Post by Perdiditinvia on May 23, 2016 3:03:26 GMT
[attr="class","trying"]
[attr="class","we1"]
[attr="class","avatar"]
[attr="class","lost1"]fire is power
and he burns
(no matter how quietly)
Perdiditinvia
and he burns
(no matter how quietly)
Perdiditinvia
[attr="class","rise"]
[attr="class","dying1"]
[attr="class","mouths1"]Perdiditinvia fingered the cloth around his head, a brilliant red with a darker lining embroidered with gold. He had made finer things, to be sure, but now was not the time to be picky. The missing weight of his usual jewelry bothered him, and the albino player winced at the thought, tracing his henna tattoo on his right arm. His blue eyes flickered violently, taking in information that surrounded him, and he brushed his wayward hair aside in one smooth motion, making his way through the streets of the Town of Beginnings. It was crowded, but less so, due to the second floor opening.
But he could not be troubled with such trivialities, he thought wryly, and continued on. Many of the players littering the streets sent him a glance askance, no doubt taking in his odd attire. But he could fault them for the same; such with their odd garb. Dresses made in American fashion, styles littered with ideas from France, Japanese-influenced garb most of all. Such strange people, he might have thought once, ruefully, in his little section of the shop, melding and creating. What would it be like, to see the world from their eyes? It was an aimless question, since he could not grasp the gravity of their thoughts. If he did, he might not ever turn back.
He glanced nearby the sun, for to look at it directly would be idiotic, and relished the warm light before returning in his journey. He had meant to buy something, but he had forgotten what it was. The sheer idea of it all echoed in his head, making him cringe internally. What type of fool did such a thing? The thought made him frown and bury his head into the fabric folds of his head wrap as he blushed and pouted in annoyance. Other players were still giving him odd looks, but he ignored them, instead advancing to the merchant district, where shops were aplenty and people even more common among the cobblestone roads.
The warm aroma of spices, though not as strong as in India, were comforting. The warm sun beat down onto his clothing, but thankfully not his skin, or else he would have burned faster than a man on the sun. Rolling his eyes at the comparison, the youth walked forward, tugging his head wrap even further around his face, feeling the gentle sensation of his long white hair, which was uncoiled instead of pulled tightly into a braid, let loose, underneath his head wrap, shift. The green player made to start, which also attracted some glances, and self-consciously tugged a lock of hair over his ear.
He arrived at the sun-baked wood of a merchant's fruit stall, inclining his head in greeting. The brunette player who worked there gave him a lazy smile and a wave, her eyes already flickering back to her open HUD, the white and orange screen filled with keys and words, her free hand clicking over them quickly. Perhaps messaging a friend? Her stifled giggles and small smiles would make him assume so, but her constant, ever-present pink tinge in her cheeks made him reconsider his thought. Ah, someone much closer and more intimate than a friend. That was good for her, he asserted in his mind softly.
There was a brief pause as he ran his fingers over the smooth wood of her stall, admiring the warm fruit that gleamed under the sunlight. There was a light, sweet aroma that drafted off the fruits, and he enjoyed it for a brief second. Closing his eyes, he listened to the simple sound of the streets. The little click-clack of shoes against cobblestone, the sound of giggles and laughter perfuming the air, the speech in all crisp and soft sounds, mingling in various languages and volumes, tones mixing into one grand melody. He opened his eyes again to see the woman looking at him curiously, and blushed.
He felt a little self-aware, having been so absorbed inside of his own mind. Murmuring a shy apology at being singled out, he moved away from the stall, having decided to not purchase anything, as he was already unsure of what to do. He merely tugged on his head wrap, which was fast becoming a nervous habit. His mother would have sighed at his timidness while his father would have merely leveled him with a look. He had gotten his quiet, solemn personality from his father, who had bursts of anger that he swore could have toppled the sun. It was terrifying, sometimes, to understand the type of people he was related to.
Perhaps he was blinded, but he knew no one with a purer heart than those around him in his childhood; his father, who was patient and gentle, working with livestock, coaxing a sick mother hen to come with him and then personally tending to each one of her eggs individually with extraordinary care; his clever mother, who knew seven ways to get a stain out of a cloth, who distributed part of her wages among the village families. And of course, there was his sister, a warm-hearted girl who created balms for every ache, her troubles hidden behind her lovely dark eyes.
There was Arman, a man who brought their money to market and bought food back, his words biting and icy but hands gentle, and his wife, a petite woman who was strong in her own right, the midwife of the village. Each person, no matter how cruel or ordinary they seemed, had a unique strength and goodness of their own, and therefore, Jian had always believed that he should act and try to help people in order to let that "goodness" prosper. While his brother-in-law blamed him for their village fire, he also showed great devotion to his sister, weeping over her ashes and allowing no man to step close.
To every coin, there were two sides, and Perdiditinvia honored that fact, believing in the good in every person. He may be simpleminded, he may be naive, but without giving others a chance, what could you know? He believed in devoting your soul to save lives so the souls you saved could save others in turn. Perhaps it was mere fantasy, hungering over an ideal that could never take place, as brilliant as the sun and twice as radiant. Perdiditinvia was alright with that. As the shopkeeper who he worked with sighed, he was an altruist.
He walked on, a little less concerned, his thoughts dissipating as he took notice of those around him. The warmth of the sun heated the clothes that he wore, making himself pleasantly warm, but those thoughts disappeared as he bumped into someone. The white-haired albino player blinked, his eyelashes tangling, and then opened his eyes again, head angled a little down before he realized he was missing part of the head of a player. His eyes traveled up as he viewed the other player, cheeks pinking, before he managed to somewhat level his voice and ask whether the other player was alright. "Are you alright? My apologies." He inclined his head as a manner of apology.
But he could not be troubled with such trivialities, he thought wryly, and continued on. Many of the players littering the streets sent him a glance askance, no doubt taking in his odd attire. But he could fault them for the same; such with their odd garb. Dresses made in American fashion, styles littered with ideas from France, Japanese-influenced garb most of all. Such strange people, he might have thought once, ruefully, in his little section of the shop, melding and creating. What would it be like, to see the world from their eyes? It was an aimless question, since he could not grasp the gravity of their thoughts. If he did, he might not ever turn back.
He glanced nearby the sun, for to look at it directly would be idiotic, and relished the warm light before returning in his journey. He had meant to buy something, but he had forgotten what it was. The sheer idea of it all echoed in his head, making him cringe internally. What type of fool did such a thing? The thought made him frown and bury his head into the fabric folds of his head wrap as he blushed and pouted in annoyance. Other players were still giving him odd looks, but he ignored them, instead advancing to the merchant district, where shops were aplenty and people even more common among the cobblestone roads.
The warm aroma of spices, though not as strong as in India, were comforting. The warm sun beat down onto his clothing, but thankfully not his skin, or else he would have burned faster than a man on the sun. Rolling his eyes at the comparison, the youth walked forward, tugging his head wrap even further around his face, feeling the gentle sensation of his long white hair, which was uncoiled instead of pulled tightly into a braid, let loose, underneath his head wrap, shift. The green player made to start, which also attracted some glances, and self-consciously tugged a lock of hair over his ear.
He arrived at the sun-baked wood of a merchant's fruit stall, inclining his head in greeting. The brunette player who worked there gave him a lazy smile and a wave, her eyes already flickering back to her open HUD, the white and orange screen filled with keys and words, her free hand clicking over them quickly. Perhaps messaging a friend? Her stifled giggles and small smiles would make him assume so, but her constant, ever-present pink tinge in her cheeks made him reconsider his thought. Ah, someone much closer and more intimate than a friend. That was good for her, he asserted in his mind softly.
There was a brief pause as he ran his fingers over the smooth wood of her stall, admiring the warm fruit that gleamed under the sunlight. There was a light, sweet aroma that drafted off the fruits, and he enjoyed it for a brief second. Closing his eyes, he listened to the simple sound of the streets. The little click-clack of shoes against cobblestone, the sound of giggles and laughter perfuming the air, the speech in all crisp and soft sounds, mingling in various languages and volumes, tones mixing into one grand melody. He opened his eyes again to see the woman looking at him curiously, and blushed.
He felt a little self-aware, having been so absorbed inside of his own mind. Murmuring a shy apology at being singled out, he moved away from the stall, having decided to not purchase anything, as he was already unsure of what to do. He merely tugged on his head wrap, which was fast becoming a nervous habit. His mother would have sighed at his timidness while his father would have merely leveled him with a look. He had gotten his quiet, solemn personality from his father, who had bursts of anger that he swore could have toppled the sun. It was terrifying, sometimes, to understand the type of people he was related to.
Perhaps he was blinded, but he knew no one with a purer heart than those around him in his childhood; his father, who was patient and gentle, working with livestock, coaxing a sick mother hen to come with him and then personally tending to each one of her eggs individually with extraordinary care; his clever mother, who knew seven ways to get a stain out of a cloth, who distributed part of her wages among the village families. And of course, there was his sister, a warm-hearted girl who created balms for every ache, her troubles hidden behind her lovely dark eyes.
There was Arman, a man who brought their money to market and bought food back, his words biting and icy but hands gentle, and his wife, a petite woman who was strong in her own right, the midwife of the village. Each person, no matter how cruel or ordinary they seemed, had a unique strength and goodness of their own, and therefore, Jian had always believed that he should act and try to help people in order to let that "goodness" prosper. While his brother-in-law blamed him for their village fire, he also showed great devotion to his sister, weeping over her ashes and allowing no man to step close.
To every coin, there were two sides, and Perdiditinvia honored that fact, believing in the good in every person. He may be simpleminded, he may be naive, but without giving others a chance, what could you know? He believed in devoting your soul to save lives so the souls you saved could save others in turn. Perhaps it was mere fantasy, hungering over an ideal that could never take place, as brilliant as the sun and twice as radiant. Perdiditinvia was alright with that. As the shopkeeper who he worked with sighed, he was an altruist.
He walked on, a little less concerned, his thoughts dissipating as he took notice of those around him. The warmth of the sun heated the clothes that he wore, making himself pleasantly warm, but those thoughts disappeared as he bumped into someone. The white-haired albino player blinked, his eyelashes tangling, and then opened his eyes again, head angled a little down before he realized he was missing part of the head of a player. His eyes traveled up as he viewed the other player, cheeks pinking, before he managed to somewhat level his voice and ask whether the other player was alright. "Are you alright? My apologies." He inclined his head as a manner of apology.
[attr="class","lying1"]✎ Dragonsnow , Let's start.
ulla
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