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
Wern scrunched his face. Tried to contemplate the math but, then threw reason away when he found he got the number six instead of three. “But, I bad mouthed ya. If my ma heard me, or saw me.” Wern looked around, as if searching for a drink— or his mother. He wasn’t very sure himself. “ She would be furious.” He slurred, feeling very, very woozy. Which generally meant, time for more alcohol. He began heading toward another bar, not too far from Lasair.
What is important to me is the experience of making. I leave all my work outside and often return to watch it decay.- Andy Goldsworthy
Post by Lasair Landevier Lupen on Dec 24, 2015 8:14:45 GMT
When the man began walking away from him, Lasair quickly turned to follow him, stepping in along side the other. “So now that we’re out of the bar, why not show me your place? You live in the Merchant’s district, right?” He followed the gaze of the mechanic and noticed that his eyes were locked onto another bar just up the street some. Not good, oh no. It was time to leave those places, not head in towards more. A thought occurred to him, the talking ball wasn’t with Vern this time. He’d have to ask the other about that as soon as they were closer to home and farther from a bar
At the question of his abode, Wern squinted at the other, confused. “Yeah. Merchants. That sounds right.” Turning, he looked around for the way to his home. Lasair wanted to see it, apparently. But which way was the merchant’s district? “Uh, where are we?” Wern inquired, unsure of where to go from here. Or, where here was.
What is important to me is the experience of making. I leave all my work outside and often return to watch it decay.- Andy Goldsworthy
Post by Lasair Landevier Lupen on Dec 25, 2015 2:57:52 GMT
Chuckling, Lasair bent down and took Vern’s arm over his shoulder, using it to help lead the man and keep his steady. “We’re in the hovel right now. I’ll get you to the Merchant’s district, but you gotta tell me which place is yours.” Pausing a moment, he added. “And how’s that talking ball of yours doing? I expected to see it with you.” Now the hard part was going to be getting to the district. Time would pass by quicker if they had a conversation going.
At the touch, Wern struggled, breaking away only to nearly tumble in the opposite direction. Letting out a mixture between a squeak and a burp, he threw his body the other way, stumbling into Lasair where now, with a loud laugh, he nodded his head. “Good good.” He chuckled, walking alongside the man, trying to remember what his house even looked like. Did he even have a house? Who knew, with all these bombings. He certainly didn’t. “Goya?” Wern questioned, scrunching his face as he tried to remember. “Don’t know. Been shutting them off more often. Says things. Rude things. Threatens to tell Amon— oh, um. Amon. You don’t know hm. But he’s uh.” Wern thought for a moment as to how to describe the guy. “Tall. Scary. Got a yellow eye- it’s uh, robotic. Yeah. That’s my boss.” Coughing, he was beginning to feel nauseated. Turning, he wondered where a well could be. Wait, did they even have wells in Lodan? That’s dumb. They should have wells. “He doesn’t like me to be honest. Hate’s me, I’m sure. I’m a pain to him, to everyone.” Coughing again, Wern stopped looking around. Instead, he lowered his eyes. “Pretty sure he wants me out of the guild. Though I don’t know what I did wrong. But I’m always doing something wrong.” Wern lowered his head, feet, dragging across the ground. “It would be better if I was gone, you know? Then I would stop being wrong.”
What is important to me is the experience of making. I leave all my work outside and often return to watch it decay.- Andy Goldsworthy
Post by Lasair Landevier Lupen on Dec 27, 2015 5:58:51 GMT
So the man insisted on trying to walk by himself; so be it. Lasair stayed close to him though, ready to jump if the other lost his balance. Amon? Yes, he was familiar with the leader of Mingo’s. Had seen him a handful of times before. Vern was scared of him? That was an odd thought. “I don’t think you do stuff wrong. What did you have in mind?” Perhaps he could get to the source of this self-loathing. “And Goya, where did he come from? Did you make him?” Two topics at once, yes, it would be good to encourage him to bounce between them. Meanwhile, getting back to the Merchant’s district would still take a while.
Now the flamed hair was asking multiple questions, and the headache only seemed to be getting worse. The thumping, the drumming. Cogs, it was like an ancient windmill in his minds, the gears grinding, practically screaming as he sorted through the words. Wern scrunched his face at the first question. “It’s not like I plan to be wrong. But you know, things just happen. I screw up. I’m not good enough. Never doing enough.” Wern laughed dryly as he tottered away, leaning against a wall as he gagged— wanting to throw up, but he couldn’t even do that right. “Even Goya — I messed them up. My father- he made them, I just tweaked. Just added, and look at them.” Wern held out his hand, as if the orb was right next to him, but that was impossible. Goya couldn't roll out to him. Couldn’t be there for him, because he was just a blasted sphere. “They’re a wreck. Always will be.” He hissed, slamming his fist into the wall, gently at first, but only growing harsher as he repeated “and it’s all my fault. Always my fault” until his knuckles bled.
What is important to me is the experience of making. I leave all my work outside and often return to watch it decay.- Andy Goldsworthy
Post by Lasair Landevier Lupen on Dec 28, 2015 5:16:42 GMT
Bleeding, that wasn’t good. Lasair jumped forward and grabbed Vern’s bloody hand, holding it gently. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. We all make mistakes.” Reaching down with a free hand, he pulled a strip of cloth out of his pocket (he had a habit of carrying them around lately, to give to the mortar victims). “That’s what makes us people, our mistakes. Animals die when they make mistakes. We don’t. We get to live on and learn from them.” Wrapping the bloody hand with the cloth gently, he continued to talk in a soothing voice. “It’s what we do with the knowledge that defines us as being good or bad. But not the mistakes themselves.” Finishing with the wrapping, he patted the hand with a soft smile. There was a chance the words would have zero effect on the drunk man, but that was okay. They were something to distract him at least.
Wern listened, yet his head rolled. He liked the touch of the other. The soft gentle taps on the hand, yet it felt too familiar. Of blistered hands caressed by a soft one. One he thought who loved him. The way people turn, he thought bitterly, looking at the other with hazy eyes. His hand burned, and he looked at the bandage, returning the touch as gently as he could in his drunken state. “But why do people got to die? They aren’t animals.” Leaning against the wall, Wern just shook his head, taking the other hand— the not wounded one, and pressing it against his face as he wept. “I just don’t understand. I don’t understand why it has to hurt so much.” Bending down, he continued to cry, clutching the wounded hand tightly, not caring that the knuckles hurt, that they ripped as he clutched his palms tightly, trying to ease out the pain that rattled his insides, making them burn— or maybe that was jut the liquor making its horrible bout, ruining him even more then it already had.
What is important to me is the experience of making. I leave all my work outside and often return to watch it decay.- Andy Goldsworthy
Post by Lasair Landevier Lupen on Dec 28, 2015 7:12:14 GMT
Lasair leaned down next to Vern, rubbing his back gently as the grown man cried. “I spent a long time asking myself the same question. I lost someone really important to me once. It hurt my soul in ways I can’t describe. It still hurts me even now. But,” he paused for a moment, hoping he had the other’s attention. “I didn’t let it stop me from living my life. I still went out and did things. I didn’t let his death be the death of me too.” He reached over to the hand that Vern clutched and set his own on top of it. “Don’t let other people be the death of you too.”
The touch returned, and with it, came the guilt. The man was right. And his hurt— it sounded more painful, sounded more worthy then Wern’s own. Lasiar’s love, did he say who? Someone that he loved, had died. Had disappeared. Broken him, but he moved on. That’s what he was saying, wasn’t it? The pain in Wern’s head only grew worse, mixing with the feel of the knuckles. Wern felt his body breaking down. The sobs, ripping him apart. He could only reply with, “I’m sorry,” over and over, begging for forgiveness, for solace. His worries, his pain, it didn’t matter. And Abigail — that didn’t matter either. It was better for him to move on. She was the victim, not him. He had to keep remembering that. He had to make it up to her. Had to move on. Like she told him to. And he had to purify his wrongs. His worthlessness. Lasair was right. Drinking his worries away wouldn’t do anything but numb. He had to live with his demons, and maybe then, he would be allowed to rest. Allowed to die. Until then, “I’m sorry” had to be enough. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. I’m sorry I couldn’t love you like you wanted me to. All the apologies he owed, he’d tend to them, have them, until at last, he could sleep and be done with it all.
What is important to me is the experience of making. I leave all my work outside and often return to watch it decay.- Andy Goldsworthy
Post by Lasair Landevier Lupen on Dec 29, 2015 8:56:38 GMT
Lasair continued to kneel there, offering as much comfort to the other man as he could muster. “Life’s hard,” he said quietly. The gentle up and down motion with his hand never wavered as he was determined to see this through. Both men have been through a lot, the ander realized. A lot more than a normal human should have to go through.
Time passed and the world slowly began to reform around them. Vern still needed to get home. His hand came to a stop and ended with a light pat as Lasair stood up, attempting to slowly pull the other up with him. “Come on, friend. You need to sleep off this alcohol and I want to make sure you have the chance to do that.” Take a step and start to walk, lead the man to the merchant district and then fin their way to his house. One step at a time they could get there.
Nodding, the motion was too quick for Wern’s head. Fumbling up, he led, or at least, helped lead the red head to his home. The apologies stopped, and instead, Wern focused on his breathing. On the breath of the other. If Lasair pushed for conversation, Wern would try to listen. But the cold bit at his fingertips, crawling beneath his clothes to huddle and claim his body as its own. The warmth of the beer had faded, and the night carried the smell of smoke, of a fire burning somewhere. Soon, they appeared in front of his home—a little two story house, jammed in between two larger ones, and Wern stared at the dark, unlit windows. Looking to Lasair, he couldn’t help but reach for the other’s sleeve, bending his head down as he spoke.
“Can you...” Maybe the beer was fading form him. His mind was clearer, fuzzy still, but he knew the wrongs he made that night. Couldn’t remember all of them, but the stinging in his hand. It told him more than enough. “Can you come inside?” Wern removed his hand. “I just don’t want to be—“ He looked to the door, to Lasair, then the ground. “to be –“ Hunching, Wen searched for the words in his pocket, and found his keys. He shook his head. “I… never mind.” Walking to the door, he trembled as he unlocked the door, opening the interior. “I, uh, guess this is goodbye, huh?”
Post by Lasair Landevier Lupen on Dec 30, 2015 8:31:36 GMT
The walk was quiet after that incident. One step at a time they arrived at the destination. It was a humble manor, but it was nice. Lasair made a note of the location and planned to return here again, if only to make sure that Vern hadn’t done anything regrettable.
His attention returned to the shorter man when he felt the pull at his sleeve. Nervous, scared, regretful, sad, and more were all emotions seeping out of the other. And with that in mind, how could Lasair leave now? That just wouldn’t be right. Taking a step forward, he stood next to Vern at the door. “I’d love to come inside,” he said kindly, a warm smile on his face. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else he needed to be, spending some time to make sure this man was okay would fit in his schedule perfectly.
Holding the door open, Wern froze, listening to the words that washed sweet relief down his trembling muscles. Nodding, Wern opened the door wider to let the other inside. Stumbling into the kitchen, he got himself a drink, offering the red head some as well.
“Water?” He questioned, getting the other a glass regardless of the answer. The house itself was descent— the kitchen at least. Though, if one looked into the living room, metal and other materials were scattered around all over the floor, mixed with papers, folded and tossed about and the occasional beer bottle. One who had presumed he was just a rare drinker, except for the many that sat overflowing from a garbage can in the corner. Though, that was probably not the strangest part of the house. No, the strangest part was probably the creature that waddled into the Kitchen, quiet at first, only to honk rather loudly at the site of the stranger and Wern. Rushing over, Kaia bit at Wern’s ankles, Wern dancing awkwardly in response to try to avoid the gooses advances.
“Kaia, sorry, sorry, I’ll feed you.” Fumbling with the water, he looked around for the bread, unsure of where he put it. Or even if he had it. Oh cogs. “Bread, bread, bread.” He stammered, dancing toward the bread as Kaia followed, only to be silenced as Wern threw the loaves at her face. Only then did the beast accept her sacrifice and quiet to devour the loaves.
What is important to me is the experience of making. I leave all my work outside and often return to watch it decay.- Andy Goldsworthy
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