[OPEN] Reflection

[Kyle]

"I will not allow anyone to die." ☒ @dreaming ✐ 000 ✉ Open to everyone. No player limit. Kyle Martin Lv1

Kyle tentatively stepped out of his apartment and into the impressive imperial-like city known as the Town of Beginnings. Kyle never understood how a place with such grandeur still maintained a homely vibe akin to a village in Italy's countryside. However, a heavy downpour diminished much of the town's splendor. The innumerable tall, copper lampposts illuminated the town's many cobblestone streets and alleys and a mysterious, almost otherworldly mist settled along the ground. Kyle grimaced. He hated the rain and since he still hadn't gotten over the death of his three friends, the gloomy weather wasn't helping his depressed mood. This was the first time that Kyle experienced rain in Sword Art Online, so he hadn't bought an umbrella yet. Great! And the flavor items shop is half a mile away, he grimaced internally. The Monument of Life is closer. With the rain drenching his head and shoulders like an owner giving their unwilling dog a bath, Kyle pressed on, slouching through the ever-growing puddles of water. As he strolled through the town, he glanced down at the rusty, copper dagger strapped to the left side of his thin waist. Why did I pick this weapon? If I knew this game would turn into a game of life and death, I would've picked something much stronger like a war hammer or something. For the millionth time in the past three days, the final words of Kyle's best friend replayed in his head. "Kyle, you have to get stronger." Kyle clenched his left hand into a fist, his veins visibly protruding from the pressure. He gritted his teeth, his lips unfurling slightly revealing a snarl. How am I supposed to get stronger with a measly weapon and one attribute point in strength? I picked the wrong class. Kyle hoped that later on he could switch his weapon mastery to something that deals more damage, but for now, he decided to work with what he had. After all, he finally possessed enough nerve to exit his apartment. He realized that other's lives were on the line and he had to fulfill his friend's final wish. He had to get stronger not for only himself, but to protect others that were weaker than him. The Town of Beginning's building became more extravagant the closer Kyle got to the Monument of Life. The Italian-styled cottages turned into daunting marble palaces ornamented with complex gold designs from bottom to top. Kyle dreamed of living in a place like that one day. The simple sight sparked his passion for high-end luxuries, but he would gladly trade it all for the chance to exit this prison of a game and fall into the loving embrace of his friends and family in the real world. After several minutes of walking, the Monument of Life came into view and after feeling the bone-chilling cold of his wet clothes, he was more than eager to seek shelter in the impressive, sacred cathedral. The water dyed his long sleeve, solid red shirt to a deep burgundy and his navy-blue jeans to a black. I can't believe I haven't bought an umbrella yet, he griped. I feel ten pounds heavier with these wet clothes. Shaking off his discomfort, Kyle steeled himself and entered into a place regarded for meditation and tranquility by many players. The sheen of the obsidian floors and walls revealed Kyle's disheveled form. His hair hugged his face and neck more than usual, appearing longer to others than it would when it's dry. His mopey expression failed to mask the reason why he was here. It was the same reason that most of the other players were here for: to reflect over the loss of their fallen loved ones. As Kyle stepped closer to the wall, he noticed a plethora of people gathered around the sea of names. Sadly, a surprisingly large number of them already had a horizontal line over their names, indicating their death. Two blonde haired young women and a brunette little girl blubbered to the left of him. They were dripping wet from the outside rain. He stopped for a moment and sighed. I feel sorry for them.

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS

[Phyre]

"Pain tells you when you have been wounded badly. But you know what the best thing about pain is? It tells you you're NOT DEAD YET!" ☒ @Kyle ✐ 000 ✉ notes Phyre Lv1

Rain softly pattered against the glass that was connected to Phyre's average sized apartment room. It had started earlier that afternoon but didn't seem to be letting up anytime soon. Standing up from her original seat on the couch, Phyre lightly tossed her book onto the coffee table and made way to the window. Opening the curtains slightly, her deep blue eyes looked out across the lit up buildings and the people who walked along the streets. She began to wonder how Jared was, and if he'd died yet. She allowed herself to wonder for a few short minutes before looking up towards the direction of the Monument of Life. Only one way to find out. She thought to herself before releasing the curtain and making way towards the door of the apartment. Slipping into her black boots and tightening them around her legs, Phyre grabbed her black cloak and wrapped it around her body, clipping it together at the base of her neck. She exited her room, making sure to lock the door behind her so no thief tried to get in. Once outside, the cool chill of the air seemed to wrap itself around Phyre like a hug in which she hadn't been looking forward to. As she left the cover of the apartment building, she placed the hood off her cloak over her head, allowing her cover from the rain that threatened to flood the streets completely. Already the streets were covered with half an inch of rain and every step brought a splash. The rain was a nice change from all that non-stop sunny weather they had been getting lately. A single hand rested on the hilt of Phyres sword, all too familiar with every single detail. She took comfort in knowing it was right there on her left hip, where she could easily grab it and use it for whatever she may find use of it. Her eyes were focused on the cobblestone street as she thought back to when the Beta Test for SAO hadn't even came out yet and how her and Jared would mess around. The memories brought a smile to her face but it was quickly gone when she remembered watching him walk off with a girl so close to him as they spoke about him joining their stupid Guild. Stupid Jared. If only you'd never met that girl! Pyhre yelled within her head, feeling the familiar pain in her heart. Normally, she would have cried but she'd cried so many times she didn't have any tears left. Now all she could do was hope he never ended up as a crossed out name while fighting her own battle. She had walked to the Monument of Life so many times the path was engraved into her head. What felt like ages was merely ten minutes before Phyre found herself outside the Monument of Life building, looking up at the familiar markings. She held her breath before making her way within the building's walls, hoping to whoever that Jared's name wasn't on the Monument. Upon entering, Phyre saw many people, all who had lost someone and were now weeping. However, she wasn't here for such reasons. Keeping her back straight and head up, Phyre pulled her hood back off her head and made her way up to the Monument. She stopped just before it, so close she could reach out and place a hand on it. Not like plenty of others weren't already doing so. Her eyes scanned the millions of names on the Monument, searching for Jared and hoping she wouldn't find it. It was worse than that. Below the single names, she saw the name of Jared's guild, crossed out. They had all been eliminated. Pain hit Phyre hard in the chest, so hard she lost her breath. Her eyes widened, never looking away from the guild name. She stayed that way for a few short minutes, before she found herself breathing and the world kicked back into life. Her eyes went back to normal and her hands became tight fists, her nails digging into her palms and causing pain. She held onto the feeling of pain, the feeling of still being alive. More or less. Without saying anything, she reached out and placed her hand on the Guild name, a soft smile on her face. Her eyes were sad and full of pain, but she was unable to cry. "Last time I spoke to you, we ended things but I will forever keep you in my heart. You changed me for the better and for that I will always be grateful. My love for you will never die and I hope your spirit sleeps well. Goodbye, Jared." She spoke loud and clear, her eyes never leaving her hand that was placed over the Guild name. She could feel people staring at her but didn't care. Her hand fell to her side back within the confines of her cloak and Phyre turned her back to the Monument. The pain and sadness within her eyes had disappeared and her expression changed to that of complete calm and serenity. She accepted his death and all the feelings that came with that, which allowed for her to move forward. Keeping her eyes trained ahead, Phyre began walking through the crowd of people towards the front door, to the cool rain that would soothe the pain to nothing. A feeling she yearned for and couldn't wait to have.

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS

[Kyle]

"I will not allow anyone to die." ☒ @dreaming ✐ 000 ✉ Open to everyone. No player limit. Kyle Lv1

Kyle returned his attention to the gigantic wall covered in a multitude of diverse names. Each username was unique in its own right. Some players probably mimicked their real name, as Kyle did, while others seemed fantastical like "ObsidianDragon" and "GaleWing13." Of course, other names displayed a lack of maturity from the players such as "SugarBaby001" and "HotLips35" and some of the names were too inappropriate for him to repeat. Interestingly enough, many of those names had a line slashed through them. This gave Kyle a melancholy expression. They just weren't ready for this world, he thought to himself. No matter how ridiculous one's username may have been, Kyle recognized that these were real people with real lives. He clenched his fists and teeth again with righteous fury. It is not fair. To think that Kayaba would force us to throw away everything for a stupid game. Kyle closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. His tense jaw, hands, and shoulders relaxed and he began thinking of his own username. Other players tended to pick on Kyle for his generic username, claiming that he had a lack of creativity, but that wasn't the case. In roleplaying games, Kyle always started with a character that resembled him in real life. He possessed high self-confidence in the real world and he never wanted his primary character to be anyone other than him. It was an adventure and a challenge to see how he'd react to different situations in his preferred fantasy worlds. When Akihiko Kayaba released Sword Art Online, the first VR MMO that utilized full-dive technology, he knew that he wanted to experience it firsthand, not through the eyes of someone else. Kyle understood that most people didn't share his mindset. They used VR MMOs as an escape to pain in their real lives. It was tragic, but Kyle knew that some people likely favored Aincrad over the real world, even if the life and death concept was sadist. With the real world plagued with injustice, racism, violence, and abuse, it wasn't much better than this one, especially if someone lacked family and friends to return to. Finally freed from his wandering thoughts, Kyle quickly scanned the wall for the names of his friends amidst the storm of text. Over the past three days, he had stared at their names for so many hours that he had no trouble pinpointing them immediately. Jester3789, Rennoc, and LaneIdelman; those usernames, along with their slashes will forever be imprinted on the back of Kyle's eyeballs, for they were more than usernames. They represented his fallen friends, the ones that gave him the courage to keep on living in this sick world of Sword Art Online. He never called them by their usernames unless they were in public. They were closer than that. Jester3789's name was David Palomo, a man that was constantly dressed to impress. He was a lady's man, a party animal, and oozed charisma that would make a starving lion ignore him. He had brown hair and brown eyes similar to Kyle's, but the Latino blood pulsing through his veins gave him a darker complexion that Kyle would never match. A master of the longsword, he hated wearing his armor unless he was in a fight and usually donned a cheap-quality black blazer, khaki slacks, and scuffed dress shoes. He often talked about buying better clothes once he got to a floor that sold luxury items. Out of his three friends, David was the one that Kyle felt the most comfortable talking to. He readily shared his secrets with David first before the others because he knew that David would never judge him. Rennoc's name was Tim Idleman and his username was his middle name spelled backward. He was indisputably the strongest of the three, swinging a mighty copper great sword as if it weighed less than a pencil. Tim survived the longest and consequently sent Kyle a farewell message. Kyle had listened to that message countless times and like in real life, Tim gave Kyle valuable advice. "Kyle, you have to get stronger." Tim believed that blunt honesty was the best answer to any problem and he often criticized Kyle for his lack of backbone and indecisiveness. Tim didn't have to say it in his message. Kyle identified that developing boldness was what Tim wanted most out of Kyle and Kyle planned to live up to Tim's expectations. Even though he was the strongest member of the group, Tim was the shortest at five foot eight inches and had an extremely lithe build. However, that never stopped him in the real world or Sword Art Online. Like his green and black stripped jacket that he never took off at home, he modeled his armor after his favorite color and design. For most of his childhood, Tim had wavy, unkempt brown hair that extended past his shoulders. He looked like Tarzan and his personality was just as wild. He had a greater thirst for adventure than anyone Kyle had ever met, yet he was cool and collected, calculating his every move. It still stunned and discouraged Kyle that Tim could be overwhelmed so easily in the first floor dungeon. He was certain that Tim had a strategy. He should've cleared that dungeon. Like Kyle's username, LaneIdleman was a combination of Lane's first and last names. Lane was Tim's younger brother, but he looked like the older one. Lane's muscles should have been on Tim's body based on Tim's sheer power, but Lane's strength was impressive. He wielded a great sword as well and the two brothers often cleared an entire field overrun by hogs in a less than a minute. Kyle spent the most time with Lane because they worked together in the music department at the same church. Kyle sang while Lane operated the lights. They became best friends quickly, sharing in the same interests like Pokémon and finding a wife. Both of them had failed miserably on the latter. Lane's favorite color wad blue, so he stuck with the standard blue design for the beginner leather armor that players received at the beginning of Sword Art Online. Out of the three, Lane possessed the strongest faith in Jesus Christ and lived by a moral standard that Kyle looked up to, even in the game. After reminiscing over his friends, a fiery determination lit inside Kyle's eyes. Looking up at his friend's crossed out names, he promised, Lane, Tim, David, I will get stronger. I will survive and I will beat this game so that no one else has to die. Satisfied, he turned and began walking toward the exit of the Monument of Life, not looking forward to returning to the torrential downpour that battered the roof of the sanctuary. Right before he approached the door, he noticed a girl walking behind him. She wore a lengthy hooded cloak that almost dragged on the floor. Her eyes indicated that she had the same focus as Kyle. She must be living for someone she lost too, he thought. He stepped to the left and smiled at her kindly. "We have to get stronger for them, right? he asked her.

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS

[Phyre]

"Pain tells you when you have been wounded badly. But you know what the best thing about pain is? It tells you you're NOT DEAD YET!" ☒ @kylemartin ✐ 000 ✉ notes Phyre Lv1

Phyre saw the man who was walking in front of her suddenly move to his left and stop in his tracks. She wondered why but didn't stop to ask him. However, as she moved past him, she heard him speak to her and it was his words that caused her to stop. She wondered why he chose set words, but decided that he had yet to accept someone's death. As such, she chose her words carefully and tried to make them sound as nice as she could. "In some situations, yes. However, I will not live for the one I lost. I will live for myself and those around me who decided to join my throughout this world. I will become stronger to protect them and look towards the future." Phyre turned to face the man who spoke and while she would normally take in one's entire appearance, she didn't this time and instead focused only on his eyes. She wore a small smile and her eyes were warm, like honey. "Don't become stronger for them, but for the ones who you hold close in the present. Get stronger to keep them safe so that they do not befall the same fate as the others." Phyre walked up to the man and placed a hand on his shoulder, a gesture of comfort. Feeling another human was strange to her for she hadn't had bodily contact with another human since she last held hands with Jared. Before he left. While she wished the warmth of another person could last longer, she removed her hand and looked over all the people who had been watching and listening. She saw realization in some eyes, understanding in others, and in many there was still the look of the lost. Turning back to the large double doors, Phyre continued on her way towards them and opened one upon reaching them. The cold air flew past her, enveloping her, prompting her outside. Letting in to the cold's desires, she walked out of the building, removing her hand from door. Just before it closed Phyre slipped her hood over her head and that was the last image the people within the walls saw. Phyre left the cover of the building and the rain beat on her once again. From within one of the pockets of her short skirt Phyre pulled out her black horn-rimmed glasses. Placing them on her face, Phyre watched as things closer to her lost their slight blurriness. Phyre continued on her way, heading towards the Central Plaza where most bars, inns, and other such stuff were located. Phyre herself was on her way towards a bar. She wouldn't drink alcohol, just soda, but she would defiantly listen to everyone's conversation and join in their games. The thought of her last visit, which was six days ago, made her laugh amongst herself. Drunk people really do talk a lot. Phyre thought to herself, quickening her pace in order to hurry and get there. The sooner she got there the most information she could gather up and the more fun she'd be able to have while doing so. Just the thought excited her.

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS

[Kitferge]

"You think you know something, just one thing about me? How absurd." ☒ @tagged ✐ 000 ✉ I hope you don't mind if I join in~ Kitferge Lv1

Kitferge walked casually in the rain, his light hair soaked through. While other players made a point of avoiding the water, he relished in it, tilting back his head so that droplets could trace the hollow of his throat, trickling down into the neckline of his shirt, dampening the gray cotton. Exhaling lightly, the boy made his way through the crowd, accidentally bumping into a series of players. He let out a light set of apologies, tilting his head slightly over his shoulder as he continued on. The Monument of Life, huh? So that was what had gotten everyone so worked up. He sent a careless glance at the stone tablet, ignoring the crying players around him. It didn’t look like much. The short boy ran his fingers over the inscribed words, ignoring an older player’s hiss to “be respectful of the dead, boy” and found what he was looking for. A small name, one of the many. Ophiuchus, it read. He pushed aside his feelings and knelt by the words, ignoring the pitter-patter of rain on his back as he ran his fingers over the carved letters, bending his head in the slightest show of respect. It took him a minute to still, seating himself cross-legged and leaning his head on the stone. Hey, there, he spoke mentally. You okay, Kathleen? Well, of course not. You’re dead, and I killed you. Don’t know how I feel about that still, seeing you die and knowing it was my fault, but I know that you would have died anyways. Maybe it would be better if you died by the hands of someone you trusted, I had thought. Like Macbeth, hmm? Your favorite play. “Here’s the smell of the blood still. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.” Act five, scene one. Well, you probably don’t trust me now, that’s a given. You always did have the talent of holding grudges. Do you remember in third grade, when you fell because that one girl tripped you? You hated her ever since, even when she apologized. That’s one thing going for you-you never forget, do you? I wonder if you’ll forgive me. I hope you won’t. You’ve always been too nice, Kathleen, and you kept on telling me I was too cruel, and that’s why we balanced each other out. Well, you can forgive me, Kathleen, but don’t, because that’ll make me miss you even more. This probably doesn’t make sense, right? Yeah. You always did say that I was too sentimental and abstract. Only with you, though. Kitferge withdrew, sighing lightly, no trace of his internal struggles showing. He slowly rose to his feet, his hair dripping water and clothes soaked plain through. The cold air, combined with the rain, had driven many players away, but he still stayed, lingering, reading the crossed-out names of each player. Date, time, name…but no cause of death. A bitter chuckle rose in his throat, but he swallowed it down. Wouldn’t want to show “suicide” there and ruin your pretty little game, hmm, Kayaba? Masking his somber emotions with a quicksilver smile, he strode away, halting underneath the eaves of a shop. Once safe from the rain, he shook himself off, water flying everywhere, the shopkeeper frowning from inside. Kitferge turned, curious, and noticed no marker. An NPC, then. Before the character could come after him, the blonde ducked back into the cobblestone streets, the chuff-chuff of his shoe’s heels on stone keeping him focused on his surroundings. Before he left the area surrounding the monument, he noticed a brown-haired man with glasses talking to a girl, who said something back before leaving. His personality shifted abruptly, his solemn, sorrowful mood doing a complete one-eighty. He thought back to the girl and her expression. Ice-cold, except for when she talked to the man. Highly unlikely that they were romantically involved, and by the way they interacted, he doubted that they were intimate friends. So that left one option. They had something in common. Was she an interesting focus for him? The blonde snorted internally. If she were an archetype, she would probably a slightly arrogant Kuudere who had lost something with a hero complex, doubtless betting that she was stronger and better than everyone else subconsciously. Her sadness and anger had probably propelled her to have that exterior, only to have her soft side revealed when someone was in danger, which made the “hero complex” part. But that wasn’t rare, not at all. If he were a cat, Kitferge’s ears would have twitched in displeasure. So what about the boy? Soft expression, slight hesitance and yet assured. Probably one of the rare people in the game who truly cared about everyone, even those with hearts of stone, since he had approached that girl. Honestly, she would make ice look loving. His gaze had been sympathetic, empathetic, and dare he say it, a little inspirational. Not a strong player, to be sure, but most definitely a caring one. He would waste his life caring for others. So. Two people, one a with a semi-rare personality and the other with an absolutely expected one. So who should he observe? A small smirk played on his lips. Of course he would choose the one with the semi-rare personality, though he desperately wanted to pursue the girl. However, his normal approach would doubtless not work, her being so cold and detached-but perhaps it would. Ah, well. It would most likely be best for nature to run its course. Delving into the crowd, he accidentally bumped into a much larger player-or, well, large by other people’s standards. He was rather petite-and murmured an apology. The man growled at him and pushed him aside, which was rather disconcerting, but he accepted it, smiling unnoticeably as he stumbled back a handful of paces. No doubt his visit to the Monument had gotten him worked up and distressed, and he had lashed out. How typical. A little dazed, he continued on, fully intending to reach the man, but rather bumped into someone else, more specifically, the girl from earlier, who seemed to be in a slight hurry to go somewhere. That…was the direction of the Central Plaza, hmm? Famous for their bars and pubs, and definitely by association, their drunkards. He looked away a little shyly for some reason that he couldn’t fanthom, though if he was asked, he would say it was the cold, unintentionally looking much, much younger than he actually was, and muttered a quick apology in French, which was his go-to language for occasions like this. The girl was much taller than him, around half a foot, actually. “Excusez-moi,” He said a little shyly, brushing back his damp blonde hair behind his ear, blinking the rain off his eyelashes as he looked up at her. “Tu vas bien, mademoiselle?” He silently cursed his height, it being that while it could be an advantage and disadvantage both, he felt suddenly much, much younger and childish under this cold girl’s gaze, like he was seven again, seeking his mother’s love. The thought steeled his heart for a moment, but he didn’t let it show, instead making sure the brunette was mostly alright. “J’espère que vous n’êtes pas plus humide…”

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS

[Phyre]

"Pain tells you when you have been wounded badly. But you know what the best thing about pain is? It tells you you're NOT DEAD YET!" ☒ @kitferge ✐ 000 ✉ notes Phyre Lv1

Feeling someone bump into her from the back, Phyre stopped and turned halfway to face them. At first, Phyre thought it was a cute girl who had bumped into her, but when she looked closer she saw it was merely a cute, girl looking boy. Phyre smiled to herself a little when she saw the boy look away shyly and thought I'd be best if she was kind to him. She allowed him to speak first, and to her surprise he apologized to her in French. She understood, seeing as her parents had forced her to learn French since she was half and half. She raised her hands and shook them, a sign that it was alright and not a big deal. She allowed him to continue talking and it was cute. "I'm fine, thank you for worrying. Besides, if you did make me wetter I wouldn't notice seeing as I'm already somewhat damp. I was on my way to the bar, care to join me? Of course, we wouldn't be drinking alcohol, just soda." Phyre explained, not wanting to come off as an alcoholic. She never even had a drop of that stuff, and wasn't planning on it until she was twenty-one. Grabbing one of his hands, Phyre shook it in a way of greeting someone. She released after just a few seconds and placed her arm back within the confines of her cloak. "I'm Phyre. It's nice to meet you, Kitferge." Her eyes had glanced up at his name tag just before she said his name, but if one didn't catch that it would sound as though she already knew their name beforehand. When she had been taking him in, Phyre had gotten some information on him. He was skilled in Daggers and by the faded, strange looking lines on his fingers she could tell be played some sort of string instrument. She could also tell by the small bump on one of his fingers that he wrote. While Phyre wished to engage in conversation with Kitferge, they couldn't keep talking in the middle of a crowd. Instead, she decided it'd be best if they walked and talked. Grabbing his hand, Phyre made sure not to grip to hard and hurt him. She started walking towards Central Plaza, keep her hand in Kitferge. "What type of things do you write? Poetry? Novels?" Phyre questioned, glancing over at him only when she was speaking to him or he answered back. Other than that, her gaze was fixed straight ahead. She had to hurry to the bar cause then she'd have two hours there before going to pick up her little partners from a friend of hers.

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS

[Kyle]

"I will not allow anyone to die." ☒ @tagged ✐ 000 ✉ notes Kyle Lv1

Kyle's chocolate orbs enlarged as the long raven-haired girl's words pierced through thick sorrow like an arrow of redeeming light. She's right, he thought. I shouldn't focus on the dead. I should focus on the living. He tilted his head and gave her a warm, thankful smile as another newcomer ran into her. Dripping wet, this short boy looked a little feminine with a complexion that would make Jennifer Lopez jealous. His skin tone reminded Kyle of the many nude historical art masterpieces of Leonardo da Vinci's age, a time when pale skin was more desirable than dark skin. The boy had dark brown hair, a cute noise, lush lips, a beauty mark near his right eye, and a copper dagger. Ah, excellent; a fellow dagger user. His pastel blue eyes looked at the girl shyly and he said, "Excusez-moi. Tu vas bien, mademoiselle? J’espère que vous n’êtes pas plus humide." Kyle grinned in surprise, not understanding a word the boy had said. Oh, so he's French. Even more to Kyle's surprise, the girl replied to him easily. "I'm fine, thank you for worrying. Besides, if you did make me wetter I wouldn't notice seeing as I'm already somewhat damp. I was on my way to the bar, care to join me? Of course, we wouldn't be drinking alcohol, just soda." Kyle raised an eyebrow. Ah, so he was apologizing for making her wet. The girl fervently shook the boy's hand and continued,"I'm Phyre. It's nice to meet you, Kitferge." Kitferge? Kyle focused on the green icon and health bar above the boy's head. The system's wooing and arched field of vision had become second nature to Kyle by now. He noticed the name kitferge was etched in a font resembling Arial Bold in the upper right hand corner of the boy's health bar. Before Kyle could join in on their conversation, the girl grabbed kitferge by the hand and lead him out of the sanctuary doors. On their way out, he called, "You have fun, you two." Kyle glanced around at the people in the sanctuary and noticed that a few of them possessed a new sparkle of hope in their once dreary eyes. He beamed. It looks like the girl's words of encouragement helped them too. Most of the people still blubbered in grief, particularly a muscular man with a solid red bandana across his forehead. He wore nothing but a pair of lengthy red trousers. Droplets of rain skidding down his back, his muscles glistening from the water reflecting the light of the sanctuary's rainbow-colored pane glass windows, and puddles ran along the dark gray marble flooring leading to the Monument of Life. Many people stared at him scornfully, disapproving of his emotional outburst. He screamed, "It's not fair!" and wildly flurried his arms about. It took two men and one woman to subdue him. Kyle frowned. It's going to take years of therapy for some people to get back to normal life even after we get out of here. Directing his attention to the two oak doors that led outside, he thought, The girl said that she was going to the bar. I need to talk to some of my clients there anyway. Maybe I'll join them later, but first, I need to buy an umbrella. With a flick of his wrist, Kyle called up the menu and his left eye began twitching. He sighed. I...I don't have any money, he whined internally. That's what I get for ignoring my business for three days. How am I ever going to open up a shop at this rate if I can't maintain a profit? Well, I guess I'll be heading to the bar sooner than I thought.

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS - EDITS BY ANGELO OF SAO-RPG

[Kitferge]

"You think you know something, just one thing about me? How absurd." ☒ Kyle Phyre ✐ 000 ✉ So the posting order's kyle, then me, then Phyre now? Sorry, I just got a little confused~ Kitferge Lv1

Kitferge's eyes darkened just the tiniest bit. A bar? Honestly? He had enough of his mother drinking at home. Even if they did just drink soda, it was a terrible place for him at best. But this girl...well, she was one of the most interesting people he had met so far. Possibly the most, actually, and so...was it worth it? Most likely. He sighed and smiled, tilting his head up again. "Merci, mademoiselle. I will take you up on your kind offer." At her next question, he stilled and blinked at her curiously. It must have been the ridge on one of his hands. He took it back. This girl was very, very perceptive. "Novel bits and bods, usually, though I also like poetry." He murmured, ducking his head in a shy blush, his French vowels seeping into the words as he spoke. So shyness worked on this player. He had decided to act this way, but he couldn't shake the fact that this was much too easy to act through. Too easy to pretend that it was real. He shook it off easily enough, though and his eyes flickered in interest when the man from earlier still lingered. But he shook it off, returning to a topic that he was wildly passionate about. "Writing expresses souls, the mad ones, the angry ones, the ones that do nothing but despair, the ones that will be hopeful through all else," Kitferge said quietly in French, almost reverently. “The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars. Jack Kerouac. On the Road." He continued on like he didn't just spill a random quote, unaware of what the blonde had just done himself. "In a book, you can write anything, say anything, make anything...and if you can make someone just feel that something, you're a writer." Finished, he stood a little awkwardly, seemingly withdrawn after his rather long spiel. His eyes flickered back to the man with glasses. How...interesting. The man seemed to take him in, kind smile on his face, and Kitferge saw him sweeping over his face, taking in his blonde hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. How...secretly perceptive, perhaps? No, he reminded himself, thinking. You would only need to be perceptive if you were a front-line player, and I doubt he's that. So a merchant, then. What type of crafter would you be if you forgot the faces of your customers? Kitferge merely averted his eyes demurely and smiled politely, a note of warmth filtering through. As they exited the plaza, Kitferge felt the gaze of the man linger then move on. Their brief interaction was short, but clear. His hypothesis was correct-he was kind. Too kind, actually, which was a pity. As the duo moved around the slippery cobblestone streets, Kitferge noticed a rain-slick set of stairs in front of an inn, sighing. That's dangerous. Granted, no health would be taken, but it would be annoying to slip and fall. And in a town like this, filled with kids who would probably cry if they fell? He shook it off, returning his gaze to the Central Plaza that seemed to be near, just a couple of twists and turns away. The light from the buildings seemed to grow as the girl and him drew closer, him making sure that he didn't bump into her or anything. His gaze idly ran over the passerby as they finally moved to their destination, and he reached the heavy wooden door of a pub she seemed to want to go to, and with a look of confirmation, Kitferge pushed the door open, unsure of what he would find inside. “Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail," He quoted Ralph Emerson under his breath, blinking to accustom himself to the warm light inside, the scent of strong alcohol hitting his scent. A man nearby smelled like strong scotch and seemed twice as loud as the scent, breaking into a loud, boisterous drinking song. He kept his face mostly emotionless, but winced inside, a small vat of anger bubbling inside of him at the reminder of his old life. Following the other girl, he took a seat at the bar, coolly meeting the bartender's eye when the other male sent him a questioning glance, obviously because of his femininity and small size, which made him look...like a very petite, delicate girl, if you weren't that observant. Tilting his head, he listened to the rowdy talk that seemed to rumble from the floorboards themselves. Apparently, there was some trouble in Horunka, or so they said, and a festival had happened in Tolbana, where some things had gone down between some girls and a guy. He drummed his fingers against the wooden bar, bringing up the simplest melodies he could remember to the front of his mind, humming them lightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a violin, only to turn back when he realized what he had seen. It was a stage, of course, dusty and empty except for a old stool and the most poorly taken care of violin he had ever seen. But his hands itched to play, seeing as how Sword Art Online didn't exactly have provided homes and instruments. Kitferge's fingers slid over the polished wood of the bar, and he stayed put, deciding to wait for a more appropriate time to play. His attention turned back to the girl, sending her a light smile.

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS

[Phyre]

"Pain tells you when you have been wounded badly. But you know what the best thing about pain is? It tells you're NOT DEAD YET!" ☒ Kitferge Kyle ✐ 000 ✉ Yep! It seemed like the proper order. To me, at least. Phyre Lv1

A small smile played on Phyre's lips upon hearing that the boy wrote novels and poetry. He seemed like a classy guy, but then again, one could never be too sure about someone until they had been around them for quite a while and understood what they were about. After he spoke things became quiet between the two of them for a short bit before the boy spoke up again. While he rambled on, Phyre was amused to hear the passion thick in his voice. Glancing to look at him, she saw the same passion like a flame in his eyes and chuckled quietly to herself. It was always refreshing to see someone with that look in their eyes. She hadn't seen it since she was with Jay. The thought of him caused a sudden sense of acceptance to hit her, immediately covering up the pain of losing him. Shaking her head mentally, Phyre remembered that she had to live for those she held close. She had a reason in life, and that reason was her power. What made her strong. She thought back to the man earlier who had spoken to her. I wonder if I'll see him again? Phyre thought to herself, but her question was lost when the boy stopped talking. A cold tingling feeling crept up Phyre as she felt the eyes of someone watching her. Turning her head to see what it was, she stopped and scanned the faces around her. There. A ways off, Phyre saw the guy from earlier staring at her and the boy. Seeing that is was him and not some pervy creep, Phyre turned and continued walking, still holding the hand of Kitferge as though he were a child. They exited the plaza within seconds and Phyre found her mind wandering back to the past where her best friend laid. She missed her, but that pain only made her want to clear the first dungeon even more. Clenching her first, Phyre quickened her pace. The sooner they got there the more knowledge she could obtain. Seeing as she had done this before, Phyre was pretty skilled in how to get what she wanted out of the men in the bar. As they neared the Central Plaza Phyre could see the lights in the distance which came closer with each step. She could hear the click clack of her boots on the wet cobblestone streets, mixing it with the beat of her heart and creating a melody all her own within her head. She drowned out all other noise and listened to that melody, keeping her eyes fixed ahead of her. As they approached the somewhat large wooden doors, Phyre slowed herself gradually until they came to a complete stop outside the doors. Hanging above the doors was a wooden sign attached to an out faced pole, swinging lazily with large bold letters on it which read Brett's Bar. Releasing Kitferge's hand, Phrye watched as he stepped in front of her and opened the doors. She allowed him to walk in first, hearing him mumble something under his breath as she walked past but unable to hear his words. Deciding it was unimportant, Phyre made her way to the bar. The building had a strong smell of beer intermingled with the smell of meat. As usual. Taking a seat in one of the stools, Phyre looked over at the bartender who gave Kitferge a questioning look before turning his attention to Phyre. Giving him a goofy smile, she placed a hand on Kitferge's head. "This is a friend of mine. I asked him if he'd like to tag along with me. Give us the usual, Brett." Phyre said, removing her hand from Kitferge's head and laying it on the sleek wood of the bar. Brett slid the drinks down the table from the other side where he had served them as well as another mans beer. Phyre caught them both with her hands and placed one if front of Kitferge. "Hope you like Pepsi." She said, giving him a smile. Raising the beer mug to her lips, Phyre took a large gulp before setting it down. Suddenly, she felt the weight of someone's arm draped over her shoulder. A mans face appeared next to her on the opposite side of Kitferge. The man had a goody smile but his eyes were warm. "Heeey there Phyreee." The man slugged, removing his arm from her shoulders and sitting down beside her. "What's up, Boomer? Haven't seen you around." Phyre replied to the man, clearly knowing him. Boomer slammed his drink down though this didn't phase anyone in the bar. It was normal for drunk people to do that. "Put on er show feer us. I gotta go dungeeon huntin temorrow and need a good memery fer de roood." Boomer said, not even speaking proper English anymore. Laughing, Phyre patted him on the shoulder. "Sure. I could use a break for a bit." Phyre said. Why it may seem that she is taking a break now from her usual SAO life, Phyre only ever truly took a break when she got lost in a song or a story she was writing/reading. Looking over to Kitferge, wanting him to feel included, Phyre smiled. "Wanna help me?" She asked him. After she got his answer, Phyre stood up from her seat and walked up to the stage that sat on the far side of the bar where everyone could see a performance. It creaked a little as she walked up the three stairs but that ceased once she reached the actual stage. From behind the bar counter Brett tossed a black mic to Phyre and leaning forward a little, she caught it in one outstretched hand. Gripping it, Phyre turned the mic on and raised it to her lips, ready to begin the song.

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS

[Kyle]

	"I will not allow anyone to die."
	Kyle Martin Lv1 | |

Kyle exited the sanctuary through the massive, oak doors and into the nearly flooded marketplace. Kyle grimaced and ran as fast as he could through the sloshy streets. His heavy, ebony leather combat boots splashed through the water, staining the lower section of his pants. Due to his bumbling gait, Kyle splattered water across the beginner's armor of a nearby player. "Hey, watch where you're going," he growled. The man appeared to be close to Kyle's age. He was muscular, wore a red bandana and armor, and possessed a large scar along the center of his face passing through the bridge of his nose.

Kyle stopped, turned around and shouted, "I'm so sorry!" The young, burly blue-eyed man shook his head and shooed him away. Still feeling bad, Kyle turned back around and made his way to the nearby bar.

Without even slowing down at the outside doorway, Kyle barged into Brett's Bar and rested by the entrance hunched over with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. I really need to get in better shape, he thought. Everything is a life and death situation in here. As he stood there, a large puddle accumulated at his feet, but it wasn't the only puddle by the entrance, as everyone entering Brett's Bar was as soaked as he was. Kyle looked around and notice a vibrant collection of people sitting throughout the bar, rowdily hollering and tossing profanities around like a Frisbee.

The pungent scent of alcohol stung his nose as he walked deeper into the bar in search of his client. After a few seconds, a man called out, "Yo Kyle, over here." Kyle turned his head and spotted a husky man in a black biker's jacket waving a gloved hand. He had patchy, dark-brown facial hair, a silver cross necklace, a black t-shirt, black leather pants with chains along the pockets, and black combat boots like Kyle's. Strapped to his back was an impressive copper great sword that was probably larger than Kyle was. The man grinned as his friend strolled toward him. "There's the man with the plan!" he hollered heartily.

Kyle returned his welcoming expression and he said, "Hello there, Blaze." As Kyle sat next to the biker, he became the victim of a rather firm one-armed bear hug. Grunting in more surprise rather than pain, he murmured, "Okay there big boy, it's nice to see you too."

"Whatcha got for me today?"

Kyle frowned. He observed Blaze's inconspicuous teetering movements and deduced that he was buzzed, but not drunk. Kyle knew that Blaze became a mushy teddy bear when he was hammered and that he wouldn't remember anything, so it was good that he was still present enough to hear what Kyle had to tell him. "Nothing sadly. Rennoc, Jester, and Lane died three days ago."

Despite the banging and clattering noises one expected to hear from a bar, the world fell silent for Kyle and Blaze. Blaze's eyes widened and he whispered, "What?"

Kyle face reddened and he cleared his throat, successfully fighting back the tears that desperately wanted to emerge from his eyes. "Yeah. It was a bit of a shock to me too."

Blaze placed a beefy hand on Kyle's right shoulder and he slurred slightly. "Man, I'm so sorry to hear that. Weren't they your best friends IRL?"

"Yeah they were," Kyle mumbled, a somber expression lingering on his face.

"I only met you but from what you told me, I'm sure they were great guys."

A tiny tear escaped Kyle's left eye, but he quickly sniffled and wiped it away before Blaze noticed. "Yeah they were. So that's why I don't have any meat for you today. I lost my muscle so I'm just going to have to go kill the boars myself."

Blaze shook his head. "Nah, don't worry about that bud. You just take care of you. I'll go kill the meat and just bring it to you to cook. You still add a kick to boar steak ain't no provisioner can match."

Kyle laughed, the praise cheering him up. "Well thank you, but I still need to kill a few to at least get the experience."

Blaze shook his head and said, ”Suit yourself.” Blaze smiled at Kyle compassionately and assured, "If there is anything you need, just let me know."

Blaze may have been buzzed, but Kyle knew that he meant every word he said. With a gentle nod, Kyle replied. "Thanks. I sure will."

Several of the men closer to the back of the bar where the stage was, hooped as if they were a band of gorillas as a familiar girl with long, raven black hair took the stage. Brett, the owner of the bar, threw her the microphone and she caught it with ease. She raised the microphone close to her mouth, positioning it just as Kyle was taught to do in his high school show choir. It's that girl from before, he thought. She's about to sing. I wonder if she's any good.

[Kitferge]

"You think you know something, just one thing about me? How absurd." ☒ Aura ✐ 000 ✉ Finally posting! Kitferge Lv1

Kitferge was pulled onstage, and he warily picked up the violin, sending flickering looks at the girl. What was he supposed to play, anyways? He barely knew any songs that weren't all instrumental, and that meant no singing, if that wasn't already obvious by the name. Burdened by shock and shyness, which clearly turned into annoyance because at least he knew annoyance. Sitting down, because he wasn't going to stand up, gods no-it might give him more attention than the performance already called for, and he was by no means ready for that sort of attention, Kitferge carefully rid the instrument of what dust he could, tuning it as quietly as possible. The occupants of the room weren't all clued in to the fact that there were performers, and he had no intention of letting them know if need not be. Finally settling down, the blonde brushed his side-swept bangs back and stared unblinkingly around the room. It was warm-toned, a sort of bronze-colored brown gold theme going on. The bar was a warm, polished brown the color of melting chocolate, the light a shimmering gold not unlike the sunlight of Horunka. Even the beer seemed to fit in, bubbles gold and tiny, ale and beer permeating the air. His eyes shuttered. Of course. Alcohol was something he definitely disliked. His blue irises closed, and then he refocused, turning to the brunette girl. Letting out a long exhale, he straightened up and readjusted his grip on the violin until he was sure it was absolutely perfect. In his mind, gears clicked and whirred, obviously busy. What on earth would he play? Sending an irritated wave of emotion to the girl, who had brought him into the situation, though, yes, he did love to perform, or at least play, they would have to face eminent humiliation when he, in fact, did not know what to play. If he didn't know the song and she knew the lyrics-or if she didn't know the lyrics and he knew the song-well. At any rate, he might as well take a leap of faith. Kitferge paused, and then delicately selected a song from the dark recesses of his mind. Rascal Flatt's "What Hurts the Most". Nodding firmly internally, the effeminate boy finally began to play the familiar notes. Half note, quarter note, quarter note, half note, whole note, whole note, whole note, half note, quarter note, whole note...the list went on and on, and he repeated those things, reminded himself of what to play. He noted a couple of people listening much more intently, and jotted down their reactions mentally. Music, he could confess readily to anyone who would listen, was like an escape for him. It provided comfort and sanctuary as long as you did the same. You only reaped what you had sown; that was the way he saw it and no way else. It wasn't electrifying, or fiery, or anything else. He wasn't able to pour so much of his emotion into it that others would shake when confronted with its sincerity, had to be careful to hit each note and string and line. It was about beauty of a sort-how much emotion he could produce, how much emotion he could restrain, and how much emotion he could fake. He saw how people reacted to the sound, and made it sweeter, more tender, almost intimate. And then he finished, fingers still jerky, raring to move. Instead of taming his urge to play, it rather fed his urge to play, making him wish he could do more, watch more, pretend that he was feeling something that he wasn't. A prodigy, people called him in the music world. His performances oozed emotion, critics claimed, touching everyone's hearts. But that couldn't be more false. He didn't pour emotion in. He faked it very well. That was all-he listened and watched other people's reactions and played from there. The metronome of the human heart. How poetic. A small, amused smile played on his lips. That was all he listened to, wasn't it? Music calmed some. It was a refuge for others. But for him...well, it kindled the metaphorical darkness inside of him of a sort, making him feel lighter but hollower. He stepped off the stage for now, having done his job, and frowned, spotting a familiar shade of brown that quickly disappeared. What was that? Who was that? And why did it seem so familiar, like he had seen it plenty of times before or at least recently? His mind raced as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. Once Kitferge saw the hair of the man-he assumed it was a man-again, he understood. It was "KyleMartin", the player who he and Phyre had spoken to earlier in the plaza. Had he followed them? No. The kind player didn't seem like the sort. So, was he a drinker, then? The thought made his eyes harden slightly, a fiercer, darker emotion appearing on his features, expression carefully schooled so that the others, unless remarkably, utterly amazingly perceptive, wouldn't notice. At any rate, he headed towards the bar, sitting down hesitantly. The bartender gave him a nod of recognition and continued his conversation. With a calm, pleasant expression, Kitferge leaned on the bar, elbows on the polished wood and hands supporting his chin. His gaze ran over the bottles, reading labels and brands, but never spotting dates. They had years, of course, though, but none of the brands seemed to be...real. Not in the real world. So bartenders had to relearn all they knew? He regarded the man with a bigger sense of respect, before turning to the room, wondering where the brunette girl could have gone. Well, no matter. He tilted his head back, like earlier in the rain, exposing the hollow of his throat as he looked at the antique glass lights in the place. The air was filled with raucous laughter and the dizzying scent of alcohol, something Kitferge despised. The bottles gleamed prettily, he noted, as he straightened up again, all green and orange and brown. He sighed, blinking at the sight, and rapped his fingers against the wood, wondering absently if someone was going to join him.

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS

[Phyre]

"We must not become stronger for those we have lost, but for those who have decided to follow us in the present, in order to protect them from the same fate our previous comrades befell." ☒ Kitferge Kyle ✐ 000 ✉ notes Phyre Lv1

Phyre lowered the microphone a little, placing her free hand over her chest to calm her racing heart. She'd always loved to perform so this chance was getting her excited. Closing her eyes, Phyre took in deep breaths and quietly released them so that the microphone wouldn't pick it up. After a few seconds Phyre lowered her hand to her side and opened her eyes again. Looking over at Kitferge, Phyre saw that he had taken a seat on the edge of the stage and was fixing up the instrument. Smiling softly, Phyre knew that it would be a good performance. The way he handled the violin showed Phyre that he had played one before. Of course, doubt lingered as to whether or not he was good. Mentally shaking her head, Phyre decided not to let that burden her mind. Looking away from Kitferge, Phyre allowed herself to take in the scene before her. Being up on higher ground, she could see everyone more clearly and from here could try and decipher where the best info givers would be. As her eyes scanned the area laid out before her, Phyre noticed a familiar set of brown hair. Why it was familiar, Phyre didn't know but as she looked closer, she noticed that the person was turning around. Quickly, she glanced over at the door but after a few short seconds, back at the person. It was KyleMartin, the man she had spoken to in the church. They locked eyes and Phyre raised her free hand above her head, waving at him with a smile. Once she was sure he had seen her, Phyre lowered her hand. Some of the men who had been cheering turned and looked around at who she'd been waving at, no doubt jealous. Thankfully, they didn't see who it was and returned to looking at her. Feelings her cheeks become a little hot, Phyre looked over at Kitferge, hoping he was ready to play. Upon looking over at her musical friend, Phyre felt a strong wave of irritation. A slight twitch of her eye and a little gasp showed that Phyre was taken aback. As she thought about it, she did kinda drag him into this and they hadn't talked about which song to play so it was to be expected. Sighing softly, Phyre was beginning to doubt this performance when she heard the first strum of the strings. Surprised, Phyre looked over at Kitferge and took a few seconds to figure out which melody he was playing. What Hurts the Most by Rascal Flatts! How ironic. Phyre thought to herself, amused by his choice. Raising the microphone to her lips, Phyre closed her eyes and listened to Kitferge, readying herself. She allowed herself to become indulged in the music, counting down until she would sing. 3.... 2.... 1! Opening her mouth, Phyre began singing the song, remembering the lyrics, the way they were sang, every precise note like it was playing her ears. Her voice was smooth like silk and held incredible feelings of sadness and loss. Opening her eyes, one would see they reflected the very emotion of the song. Longing, Pain, Sadness. As she sang Phyre noticed that the entire bar was transfixed by the music. She poured her very soul into the words she sang, hoping they would reach the hearts of everyone. That was the magic of music. It could change your mood within seconds. It can be your escape and change the way you see things. It truly was beautiful. Phyre and Kitferge ended the song in perfect unison. The crowd broke free of their hypnotic-like state and broke out into loud cheering. The entire bar was up on their feet, clapping and whooping. Phyre smiled widely, happy that the song had reached everyone. Placing both hands on the microphone, she bowed to the audience. Standing up straight, Phyre walked over to the creaking wooden stairs and stepped off the stage. Seeing that Brett was talking to someone, she merely tossed the microphone over the person as she walked by. Brett caught it without looking and a second later winked at Phyre. Chuckling, she acknowledged that he winked before making her way through the crowd, smiling at everyone. She stopped once she stood before KyleMartin and looked up at him, clasping her hands together behind her back. "Hello again. Did you enjoy the performance?" She asked him, cocking her head to the side a little.

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS

[Kyle]

	"I will not allow anyone to die."
	Kyle Martin Lv1 | |

After the first few initial cheers died down, the bar was so quiet that the sound of a pin dropping would be equivalent to an 18-wheeler zooming by on an American highway. Combing the room, Kyle detected many men arch their drunken bodies forward to get a little closer to the stage. They propped their chins up with open-palmed hands that were support by their bare, calloused elbows. Kyle waited for their eyes to turn into pale-pink hearts like a cartoon. Kyle suppressed a giggle as he thought, Man, these guys have a serious crush on this girl. She's got them wrapped around her finger.To Kyle's surprise, Phyre grinned his direction, raised her arm above her head, and gave him a robust wave from the stage.

Kyle beamed at her and started to wave back with the same amount of vigor, but it turned into a rather meek gesture when he noticed several burly men turn around to see who she was waving to. Kyle ducked down, almost pressing the left side of his face against the rough, prickly surface of the worn, wooden table. I may do a lot of business with this bar, he thought, but I'd rather not get in between big, buff drunk guys and their crush.

"Wait 'till ya hear this girl sing," Blaze commented. "It'll cheer you up. She's got a voice so smooth it'll lull a Kobold to sleep."

Kyle redirected his attention to his friend and chuckled, saying, "If that's the case, I need to form a party with her and go dungeon raiding. We'd be unstoppable."

Blaze laughed heartily and playfully punched Kyle quite hard in the arm. Kyle grunted inaudibly and rubbed his right arm with his left hand while Blaze spoke. "I didn't mean for real goofball."

"Well, I wasn't being serious either."

The soothing, legato sound of a violin playing an old, familiar scale bounced around the room, silencing Kyle and Blaze's conversation. Kyle's eyes quickly zoomed in on the source of the music and pinpointed the blonde, pale pretty boy that Phyre had dragged out of the sanctuary. His name was kitferge, right? The violin was one of Kyle's favorite instruments, only short to the cello, clarinet, and oboe. The reason why the violin ranked only fourth on his personal rankings was that most people played the violin so poorly. The violin is one of those instruments that embodied the sheer essence of beauty when played well; however, if it's played poorly, it becomes the whining shrieks of a banshee.

In this particular instance, Kyle's heart melted because kitferge played the instrument with a rare skill that few could match. His bow fluttered about the strings with the grace of a swan skimming a crystal lake and his fingers pressed firmly on the instrument's tiny frets. The boy can speak French. What more can I expect?

After the instrumental intro finished, Phyre opened her mouth and sang her first phrase, "I can take the rain on the roof of this empty house. That don't bother me." Despite the notes being in a range where most female singers would get lazy, she pushed her air cleanly in a way to give it a full, smooth color. Blaze was right. Her voice is smooth.

As the song progressed, Kyle recognized that the lyrics addressed a relationship, but they still visibly affected him, particularly the chorus. It reminded him of Lane, Tim, and David. I had so much to say to them and they did walk away. They didn't mean to, but they did. Kyle struggled holding back his tears. One or two escaped, but other than a closed up throat and hot face, he avoided an embarrassing, public breakdown; however, a few of the men weren't so lucky. Some of them blubbered on the table while other's had only their lips quivering. It was a sad sight. Everyone's lost someone in here. It may not be someone that died in here, but they're separated from their families and they fear death.

Toward the end of the song, Phyre's voice began tickling Kyle's ears even more as she belted the high notes. It reminded him of his voice teacher that he had the opportunity to sing with on worship team at church. Excitement quickly replaced Kyle's melancholy mood. Oh, I hope that they do this often. I'd love to get up there and sing a duet with her.

The song ended in a long, unison note and the crowd rose to their feet in a thunderous applause. Kyle joined them instantly. Phyre and kitferge made their way off the stage, Phyre handing the microphone to someone as she entered the audience. Kyle watched as kitferge quietly snuck over to the bar. An idea popped in Kyle's head and a grin enveloped his face. I wonder if he'll play Nessun Dorma.

Before Kyle could walk toward the bar, a familiar face stopped him. It was Phyre, the previous star that the entire bar roared over. She looked up, indicating their height difference and she said, "Hello again. Did you enjoy the performance?"

Kyle beamed and replied, "I sure did. Your breath control and your tone was fantastic. I especially loved when you belted out those high notes at the end. Where did you learn to sing?"

[Kitferge]

"You think you know something, just one thing about me? How absurd." ☒ Aura ✐ 000 ✉ My apologies for the wait~ Also, some alcohol talk for you guys. Kitferge Lv1

Kitferge watched the bartender prepare his drinks, rapping his fingers against the bar lazily. He may not have liked alcohol, but he couldn’t deny the sheer allure of it-oh, that was a familiar drink. He remembered nights at the bar, watching helplessly as his mother drank her savings away, the bartender clicking her tongue and trying to distract him by telling him stories. The Stardust. Rum, drops of lemon juice, and then two ounces or so of Marie Brizard Parfait Amour (no, not that-that’s just a memory. It’s just another plain bottle with a label-) into the tall glass, the liquid falling into perfect drops on the side, slipping in with nary a second glance, and then it’s mixed with a flurry of bubbles that rush to the surface and disappear as soon as they come. Kitferge lets a slow, interested look slide onto his face as he looks at the bartender. He knew his drinks, that was for sure. Memories flit by, drunken slurs and muttered, cloudy curses, perfumed poison curling into the air. Kitferge closes his eyes for a second and listens to the next order, watching the bartender read these people as easily as the back of his hand. No doubt he’s worked with drinks in real life-that expertise didn’t come easily. Vodka Collins this time, much easier than his other order. The bartender takes out a tall glass, perfectly clean, and then takes a handful of ice, slipping it in with a gentle thunk, water droplets hitting the bottom of the glass. Vodka from a bottle this time, no fancy label, just a simple “Vodka”. Though worlds may change, drinks don’t, and Kitferge supposes that they can thank Kayaba for that. The vodka is poured over the ice, making one piece of frozen water crack into two, the sound inaudible amongst the din of conversation and uproarious laughter, and Kitferge watches more intently. The bartender’s dark eyes flit to him, and then he returns to his mixing. The rest of the glass is filled with Sweet and Sour, and then a fizzy, light-colored drink that smells like that one American drink-Sprite, of course. A single red cherry is dropped in, a rarity in this game, and then a quick slice of lime, perfection and cool-colored. Kitferge winces at the sudden intrusion of color, but it turns his attention to the drink himself. He remembers the bartender from his past telling him that this drink mixed well, deeply, resonating from the depths of the drink itself, not volatile like other drinks could be. Deep purple, lingering violet for the Stardust, the type of toxicity that he came to associate with his mother, the darkness of the drink and the sensual allure, always so pretty and perfect and oh-so-dark, waiting to be drunk, a single fuchsia droplet lingering on the cool edge of the glass before slipping in. And then the Vodka Collins, a personal favorite in terms of style. Icy, cool, infused with color, soothing, sharp, and refreshing. Sweet, sour, a confusing, intoxicating mix between the two. Both drinks from his childhood. They’re lower in terms of materials, seeing as how they’re on floor 1. It still seems like a bar, though there are only mugs of beer or tall glasses for these drinks. The bartender stays quiet, thinking, perhaps, while he mixes and pours and serves. There’s enough players to need a whole army of bartenders, but most seem content with simple beer in wooden mugs, only a few having enough Col to drink their worries away. Kitferge rests his elbows on the table, taking in the bartender. It’s a male, around his late twenties and aging gracefully enough. He seems European, Italian, maybe, by his accent and his complexion, a warm olive. Dark, wavy hair and darker eyes, which Kitferge raises an eyebrow at, since the iris seems to bleed in with the pupil. He carries a dagger as well, it strapped to his side, and a bag of needles. He seems quiet, pensive, but can read his customers well, offering a well-placed joke or a jab here and there, sending his clients into a fit of laughter. Phyre and KyleMartin are talking, he notices, but he doesn’t turn to listen. There’s something said for privacy, after all, and he’s found a much more interesting person, though memories of his past are starting to take place. He blinked, startled, as a glass of iced water was placed at his elbow gently, and then the blonde looked up to see the bartender wiping off a glass and placing it on the table. “You looked like you needed something to drink,” He said simply, before turning. Kitferge raised an eyebrow again, but nodded in thanks, sipping his drink as he tucked a strand of his long hair behind his ear. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come here, after all-the memories were all flooding back, anchors to his past that he itched to wrench off, and even the people he had wanted to observe weren’t that interesting in hindsight. He sipped at the empty glass, and then set it down, flicking his tongue out to catch the last drops of water. There’s a brief pause before Kitferge tilts his head to watch other players. They’re all green, of course, but there are some yellow and orange players here and there, surrounded by players who look too sober to be here by choice. Guards, perhaps from guilds. He flicks a glance at his own cursor before sighing, tired by this whole charade. His game has backfired-it brings him disinterest and boredom instead of amusement. He shot a glance towards the chess board where a crowd of players surround a serious-eyed woman and a grinning silver-eyed male player, and noticed that a piece was lying on its side. A queen. How sad. One of the most powerful pieces…just utterly defeated. Perhaps it was symbolic, he mused, surprising a grin at the thought. He continued sitting at the bar, curiously looking over each player that was near. Hardly likely, as it would be a miracle if it was, but there was no harm in dreaming, was there? He sighed, toying with strands of his hair as boredom took over him, and he played with the idea of leaving before idly watching a rowdy argument start, but it was apparently a common occurrence, as it broke up quickly and the friendly ambience returned. Kitferge ran his eyes over Phyre. She seemed very popular in here-something that he didn’t expect. She was pretty, he supposed, from an objective standpoint. But just that could turn so many heads? How...pathetic, maybe.

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS

[Phyre]

"Pain tells you when you have been wounded badly. But you know what the best thing about pain is? It tells you're NOT DEAD YET!" ☒ Kitferge Kyle ✐ 000 ✉ Sorry for not posting!! Also, it's late so sorry about how small my post is. Phyre Lv1

Humble pride filled Phyre with confidence in herself as Kyle complimented her voice. Hearing his question Phyre found herself with a big ol' smile on her face. "I taught myself. When I was younger I would look at videos on YouTube on how to improve my voice. I once lost my voice while training it." She replied, chuckling at the memory of losing her voice. She was not a happy camper when that happened. Raising her left hand, Phyre ran it through her hair, feeling it's silky smoothness while the other remained hidden within her cloak. She noticed Kyles chocolate brown eyes dart over to the bar counter and out of curiosity, she turned her head slightly to see what he was looking at. From where she stood, she could see Kitferge sitting on one of the cushioned stools and clearly bored. Her eyebrows furrowed a little but they returned back to their original position upon turning to look at Kyle. "It was nice talking to you but I have to go. One of my friends is calling for me. See you later then." Phyre said to Kyle before walking past him towards another table where five drunk men sat playing a game of poker. They stopped when Phyre neared and watched as she took a seat. On her left stood a hairy man who was a good six inches taller than her with a few scars here and there on his face and arms. He had glazed over gray eyes and his blonde hair was now a tangled mess from him messing around with it. The one on her right however, was merely two inches taller than her and didn't have that much hair at all. His eyes were also glazed but they were a soft blue color, like his hair that was held back into a ponytail that draped over his shoulder. Huh. This is the first time I've ever seen a man with such long hair. She thought to herself before her attention was drawn to the man who was shuffling the cards. He was older and had a few gray hairs among his not-so-dark black hair. His eyes, which were a deep forest green color, weren't as glazed as the others making him the most sober at the table other than her. He began dealing the cards but when he got to Phyre she put a hand up. "No, I don't play." She told him, only to receive a confused look. However, the man didn't seem it was that big a deal and continued dealing the cards. Once they were dealed and bets were placed, the game began. Phyre watched the game but talked to the men around her about certain topics she wanted info on. This went on for a little bit and eventually she got enough about a certain something to go take care of business herself. Standing up within the middle of round eight, Phyre bidded the gentleman a farewell and walked off. She headed for the door but before she left she turned and saw that Kyle was hanging with Kitferge. Just like she had hoped. Smiling to herself, Phyre turned her back to them and exited the bar to go pick up her little partners.

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS