Post by Kaili on Sept 6, 2015 21:11:47 GMT
Everything has changed.
A century long slumber has left him now a confused spirit wandering lands far past his time. He is a tribute to what has been placed in a world that represents only what is happening now. Sleep has not provided a time for rest but a time for everything he had established to slip into an abyss even a wayward soul with too much charm cannot weasel himself into.
He is a small little paper boat cast to the current of a thriving ocean and expected not to bleed tree fiber into the salty void. In these past two weeks he has tripped more than he has in months. The nights that he has placed one foot in front of the other have been less for movement and adventure and more to escape the black waters below. Fragileness has begun to mark his scent in an ever changing world he fails to understand. A rule of arithmetic is the base root of most math but what happens if even that is removed from all equations? It hasn’t even been a month and he can already feel his world beginning to collapse around him. No matter how hard he fights the tidal waves, Arion is sure he is going to slip beneath them.
There is a reason he has never liked the sea anyway.
Despite technical difficulties in the blasted terrain, Arion finds himself capable of pulling something together. Errors have overridden his system but, at least to an extent, the clothes which he has decided to wear are picked with a taste of both fashion and and an attempt to hide old sins. A loose white shirt drapes around his figure like cotton bedsheets. Blue skinny jeans frame long legs developed from years of running. A scarf wraps around his neck regardless of the weather to tuck away a scar he has yet to find the will to fix. Sunglasses tuck away the eyes which he cannot and does not want to see. Some of his hair falls along to tickle his neck while another chunk is tucked away into a messy bun.
Something draws him to the place. Maybe is the nostalgia of its very existence. The jarring words on the front is the beam of light from the lighthouse to the paper boat in the ocean. He pauses outside of the establishment, looking up at the words before breathing in once and deciding that he will not leave without something to soothe the haphazard edges left by the short awakening of drastic measures.
Entering the building, he is nearly overtaken by the number of pages stuck into the shelves. He pauses in the entrance, eyeing everything from the vibrant magazines, the furniture of the building, to the technological shove of the computers. Standing in the entrance, his first action after a good amount of time spent inspecting the place is to reach up, take off his glasses, and fold them neatly and slip them into his shirt pocket.
Eyes like the very oceans trying to drown him escape into full view.
Cautious steps are taken as he looks around the place. His advance is slow as he doubts himself, if only slightly. The being which had once flown is now relearning how to walk and he has only been on two legs for but a handful of days. A gentle sigh rolls from his lips at either at the splash of air conditioning or the warmth of indoor heating. He could get lost here, if he truly desired it. Hours could be spent pulling out books, skimming their words, and feeling the soft paper against his skin but it feels- lacking. He could avoid the true purpose of coming to the library or he could embrace it.
Eyeing the place once more, Arion spots a blond lad who, he assumes, works here. He approaches him rather slowly. Reaching slightly to grab his attention, he says, ”excuse me.” With his accent so thick, it is nearly hard to understand the words that, although nearly like honey, are garbled under the thick dialect. His eyebrows arch at his own deficiency in speech. A smile spread across his lips and he offers a warm laugh, touching his throat and clearing his it once before he dares to speak again. Only when he is assured that he can speak at least somewhat understandably does Arion try again.
”Can you help me?”
A century long slumber has left him now a confused spirit wandering lands far past his time. He is a tribute to what has been placed in a world that represents only what is happening now. Sleep has not provided a time for rest but a time for everything he had established to slip into an abyss even a wayward soul with too much charm cannot weasel himself into.
He is a small little paper boat cast to the current of a thriving ocean and expected not to bleed tree fiber into the salty void. In these past two weeks he has tripped more than he has in months. The nights that he has placed one foot in front of the other have been less for movement and adventure and more to escape the black waters below. Fragileness has begun to mark his scent in an ever changing world he fails to understand. A rule of arithmetic is the base root of most math but what happens if even that is removed from all equations? It hasn’t even been a month and he can already feel his world beginning to collapse around him. No matter how hard he fights the tidal waves, Arion is sure he is going to slip beneath them.
There is a reason he has never liked the sea anyway.
Despite technical difficulties in the blasted terrain, Arion finds himself capable of pulling something together. Errors have overridden his system but, at least to an extent, the clothes which he has decided to wear are picked with a taste of both fashion and and an attempt to hide old sins. A loose white shirt drapes around his figure like cotton bedsheets. Blue skinny jeans frame long legs developed from years of running. A scarf wraps around his neck regardless of the weather to tuck away a scar he has yet to find the will to fix. Sunglasses tuck away the eyes which he cannot and does not want to see. Some of his hair falls along to tickle his neck while another chunk is tucked away into a messy bun.
Something draws him to the place. Maybe is the nostalgia of its very existence. The jarring words on the front is the beam of light from the lighthouse to the paper boat in the ocean. He pauses outside of the establishment, looking up at the words before breathing in once and deciding that he will not leave without something to soothe the haphazard edges left by the short awakening of drastic measures.
Entering the building, he is nearly overtaken by the number of pages stuck into the shelves. He pauses in the entrance, eyeing everything from the vibrant magazines, the furniture of the building, to the technological shove of the computers. Standing in the entrance, his first action after a good amount of time spent inspecting the place is to reach up, take off his glasses, and fold them neatly and slip them into his shirt pocket.
Eyes like the very oceans trying to drown him escape into full view.
Cautious steps are taken as he looks around the place. His advance is slow as he doubts himself, if only slightly. The being which had once flown is now relearning how to walk and he has only been on two legs for but a handful of days. A gentle sigh rolls from his lips at either at the splash of air conditioning or the warmth of indoor heating. He could get lost here, if he truly desired it. Hours could be spent pulling out books, skimming their words, and feeling the soft paper against his skin but it feels- lacking. He could avoid the true purpose of coming to the library or he could embrace it.
Eyeing the place once more, Arion spots a blond lad who, he assumes, works here. He approaches him rather slowly. Reaching slightly to grab his attention, he says, ”excuse me.” With his accent so thick, it is nearly hard to understand the words that, although nearly like honey, are garbled under the thick dialect. His eyebrows arch at his own deficiency in speech. A smile spread across his lips and he offers a warm laugh, touching his throat and clearing his it once before he dares to speak again. Only when he is assured that he can speak at least somewhat understandably does Arion try again.
”Can you help me?”