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
No words of encouragement broke the man’s sorrow. Biting her lip, Aida removed one hand, flexing it little by little as if to try out the thought of not holding his hand. Then, she dared an even riskier approach. Petting his hair, and perhaps leading him to lay against her lap. The padding of her dress would at least give some comfort. “Shh, Tommy, shh. Just let it out. Just let it out.” Aida hummed, petting his head.
“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 Thomas "Tomcat" Thompson on Mar 15, 2017 1:38:52 GMT
This was humiliating, Thomas thought as the woman stroked his hair and rested his head on her skirt, and he wanted nothing more than to run from the whole situation. If he couldn't fight, then maybe he could run. But he had completely shut down. He fell to silence before muttering a half hearted "...tired."
Tired. That was the only word to come out of him. Maybe if things were a bit lighter, Aida would have chuckled. Instead she offered a sad smile. “Shhh, I know. Want me take you somewhere to rest?” Aida offered, petting his head still. Hopefully he was somewhat comfy on her lap— the costume’s dress was bound to give some “fluff” to the front area, where she had tied it all. Though, now that she realized, she hoped that the bottom helm had not gotten dirty. The stage manager would kill her if he knew that she had gotten her costume dirtied. “I have a friend close by who runs a bar. I can take you there and ask him if we can use the back room for a bit,” Aida explained, curling one of her fingers through Tom’s obsidian locks. It wasn’t soft per say, but it was a nice feeling. Like hay, which made her smile softer, somewhat.
“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 Thomas "Tomcat" Thompson on Mar 15, 2017 2:41:22 GMT
Fine. Fine! Anywhere but here. Anywhere where he wouldn't have to think about anything that is happening right now. In this moment. He was so embarrassed that he felt as if being stabbed with a thumbtack until he died would be less painful. "fine."
Tom was proving to be a man of little words. Aida sighed at that. Lifting his head up, she got up slightly, cursing under her breath at the fact that indeed, there was a stain at the hem of her gown. Well, nothing hopefully a bucket of water and a large amount of soap and tears could not fix. Though, the dress would have to wait. There was a different problem at hand. “Can you walk?” Aida asked. If need be, she could carry him and although not bridal style, she could put his arm around her and guide him that way if need be. Though, she barely gave him time to respond as she bent forward, taking his hands in hers to help guide him up. If he was shaky, she would support him. If he could walk, she would merely hold his arm (unless he shook that off to). Otherwise, once situated, Aida would usher gentle words, along with “Alright. It’s not too far. Just follow my lead,” holding on thinly by his hand, or if need be, by a part of his jacket, urging him forward and out of the alley.
“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 Thomas "Tomcat" Thompson on Mar 15, 2017 3:25:03 GMT
He could get up. Surprisingly - but Aida took him by the hand and led him along, which was helpful, even if he were unable to admit it. That said, his face - though splotchy - turned back into a sneer with an eye of hatred, but he looked away from Aida as best he could. This was humiliating. Entirely and completely. But repeating it to himself would help nothing. But what was it that caused him to shut down like he had? It's not as if anything Aida said hurt him. Not that it could. That would be impossible. What, then, had she done differently than anybody else? She noticed him. And it made him furious - for more reasons than he was capable of realizing.
Well, the little Alley cat was proving to be compliant, if not a little bit bitter. Aida smiled at that, holding his hand and arm with a gentle grip, looping it through hers. Luckily, the bar was close, and the streets were dim. The perks of having a late night show. Yet, even in the faint light, Aida could see that Tom was looking away from her. After all, their eyes glowed, revealing where their eyelines lay. However, the bar soon appeared over the horizon, and Aida led him to the edge, where the stairs would take them down to the door to the bar. Already, faint music trickled up the stairs toward them. Aida tugged gently on Tom’s arm. “Down here— the bar keeper is nice. He’ll let us use his backroom, where you can lie down for a bit,” she explained, smiling weakly. Though, it had been a while since she used the backroom. In fact, the last time she had used it, it had been with Edgar— which, at the memory, made her bite her lip. Yeah, it was probably best not to think of that. “Come, I’ll buy you a drink.”
“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 Thomas "Tomcat" Thompson on Mar 22, 2017 21:33:28 GMT
"I can buy my own drat dr-" Thomas snapped, but stopped himself. A drink would be good. Really good, right now especially. "... Yeah, I'll take the drink." He said, shoving his pride back down. This had been the most he had said since.... Must be feeling better. He clenched his teeth before letting out a regretful "Thanks." He glanced at Aida - something seemed off, like... she was biting her lip, looking nervous. "Aye, what's wrong with you?" He asked, his scowl still prevalent, but his voice hoarse, quiet.
Surprised by the outburst, Aida stiffened, though, as Tom backed away, she looked to him. Then, he gave a willing response. Had she wore him down that much? The elder feline almost wanted to pet him, but his eye upon hers silenced her thoughts. Why such an intent stare? Ah, he was concerned. She smiled weakly at that. “Don’t worry, dear. Nothing's wrong. Just… reminiscing.” Her voice, too, was quiet. She instinctively held onto his arm tighter to anchor her to the present. After all, it had been a nice experience. A heated one, but it was back when Edgar had been more naïve. Though, naive was not the proper word— perhaps careful was the better word. But now, now any sense of care was tossed to the side. Sometimes Aida missed that old Edgar. Other times, she did not mind. Yet, it was rude to think of him then— not as she needed to tend to Tom. Leading him down the rest of the stairs, she entered the small bar. The man at the counter looked up from the wooden structure, waving briefly at the two. “Aida, good to see you.” “Good evening, dearie.” She responded, and as the bartender glanced at Tom, he nodded slightly as if already knowing. “Backroom?” At the question, Aida sighed in relief. “Yes, please. If you wouldn’t mind. I’ll make sure to come again, and not have to use it. Tom— what do you want to drink?” Aida asked, almost out of breath. She hadn’t realized she had been holding it— after all, it had been a while since she had been there. It did not even cross her mind that the bartender might not even allow her into the backroom. Yet, he had. After all, he knew as much as her the kind of life she lived. And, at one point, they had been friends. They relied on each other for simple things like this, but again, reminiscing was never healthy.
“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 Thomas "Tomcat" Thompson on Mar 29, 2017 1:36:50 GMT
"oh yeah, I'm sure." Tom retorted, his glare persisting, curiosity being held back only by bitterness. He glanced at the bartender, the look vaguely the same, and shook his head as he replied. "Scotch." It was obvious that Aida had used this 'back room' before, and, based on her expression, it was likely that whatever happened their was either bad outright, or some sort of bittersweet. The Tomcat hoped that any remnants of that night didn't remain in this said backroom - and he also hoped that there was no danger, because frankly, he had little patience to deal with it right now.
The feline was right to doubt her. Aida raised a brow at his harsh remark, but did not quip. After all, it was better to let that conversation die. It was not a safe topic to delve into, let alone to reveal to the man already on edge. Though, maybe it would help mend the gap between them— or, the opposite. It was best not to risk something so fragile with something even more fragile. Scotch. A hard drink, with a unique flavor. Not a lot of people liked scotch. Aida smiled at that, chuckling lightly. “The usual, dear. But one glass.” Aida hummed, and she waited, watching the bartender as he mixed the drinks. Though, the wine itself was put into a basket— a greenish tinted bottle with a single glass, resting amongst towels. It would make it easier for her to carry as she grabbed Tom’s drink as well. Taking Tom’s arm, she motioned toward the backdoor to the side. “Come. This way.” Whether or not Tom took her arm or retrieved the drink, Aida would take him through the back door and down a long, but narrow, hallway. Multiple rooms lay against the back wall, but Aida only approached one of them. Opening the door, the inside room was revealed to be a storage room of some kind. However, a couch lay in the center, allowing anyone to take a break, if need be, or the more common—for a drunkard, far too wasted to leave, to sleep. “This is a room where patrons too wasted to leave stay. I like it, though. Gives me peace of mind, and privacy when things are hectic. Please— lay down if you want to.” In front of the couch was a little end table. There, Aida placed the Scotch (if she still had it) along with the Wine as she grabbed a chair from the side.
“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 Thomas "Tomcat" Thompson on Apr 4, 2017 1:02:17 GMT
Tom ripped his arm away when Aida tried to grab it, but followed her to the back room. He sat on the couch and took the scotch when it was placed on the table. He flicked his eye up to Aida, a sort of, judgmental looking stare, but there was nothing much he wanted to say. Nothing much he knew what to say, either.
The judgmental stare brought a brow to be raised as Aida brought her chair close, sitting on it simply as she grabbed a glass of wine and began to poor herself a glass. She did hum lightly as she did so, not paying the other much mind until she was done. At that, she leaned back, unsure really what to say as well. “Is there anything you want to talk about? You can ask me anything, or you can talk about yourself. I’m all ears. Or lips, if you want me to talk,” the older woman relayed, sloshing her wine back and forth in her glass.
“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 Thomas "Tomcat" Thompson on Apr 29, 2017 18:13:39 GMT
Thomas glared at the woman. He had nothing to say. If she wanted to talk, so be it. But there was nothing behind his lips that he would allow to pass through. He took a sip of his drink, letting his gaze fall hazily before him.
So the boy was going to be silent. So be it. There was nothing wrong with that, as far as Aida was concerned. It just meant that she would have to find some way to fill the silence. “Well, maybe want to talk about is relative. It doesn’t seem you want to be in the same room as me, let alone talk to me.” Leaning back, Aida inspected Tom, noting the marks on his hand. The areas where he bit were darkening, some swelling where he drew blood. Aida sighed, placing her cup down as she got up. “I’m going to heal you a bit. That requires me touching you. Just a little bit, though. Not too much contact,” Aida stated, tracing her fingers on top of his hand. “I can at least do that much, since well…” her voice trailed, unsure really how to end that sentence. Since this was her fault? Perhaps. She was still trying to process what the “fault” was. Maybe more wine would help with that.
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Shoutbox
Welcome to the Shoutbox - If You Have Discord, Ask to Join the Discord Server