber shop and actually cutting hair. Not that he minded it, but it wasn’t the most exciting capitalist pursuit.
When he got the announcement that he needed to put an ander friendly sign out front, he immediately chuckled to himself. What kind of ander wouldn’t allow anders in his own shop? Well, it was besides the point and he hung the sign up anyway. He got two new customers from it that week, and then no others. He was back to catering to the regulars on this front as well.
He sighed, glancing over to his tools which were getting close to needing their sharpening. They weren’t bad by any means, but they could be better. Ah, well perhaps after this chapter he would get around to it. It’s not like customers were about to be pouring in at any moment.
Normally, Sayvahn would have someone else cut his hair. Generally, it had been Corey, with unsteady hands who often asked “don’t you have someone else to do this for you?” And perhaps the feline did. But it was far too fun, far too precious, to merely caress the boy’s hand and shush him, leaning back in the chair to stare into uncertain amber eyes. “It’s alright dear. Just snip the edges, just a bit. And here, hold the scissors like this.” Fingers entwined with Corey’s, lacing the digits into a better handhold. “It’s much easier this way.” Yet Corey’s hands still trembled, still quivered with every cut. Sayvahn laughed, urging him to calm down, and the boy had scoffed, telling him to be quiet. Eventually, Sayvahn did quiet, listening instead to the cutting of hair— so familiar, yet different. Rarely was it his own, yet such moments were bound to happen. After all, the barber couldn’t do everything.
This time, Corey was gone though. The feline had to rely on another barber, had to rely on some other fellow or miss to cut his hair. Not a difficult feat— trusting someone else to trim around the edges was not as hard to do as much as it was to let them define his wig. Yet, Sayvahn did have a specific quota. He had asked his old colleagues for a descent barber, many, joking “Can’t you do it yourself?” And perhaps he could. But the blonde didn’t want to. No. Not when someone had recommended a tall, slender barber— a feline, they had phrased. “Tall, feline, quite attractive, and skilled. Up your alley, no?” Perhaps, but no alleys needed to be traversed, not in the sense that they were implying. At least, not while a certain redhead tugged at his brain—which was hard to ignore now that the two were so close, studying magic in preparation for a reunion that Sayvahn rather not have. Sighing, the older man pushed through the door, tucking sunlit locks around his ear as he gazed at the form, tending to his scissors. “Good day.” Sayvahn stated, stepping in, already moving to remove his hat and coat— not as necessary with the weather, since it was no longer winter, yet spring still had a nip to her breath, and Sayvahn, caution with Corey still looking for him.
Post by Edgar Anapello on May 25, 2016 7:46:14 GMT
The entrance of a customer nearly took Edgar by surprise, but his eyes caught the flicker of movement just as the door opened. It seemed that he hadn’t the time to finish that chapter after well. It couldn’t be helped. He tucked the bookmark into the pages and set the book down before standing up, brushing his clothes off a moment, and then putting on his best business smile for the man entering the shop.
“Good day and welcome to Anapello’s barbershop. You can come have a seat here,” he motioned to the large chair, one of three stationed in the shop. “What service were you interested in today?” he asked, continuing to wear the same smile.
"Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets." -Paul Tournier
Emerald eyes traced the tall figure’s form, to at last rest on the man’s smile. The look of it was off putting: forced, for one, and second, it seemed strange for the boy. As if the feature didn’t match the rest of his persona, which probably wasn’t too far off the mark.
“No need for that kind of smile dear. I know it can be quite tiring. Just be normal, and don’t worry about winning my heart with smiles. You already won it.” Taking a seat, Sayvahn tested the chair, as if inspecting the springs of the cushion. Not bad, but not as comfy as his own. Shame, but at least the barber was attractive. Hopefully his skills would be just as appealing. “Just a trim is suitable. Getting a bit too long for my liking, you know.”
“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 Edgar Anapello on May 27, 2016 6:25:11 GMT
Edgar’s smile, while it might have appeared forced, was one he was accustomed to having rest on his lips and one that did not feel forced in the slightest. If anything, it was a habit these days. “I can assure you that this is the face I wish to show, sir.” The flirtatious quip might as well have not been spoken, for Edgar showed no reaction towards it.
Once the customer was seated in the chair, Edgar picked up a comb and began running it through the hair, getting accustomed to the texture and length. A small trim was a very easy task, and after a few moments the barber reached for his scissors and began to slowly snip away. The smile relaxed from his face as he began to work, but did not completely fade. “If you decide you’d like more taken off after seeing yourself in the mirror, say as much and I’ll snip a bit more.” His eyes trailed down to the hands of the other, hoping to perhaps see evidence of claws at the fingertips. Edgar was ever a man of business, and getting him out of that mental state would be a challenge indeed.
At the other’s response, Sayvahn laughed, although, he did feel somewhat, hm, what was the word? Not dejected, per say. More like, dissatisfied. Perhaps that is why his friends had warned him about the barber, but, alas, that is also why he came. “I see. Too bad then.” The feline hummed, getting somewhat situated. As Edgar trimmed, Sayvahn followed his motions, his movements, at the curl of wrist to look at the hair’s edges, snipping them ever so lightly, his scissors, although not freshly sharpened, still with an edge. The silent whisper of scissors was familiar, and Sayvahn had to admit, he missed it. Glancing in the mirror, he noticed that the barber’s face had softened, had eased somewhat. “What is your name, dearie?” The feline asked, his fingers, drumming ever so slightly on the chair’s arm, gloved hands hiding the lineage the other sought to find.
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
With no obvious signs of Ander relation (tattoos couldn’t be seen at the top of the neck, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there), Edgar was left to assume the man was human for the time being. “Edgar. Edgar Anapello.” His voice was direct as he answered, leaning towards the firm side. A few moments after he answered he stopped his cutting and reached around for a mirror, holding it front of the other so that he could view his hair. “Is the length good, sir?”
"Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets." -Paul Tournier
The name made Sayvahn pause, and raising a brow the feline smiled ever so slightly. “Edgar Anapello, hmm? How nice. The name is Sayvahn. Pleasure to make your acquaintace.” The feline laughed, tilting his head back ever so slightly, taking a glance in the mirror. The name was very familiar, or at least, it was a variant of a somewhat familiar name, but well, the dark haired man probably was told that often. “Perhaps a bit shorter. Just in the back though.” The older man hummed, following the taller barber’s hands as he worked. It was obvious Edgar wasn’t one for conversation. A sad fact, as it seemed he was a rather interesting, and handsome, reserved young man. But alas, that was life, Sayvahn supposed. Yet, the silence had to be filled somehow, and what better way to fill the silence then a fragment of a poem, written but the barber’s variant? “ Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.” The ex-barber started, eyes closing somewhat as he tried to remember the poem. After all, it had been a while since he had read it to Corey. “Why preyest thou thus upon the poet’s heart, Vulture, whose wings are dull realities? How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise, Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies, Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing?” The feline paused, the rest of the poem, lost upon him, but at least he had remembered that part. Alas, it would probably be ignored by the taller man. Well, regardless, it had made a smile form across the blonde’s features as the snipping of scissors sung at the back of his head.
He nodded, taking the mirror away and picking the scissors back up as he moved to the back of the man’s head, trimming off a bit more of the hair.
His cutting slowed as the words reached his ears, however. After two lines, his movement had completely stopped as he seemed to fall into a trance. Poetry, being shared aloud, it was something that was a rarity coming from a voice that wasn’t Edgar’s. He reveled in it, relishing the way the syllables flowed.
But the poem stopped before its natural end. That was crime in every way, one that Edgar could not let go unremedied. “Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car, And driven the Hamadryad from the wood To seek a shelter in some happier star? Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood, The Elfin from the green grass, and from me The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?
To Science, true daughter of Old Time thou art.”
He shook his head for a moment, returning from his internal land. He remembered there were scissors in his hand, and only a few snips left to finish the man's hair.
"Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets." -Paul Tournier
Pausing again, Sayvahn glanced at Edgar, lips caught between a curious breath. So he was familiar?
“Thank you. I couldn’t remember the rest of the poem.” Sayvahn chuckled somewhat, however, the curious feeling that lingered with his words remained. “Do you like poetry?” The feline inquired, having noticed, ever so slightly, Edgar’s slowing as he had spoken the words— his voice, rather elegant, but reserved, but kept, as if for a rainy day. Hearing it almost was like a gift, a treat. Probably a rarity upon chance, and the thought of it made Sayvahn smile. “I’m guessing you at least like his, since you have the poem memorized.”
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Edgar’s face fell to a flat line as the question came to him. He wasn’t eager to admit it, so instead he kept quiet and finished cutting the hair. Setting the scissors down, he reached for the mirror again and placed it in front of the blond’s face. “Is that better?” he asked, the smallest hint of embarrassment hiding behind his featuring, including his voice.
"Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets." -Paul Tournier
The faintest blush was visible on Edgar’s features, and Sayvahn smiled at the man, his reflection, as stoic in the mirror as in real life as Sayvahn turned in his chair. “It is, but—
“Tottering above In her highest noon, The enamored moon Blushes”
“But, instead of the moon, I think you would make a better Israfel, no? Your voice, after all, is quite sweet, and belonging to an angel “whose heartstrings are a lute.” Sayvahn smiled, emerald orbs glimmering in the reflection of the sun in the back mirror before he chuckled ever so softly. "Your voice is quite beautiful when you recite. You should do so more often." The older man hummed.
The man chose to taunt him with more poetry. It made Edgar uncomfortable, and yet, he was also pleased to find someone who could also appreciate something he enjoyed. And while he was scared that this new man, Sayvahn, would tease him soon enough, surely it wouldn’t be so bad if he recited a bit more. After all, it wasn’t often that someone seemed to appreciate the words Edgar held in his heart.
“I only shudder, I only stutter And yet can’t halt: at last, I feel I know you, Nature, And must hold you fast.”
Just one verse, see if the man knew of the poem. And if not, see how he felt from hearing something new thenThe Artist's Evening song by Goethe Linkity link
Words unfamiliar flowed from Edgar’s thin lips, and Sayvahn found himself entranced. How the man spoke, long eyelashes, lowered, his face, so stern, but yet gentle. What lay underneath there must be as beatufiul as the words, if not more so. The feline smiled at such a possibility. “You recite beautifully. Tell me, is that yours? If not, Im not familiar, but I would love to be.” Sayvahn seemed to purr, turning in his seat to look at the taller barber, and how his clothes seemed to hug his body— but in a way that was reserved. Everything about this man was reserved, and it made Sayvahn want to dig, to find the string to unravel the other. “It’s not everyday, after all, I get to be witness to someone so magnificent.”
“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 Edgar Anapello on Jun 10, 2016 4:32:18 GMT
Edgar chuckled, turning away to place his tools back into their resting spots. “Flattery won’t get you a discount, sir. And no, the material was not my own. Translated from a foreign writer. Not all his work translated well but some things,” he paused, eyes growing distant for a moment. “Some things are beautiful no matter the language.”
He stepped back behind the counter, apparently done with the exchange of words. With a few steps he came to the register, where he looked up at the other expectantly. The barber saw no reason to continue this conversation further. It was better not to become to attached to strangers. Especially not humans who were eager to pry into his life.
"Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets." -Paul Tournier
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