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
The older woman noticed the look, a defeated glance, one of unwillingness. The barber went to busy his empty hands, fixing the wine, grabbing their gloves, and there— she saw it. The same, empty look from the barber shop. To be fair, she felt less reserved toward it, after seeing how easily it could crack, but it was a shame to go back to it. After all, his genuine features were so much more nicer, so much kinder. “Indeed.” She ushered, eyes, lowering, already feeling the feelings that they shared disappear somewhat. It still lingered yes, but, well. They weren’t lingering as strongly as moments before. “Thank you dearie.” The older woman curtsied as she stepped out, wondering what else could change, what else would change as time passed, as time revealed the truth. “I’ll consider it.”
“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 29, 2016 5:05:32 GMT
After she stepped through the door, he allowed it to close. The bottle was tucked under one arm, and with the other, he reached for her arm to walk her out of the building. His eyes were, again, soft as they regarded her. She brought out a side of him he didn’t much show, a side that he usually kept nuzzled into hidden books. But now that he had shown it to her once, he was already eager to show it again. Taking a light breath, he stepped forward with her, reminding himself that he had to compose himself while walking past the bartender. “To where will I be walking you to, m’lady?”
"Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets." -Paul Tournier
Interlacing their arms, Aida did not resist the urge to lean her head against his shoulder. There, she would remain, until at last, they left the safety of the bar, where secrets were kept and where feelings were mutual. “Up the stairs and to the door, I believe. Oh, how tragic, we must leave.” The woman sung, ever so gently as emerald eyes lowered, tracing the trail that would eventually lead to their parting. How odd, Aida felt. This parting. It was so childish. So young. Two of the things she believed she had left behind weeks ago with a man with hair of earthly red— her breath caught. No. It was better yet to forget such a 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 Edgar Anapello on Jul 10, 2016 1:45:41 GMT
He smiled as she leaned her head on him. The closeness was welcomed, especially given it meant she cared for him past the little stunt in the backroom. “I’d like to continue escorting you after that if possible; to ensure you have no issues on the journey to your next destination,” he almost hummed as he spoke, enjoying this little conversation they were having. It was light, calm, and all around nice. Edgar didn’t get to enjoy that sort of thing often. He never realized he’d crave it. Glancing upwards to the flight of stairs, he decided they would walk very slowly up them. Very, very slowly. Just in case she really did insist on parting at their peak.
"Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets." -Paul Tournier
The taller feline did not draw away, nor had Aida expected him to. Yet the gesture and his words caused a smile to drape across ruby lips. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to have him follow— yet if he lingered and saw a man walk out instead of a woman, would he understand the difference? Would he realize that it was two people, entering and leaving at different times, or one? The older woman couldn’t risk it. Not yet.
“I appreciate the gesture, but it be safer if we didn’t. After all, appearances must be kept— and if the girls saw me walking with a tall, handsome, young man at this hour— why, it would be quite a scandal.” Pausing on the stairs, Aida turned to Edgar, a hand, tracing upwards to catch the side of his face as her lips grazed his, the gentlest brush before she pulled back, eyes, flickering between the barber’s dark pools and the connection of her hand against his cheek— the warmth overpowering, pulsating as skin touched skin. “And frankly, I rather keep this scandal going. Don’t you?”
“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 Jul 10, 2016 5:17:19 GMT
He was saddened by her insistence on parting, but that was why he had walked so slowly, hadn’t it? Now he felt like he should have been walking even slower. But a point, she did have one. And he was sure that he didn’t want this to end, not yet at least. Perhaps maybe not ever. As their faces parted, yet remained so close, he found himself smiling at her now in a bittersweet sort of way. “I don’t want it to end yet, you are right. But I will be looking forward to seeing you again. On stage, or off. Maybe even both.” Despite the sadness and the unwillingness to do so, he took a step back, forcing a distance between them to appear. “Do be safe. Please,” he spoke now, a hint of worry behind his face.
"Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets." -Paul Tournier
The poet looked so defeated, so vulnerable—it amused Aida. The fact that he could become this way— the stern features, unable to be moved, easily crumbling into ones of despair of longing, before her. He stepped away, but she, she stepped closer. “We will meet again. I promise.” Leaning up, the blonde kissed him again, however, it was not gentle— it was passionate, lasting logner then the first— but it was assertive, and filled with want. Yet, at one point, things must end, and the older woman stepped back, breath, hinged. “And do not fear for me. I can assure you, I will be fine.” After all, her time in the guild had at least fostered that. She may not be strong, but at least, she was not weak. A smile coating her lips, she waved, easily walking up the rest of the stairs and pausing at the top, right before the door. “Until we meet again, my poet, until we meet again.”
“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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