Bijan the Researcher

Researcher / 43 years old / cis-man he/him / human

[bijanmousavi]

BIJAN MOUSAVI

BIRTH NAME: Bijan Mousavi NICKNAME: none AGE: 43 years old DATE OF BIRTH: 4th of August SPECIES: Human FROM: Tabriz IN FENRIR SINCE: 7 years ago NEIGHBOURHOOD: Fenway OCCUPATION: Researcher

Threads | Muse

STATS -

SEXUALITY: homosexual RELIGION: Muslim GENDER/PRONOUNS: cis-man, he/him LANGUAGES: Farzi, Arabic, Azerbaijani, English FC: Omid Abtahi

BIOGRAPHY -

( death mention tw, injury mention tw, homophobia mention tw )

Bijan was born the oldest of three to a well-off Iranian family in Tabriz. The smartest in the family, he was expected to go abroad to study. He did eventually get a scholarship to study at Oxford, UK. After he did a masters at Harvard, and became a researcher, specialising in Microbiology. His family was over the moon, praising him and telling him to build his life in whichever place he wished. He did as he was taught, earned enough money to send some back for weddings, baby showers, new houses, etc. Bijan was the main support for his family.

When one of his niblings was heading to the UK with his friends, Bijan offered for all of them to stay over for as long as they would like at his apartment in London.

They never arrived.

It took him a few days to find out that all the kids had been attacked on a hike near a city called Fenrir's Wood. He took days off to stay with his nibling at the hospital. All of them got incredibly sick after suffering bites and injuries from what seemed to be a wolf attack.

Two survived, his nibling was not among them. Bijan was ready to fly the two kids back home, until the three of them realised there was more to the bites than they could've expected.

Bijan is currently putting both of the kids through their own PHDs at Fenrir University, while working there as a researcher. Meanwhile his relationship with another man makes it so his connection to his homeland is somewhat muddled. But Bijan will forever support his family and be proud of everything they've given him.

HEADCANONS - 

Lives together with his partner.

Bijan has the two friends of his nibling - who he calls the kids - over regularly at his home. They're both studying at the university.

He's very obsessive over his research, and is in part funded by the Fenrir Pack to do research on the changes during the lycanthrope virus' journey through the body and if there are ways to help victims of a Werewolf attack get a better chance of surviving the bite.

He's considered an associate of Fenrir Pack.

WANTED CONNECTIONS -

the kids - friends of his nibling (WC)

his partner (WC)

fellow lycanthrope virus researcher

(unlikely) friends

friends he's made through his partner or the kids

former flirtations

awkward meetings

people who are also neurodivergent

[bijanmousavi]

OPEN STARTER @fenrirswoodstarters location ; the duck fair

Bijan was standing in line for some food, kebab that was sold right next to the busiest attraction at the moment: the ferris wheel. It had been long since he'd seen such a summer vibe. The summer had been days of rain followed by incredible hot days. The humidity was off the carts, but the third day of the Duck Fair seemed to be bearable. He was leaning on his cane and looking at the slow moving queue. "Maybe I should've waited for a more calmer time of the day," he said to the other person in line.

[pclymcrphcus]

Colson felt the walls of the room pressing in around him, a tangible weight accompanying the contrite expression spreading across his features. His nerves, heavy with remorse, failed to lighten the somber atmosphere that enveloped them. Amidst all his planning and strategizing, he hadn't anticipated encountering such disappointment, fear, and concern etched into Bijan's face. He noticed a hitch in Bijan's throat as he swallowed, a pang of guilt echoing in Colson's own chest.

Hoping his folly was plain to see, if not articulated in a single glance, Colson broke the heavy silence with a rueful chuckle. "It was, perhaps, more clever in my head," he admitted, the weight of his actions sinking in. "I had intended for a calculated exposure to the virus, thinking that…" His gaze dropped shamefully to the floor, struggling to find the right words to justify his reckless actions. "I thought that instead of our time being divided by work, I could offer a reason for you to bring work home, or even assist with your research in a distinct way." He imagined himself under the microscope, blood drawn and vitals scrutinized, a willing subject for Bijan's studies.

"I believed that provoking a wolf might lead to infection, transforming me into… well, you know," he faltered, realizing the inadequacy of his execution. His attempt at martyrdom had been ill-calculated, the supposed self-sacrifice almost costing both of them dearly. "I was under the clear impression it would benefit us, especially your research and your work." His words hung in the air, tinged with regret and a hint of desperation for understanding. "I overlooked the... temerity"

[bijanmousavi]

Bijan was confused, appalled, worried for the longest moments as he looked at Colson. For a moment he blamed himself, always so busy with his research that he hadn’t registered this idea coming to the other’s mind. But even if he had been paying more attention, would he have noticed? He bit his lip and reached out for his partner. “I don’t think getting bitten by a Werewolf is your best or only option,” he whispered. 

He took a deep breath. “It doesn’t benefit anyone to get bitten, even for my research.” He would never ask anyone to risk their life, and he knew neither would the packs. No matter how badly they wished to figure out a cure. He wasn’t the first - nor would he be the last - scientist to work on this. And if there wasn’t such extensive secrecy in the supernatural community, he might have access to more information.

“Has the idea been taken from your mind? If not what can I do to stop you for doing something like this again?”

[estfenrirswood]

Aiysha led him further into Thistle & Sage, the shelves lined with an assortment of herbs, crystals, and other mystical items. “Protection is always a good reason,” she nodded. “And experimenting with new recipes is a great way to deepen your connection with the materials. Each herb and stone has its own unique vibration. What recipes?”

She glanced at the list Bijan was holding. “Yes, we have a variety of herbs and stones here. Rose Quartz, for example, is great for promoting love and healing energy. And yes, you can buy it in different forms, even powdered if you need it that way for a specific use.” As they moved through the store, Aiysha’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “We do get a fair number of customers, especially on days like these when the energy feels particularly strong. People come seeking guidance, protection, or just a bit of magic to brighten their day. Each one brings their own unique energy to the shop, which makes every day different and exciting.”

She paused, picking up a small jar of lavender. “Here, this might be useful for you. Lavender is excellent for protection and calming the mind. And it’s always good to have a bit of peace in your practice.” Aiysha handed the jar to Bijan, her smile reassuring. “If you have any questions or need help with any of these items, feel free to ask. I’m always here to help. What else are we looking for today?”

[bijanmousavi]

Bijan smiled. “Recipes for healing and protection of the soul,” he said. As a scientist it was odd to speak of such things, but he’d been raised differently: the line between magic and science was not set in stone, it was not a line at all. There was science to magic, and magic to science. “They were given to me through others, I have no idea if they are any good, but I wouldn’t be a good scientist if I didn’t attempt them,” he decided.

Instead he was given herbs for himself, and it softened his heart further. Almost as if hearing his own mother speak to him, offering chai and ginger when he was deep in his studying. He smiled kindly as he accepted the jar. Clearly the vendor had a passion for the craft and for the store. Going into retail had never even occurred to him, but he did get some more interest in it watching them at work. “Can I ask… do you own the store?” he asked, based on certain cues they’d given him. 

The scientist turned back to his list. “Let’s see. Himalayan salt? Opal, kardemon, and a metal bowl,” he listed a few more things from his list.

[estfenrirswood]

Aiysha looked up from her phone as Bijan entered the shop, her expression warm and welcoming. She noted the weariness etched into his features, a telltale sign of a restless night under the full moon's watch.

"Good morning," she greeted softly, setting aside a few polished stones with a gentle clink as she walked over to him. "Of course, I'd be happy to help. What's on this list of yours?" As she approached, Aiysha gestured for him to follow her toward a cozy corner of the shop where shelves lined with jars of herbs and powders awaited. "Are you searching for ingredients related to protection, perhaps?" she asked, her voice low and soothing. "Or something specific to aid with sleep?"

[bijanmousavi]

Bijan chuckled at the questions. Perhaps he looked worse for wear, enough for other people to notice. He’d never minded, he simply found it interesting that people realised, and had the skills to study another person so quickly and come to such conclusions - and most importantly come to the right ones. “A few for protection, mostly a few to try out some new recipes,” he stated. He wasn’t too forward on his research, but he didn’t think he needed to be. According to the Coven Leader of Saga’s Coven, the spirits had clearly gathered around him, a mark of his connection to the Supernatural despite not being on himself. 

He touched the list as he followed the store’s owner. “I think most of these are herbs and stones,” he commented, as he ran his fingers over unfamiliar names. “Rose Quartz most definitely is, though I’m unaware you could buy them in three tea spoons.” He looked around the shelves, finding many matching names. “Do you have a lot of customers on days like these?” he asked.

[pclymcrphcus]

"There, there, Bijan." The witch's lips curved into a tender, sympathetic smile, her eyes softening with a rich blend of compassion and profound understanding. The corners of her mouth lifted just enough to convey warmth and empathy, her expression radiating a quiet, soothing reassurance that enveloped him like a comforting embrace.

He wasn't the only one dabbing at misty eyes; several others were equally affected, their emotions plainly visible as they discreetly wiped away tears that threatened to spill. The poignant beauty of the performance had woven a palpable sense of community among the audience, uniting them in shared sentiment. "Indeed, so beautiful," she murmured softly, as if savoring the lingering echoes of the experience. "I think it's been my favorite of the day."

With a gentle pat on Bijan's shoulder, she endeavored to console her colleague and friend, infusing the moment with an air of tender camaraderie. "It's a bittersweet feeling, isn't it? Seeing all this, finally carving out spaces for ourselves."

[bijanmousavi]

Bijan appreciated Lilette’s facial expressions, they were clear enough for him to read and obvious enough for him to understand. But that was easy now, the song clearly hit an emotional core for many, and if anything: music seemed a simpler way to convey thoughts and feelings. Easier than just words. 

He dapped the tears away and nodded. “It is,” he agreed. “I figured this day would come, and that it will only get easier for the generations after us, that seems to be the way of the world, but it feels… like something special that our generations have this similar lived experience,” he said. “We have the same feelings, even if the way we have handled them are different.” And he wasn’t so certain how own home was far enough yet to accept people this way, but he also could look at the bigger picture and see acceptance on the horizon. Things would get easier. If he could even entertain the idea of marrying Colson and introducing him to the family as his husband, then they were already making leaps in the right direction.

[pclymcrphcus]

He takes a moment, watching intently as the final stitch is meticulously sewn into his flesh. The healthcare professional sets their tools aside, just as the sharp trill of another intercom call rings above their heads. Busy with removing their gloves, they don't offer Colson the escape he so desperately craves—a diversion from the unyielding gaze of Bijan. Perhaps they were better at reading the room, an art Colson continuously fails to master. Maybe they believed that under Bijan’s watchful care, Colson would be okay, if only temporarily. With efficient grace, they rid themselves of the gloves, stating matter-of-factly that they’ll return shortly with a pain prescription.

It's just the two of them now—Colson and Bijan, Bijan and Colson—ensconced within the curtained-off room in the corner of the bustling ER. The sigh that escapes Colson’s lungs is heavy with unspoken tension, doing little to alleviate the situation. Perhaps if they had administered a stronger dose of morphine, he wouldn't feel the acute embarrassment of crafting a plausible explanation for his colleague, partner, and lover. His eyes, extra glossy, lift to meet Bijan's concerned gaze, and Colson attempts a smile, hoping it might dispel the looming question.

"It was an accident," he mutters, the words falling flat despite the effort behind them. “Just a piece of glass stuck in my arm. It could have been worse.” It was supposed to be worse—triggering a butterfly effect that would actually matter. "I may have been..." he lowers his voice, "antagonizing a member of the Canis lupus family, specifically one touched with what I presume to be lycanthropy."

The sentence is rushed out, a flash of words spoken hastily to cover up his previous admission. "Don't worry your head off, handsome. I'm fine." And with a bit of a pout, he admits, "It didn't get me."

[bijanmousavi]

Bijan’s eyes widened at the admittance, he had not expected that, not thought that Colson had actually gone out there to try and get bitten. Lycanthrophy had become one of his many interests, it had become the sole subject of his research. Outside of his own work for the university the research he was conducting for the Packs of Fenrir’s Wood was always on her mind, especially around the Full Moon. 

Yet the idea of having to sit by Colson’s bedside as he fought the virus was not one he’d ever entertained, or wished to entertain. He took a deep breath as he steadied his own thoughts. He scanned Colson’s injury for only a moment, before turning to his face, trying to figure out if he knew what the results would be of getting the bite. 

He took a deep breath, though it entered him ragged. He did not feel steady. “You were picking a fight with a Werewolf?” he asked, swallowing. “Why?”

[estfenrirswood]

location: thistle & sage | open to all!

The morning sun cast a golden hue over the quiet streets as Aiysha unlocked the heavy wooden door of Thistle & Sage, her heart swelling with anticipation as her lavender matcha latte chilled her hand. Today was no ordinary day—it was the eve of a full moon, a time when magic hummed with a potent energy that resonated through every corner of her shop. Thistle & Sage exuded an inviting aura of mystique. Aiysha had spent weeks preparing for this moment, carefully arranging shelves adorned with shimmering crystals, jars of dried herbs, and intricately carved wooden wands. The scent of lavender and sage mingled in the air, soothing and invigorating at once.

As she lit the last of the incense sticks, their fragrant smoke curling upwards like tendrils of possibility, Aiysha felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The town seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of the mystical night to come. Werewolves, with their heightened senses, would soon roam under the moon's watchful gaze, and fellow witches would converge to harness the lunar energies.

Outside, a few early risers paused to peer through the shop's windows, curious about the new additions to the shop. Aiysha knew that some would be drawn by curiosity, others by an inexplicable pull towards the mystical energies that emanated from within. She welcomed them all, knowing that each visitor brought with them a unique story and a quest for understanding.

With a final adjustment to a display of moonstone amulets, Aiysha stood back and surveyed her domain with a sense of pride and reverence. The morning sunlight filtered through the shop's windows, casting soft patterns of light and shadow over ancient texts and shimmering crystals. Everything was in place, poised for the magic that would unfold with the rising of the full moon.

Aiysha flips the "Closed" sign to "Open" with a satisfying click, then pulls back the curtains beside the door, inviting more morning sunlight to spill into the shop. With a contented sip of her latte, she sets the cup down and flips a switch on a Bluetooth radio, seamlessly connecting her phone. Jhene Aiko's voice fills the air, gently chasing away the lingering quiet with a soothing melody.

[bijanmousavi]

Growing up Bijan had never put much thought in the art of the mystical. Despite his house having been filled with strange knick knacks that had no real spiritual value but were still in the house regardless. That and his Islamic upbringing, which had an eye for the mystique but that too had been seen by the professor as more of a way to tell stories than anything else.

However, as one who was now associated with the Fenrir Pack, and who had three young wards who had all survived the Lycanthrope virus, Bijan no longer shied away from what he didn't understand.

He could not hear the spirits, could not request answers from them, but he nonetheless ensured there were a few shrines around his own place, if only so that if someone came to his door, they might lend a hand to him.

He was the first to enter the store that morning, not surprising, during the Full Moon Bijan slept very little. He had a small list of possible ingredients that could help with repelling the Lycanthrope virus, it was a long shot, but he needed to attempt any hypothesis.

"Good morning, I was wondering if you could help me with a list."

[bijanmousavi]

CLOSED STARTER for @angelo-chiarelli location; DULANT COLLEGE LGBTQ+ EVENING

Bijan should've come to this event with Colson, he knew that, yet he'd opted to go by himself to check out what was happening and take Colson the day after. Or perhaps they'd go to the movies. There was just so much they could be doing.

Having gotten his drink from the bar outside, Bijan wandered back into the main building, finding a soft melody catch his attention. He walked until he got to a room with a piano, and a single person playing its keys. The melody ended and Bijan placed his glass on a table and clapped softly.

"That was beautiful."

[bijanmousavi]

CLOSED STARTER for @pclymcrphcus ft. Lilette location; Dulant College LGBTQ+ evening

Bijan hadn't been someone who actively hid who he was, neither at home, nor now in the UK. He'd always been truthful to who he was and who he wished to spend his time with, yet it hadn't always been as easy, and watching the work presented by local students of the Dulant College did struck a chord. An emotional one at that.

He was glad he'd brought a package of tissues, because the last act to have graced the stage was just done with her amazing piano and vocal performance. Talking about the misunderstanding she received and how she felt like everyone was wrong and she was right.

He spotted a fellow Fenrir University faculty member and approached Lilette while still dabbing away the tears. "That was beautiful, don't you think?" he asked.

[unfilteredmus1ngs]

“Even the nerdy ones? Like one of those science fictions. Those are related to your field, right? Kind of.” Reza gestured his hand in the air. “Fictions are sometimes rooted in reality, or some shit like that and what not.” He shrugged. He wasn’t an avid fan of reading books either, not anymore. Experiences that shaped him thus far had made him hateful of many things, and reading was one of them. it was a shame, he thought with pursed lips, seeing that he had loved it when he was a mere child, bright and innocent, as he listened to his father read to him. Reza turned his attention back to the other, sipping his drink. “Well, I guess to each their own, hm.” He shrugged. Who was he to dictate what Bijan should or shouldn’t read, after all.

Reza leaned forward when Bijan showed interest in his finding, eyes lit up and smile a touch mischievous without meaning to. “Sure, mate. I’ll cook some for you when I can.” He loved cooking for others. Act of service had always been how he showed he cared, and cooking was the easiest to impress people. “You still have the same number, right?” Reza took out his phone and scrolled through his contacts, showing Bijan the old phone number that he had saved from years ago. He never got rid of numbers he had saved, mostly because it’s easy to keep tract of who’s who seeing that he knew damn well he had shitty memories of everything and everyone. “You think so?” He flipped his book back to his direction, pursing his lips as he read the scrawls. “Well, too bad her grandkids don’t appreciate her effort. But, like you said. Someone’s trash is my treasure.”

[bijanmousavi]

Bijan nodded, but it was an uncertain nod. "Some of them, scientists have a way of thinking," he said. "But they're still human, and I can't always identify with how people think," he admitted. He did like detective novels, though not all of them, and the ones he did like were dated, with a time spirit that he could not get behind. He smiled. "To each their own." He did enjoy that: how different people thought, and how they behaved, but from a distance, in a movie, on tv.

He was also completely oblivious to those advances, he hadn't yet told Reza that he was now in a serious relationship: serious enough that Colson had moved in with him, that they were thinking about more. The next logical step. Or at least he was thinking about it, not just for tax benefits. "I still have the same number," he said happily. "And that would be great!" Bijan too loved to cook, for other people, for himself, or just to get rid of some stress he was feeling. "A recipe is a family secret, isn't it? Something to give to your children so they'll remember you," he said. "She would've probably remembered those recipes by heart, she didn't need the book," he said. All deduction. Perhaps he should reread the Sherlock Holmes stories without the racism and the sexism again.

[thechellambharath]

"Sounds like you really do like some peace from it all," she acknowledged of his headset to drown out everyone without needing to fill him with some other sound. Chellam herself? She didn't think she could live without the constant noise, she might hear her own thoughts too loudly.

Chellam gave a nod at his description of the piece, the item not coming directly to mind but that meant little. Beyond her brother's pieces Chellam really had no idea what was in the place, passing by everything while looking at her phone. "Maybe if we keep wandering we will find it again?"

At the idea she was an artist though Chellam let out a giddy laugh, flattered someone could imagine she was so talented. "No, my brother is, he is very talented, but he is the talented one without a doubt, the rest of us simply...follow behind." With the words she gestured for them to begin their walk around the place. "That is a...specific sort of feeling though, do you worry about that? Weather disasters?"

[bijanmousavi]

Bijan nodded, smiling. "I do like some peace and quiet. Not that I need it, but I get easily distracted at some times, and not at all at others," he described. "And you? Do you appreciate the silence or do you enjoy the noise?" he asked.

He nodded, appreciating that this youngster would give him the day of day and walk along with him. He did feel like an old man at times, but as a professor, he did end up talking with people at least one decade - mostly two - younger than him. "That is much appreciated," he told her. "If you wouldn't mind roaming this gallery in my company."

He was not sure what the giddy laughter meant until she explained, "Ah," he stated. "So he left nothing for you and your siblings?" he offered with a chuckle. "My mother used to say that about me as well, as I am the only one of my siblings to have studied at an university. What is it you'd like to do? As you follow your brother the artist?" he asked. And at the question about the weather disasters he made a sorrowful face. His mother might say he was too quick to share his worries, to not care whether he would bring down the conversation. "I'm a scientist, microbiology specifically," he explained. "I've always been most interested in Eukaryotic microorganisms, and they show a clear decline," he said further. "Apologies, I don't mean to bring the mood down."

[pclymcrphcus]

Colson Kim is renowned for a myriad of poor choices, but this one is a lesson he stubbornly refuses to learn. In truth, he had anticipated more blood. He had no proper grasp on when or if he’d pass out due to blood loss. Despite his confidence, the biologist should be reminded that he is not medically trained to make these assumptions, ever. He was reckless with his body, obtuse, and puerile when it came to self-care. He had always left such matters to the partner in question, who to his knowledge had yet to appear in the emergency room. His hubris and ill-conceived notions aside, he was in dire need of stitches. The sutures, painful and tightly wound just below his shoulder blade, were almost complete. As the kind nurses rolled out the crash cart with its tarnished gauze, he tried to count the number of wrappers used, torn open and tossed hastily as the loosely woven cotton fibers were pressed against his wound.

The emergency room, bathed in harsh fluorescent light, was a cacophony of urgency and distress. The antiseptic smell mingled with the faint odor of blood and sweat, creating an atmosphere of clinical detachment. The nurses, with their practiced efficiency, moved around Colson like choreographed dancers, their hands deftly maneuvering the medical tools.

A large gash from the debris of a very angry lycanthrope had caused the injury—not the werewolf itself. Terrible luck, seeing as he had been trying to become remarkable enough to wind up on the medical slab of Bijan Mousavi. Speaking of, he muttered an, “Oh no.” once Bijan finally emerged. He didn’t mean it as harshly as it sounded, but... “not you.” He winced at the pain as a needle pulled through another stitch. His bicep twitched, eliciting a cry of pain. “Ow—” His eyes darted towards the doctor’s sutures hanging his head in shame. He was hoping this visit would be lost on Bijan- he didn't wish to cause him any more worry.

“Okay, listen, Bijan, it’s not what it looks like. It’s just a scratch. Right?” Finally, a playful twinge of a smile spread across his face as his eyes fell upon Bijan’s worried countenance. “I’m fine. Better now that you’re here, actually. Just don’t chide me too much, okay?"

[bijanmousavi]

Bijan was quick enough to study the strain on Colson's face, the way his head hung, the look of his fingers and clothes, the disastrous state he seemed to be in. He'd always done that when it came to Colson, even before they'd come together as more than colleagues. This need to study the other was still there, but it was far more as a partner than a friend. Worry was etched in his face, and as he watched the blood and the doctor working on the wound - giving Bijan a sympathetic smile - he only barely managed to put the facts before his own feelings.

Yet he still managed, and the wound did seem mangable, terrible yes, but more in a filthy and messy way, not in a way that would suggest any lasting damage.

He, however, had no idea how Colson had gotten the injury - which seemed to have been caused by some kind of sharp object or multiple objects, something mechanical, clear from the tear at the muscle - and was also not in the right state of mind to come up with a hypothetical.

He ignored the 'not you', because in some funny way he could understand; or at least he could put himself in Colson's shoes for a moment, thinking that Colson probably knew the amount of stress coursing through Bijan's body.

"What happened?" he asked. He'd come to the why later.

[thechellambharath]

That was fair, it was unreasonable, but at least in some of the circumstances Chellam had found herself in the wealthy could frequently expect the unreasonable. Sometimes she wondered if for her older siblings those situations had been different, if growing up in India had been vastly different than in the UK. If the opulent people that had surrounded her had been less inclined to joy, certainly their attire tended to imply it.

"At least we can rely on most people enjoying listening to music, but I know sometimes people want to be fully immersed in the art," she reasoned, which felt fair. He was right though, any sound should not have required an apology, even if she knew were she to make another loud sound she'd still apologise again.

"Yes, though I'm still newer to town so I probably have missed quite a few that have been on the walls, is there one you were looking for that has disappeared?" she asked him. Perhaps it had not yet left the building, maybe it was ready to be shipped and sold and she could convince her brother to allow the man a final glance.

[bijanmousavi]

Bijan nodded slowly. For a moment confused by her words, before catching himself. "I have noise cancelling headphones that offer the option to just cancel noise and not have music playing," he said. "I honestly use that more than the music option." He felt that his cheeks were slightly hot, but perhaps that wasn't visible on his darker cheeks. He did not think he had much in common with the younger generation, but he'd always been an old soul, even when he'd been in his twenties.

He nodded at the question and tried to recall how it had looked exactly, not just the feeling it gave him. He offered a smile and a thoughtful glance around the room, he wished to share his experience of the piece even if he could not point at the piece. "It was very abstract," he said. He had enjoyed that the Gallery seemed to have a theme, one that he could follow easily. He did always enjoy structure. "I am not sure what exactly was on there, but I do recall it was mostly blue, with broad strokes and in a silver frame." He continued to smile. "It made me feel like hopeful, like nature taking back control of humanity's created weather disasters," he said. "I am not really an art kind of person," he admitted. "Are you an artist?"

[bijanmousavi]

CLOSED STARTER for @pclymcrphcus ft. Colson location ; hospital, day after the flower moon

Full Moons were the busiest time of the month for Bijan, from studying how the Lycanthrope virus reacted to the full moon in the evening and throughout the night, to showing up in the hospital early in case there were cases of wolf attacks. Any new bite could suggest a coming illness, and while he had yet to figure out a cure, the illness itself was important too. Not every patient however wished to be studied by a scientist, and he needed both verbal and written verification, and if the patient was too sick, that meant from their guardians. 

He entered the hospital early in the morning, when the sun was up but most people weren’t. Five am. He’d had a quick breakfast, a mug of Turkish coffee, and read yesterday’s paper. The place was just as busy and yet quiet as it normally was, the ER filled, but the rest of the hospital working as a place as such should, with full waiting rooms, and coffee addicted doctors and nurses. 

When he’d woken up that morning, he hadn’t expected to find his own partner at his place of work. Not to give him a kiss and a coffee, no, but as a patient. He entered the ER and almost dropped the tablet, staring back at Colson. He quickly moved towards him. “Colson?” His eyes were wide as he put the tablet down and ran his hands carefully over the other. “Are you alright?”

[pclymcrphcus]

“I take it you’re going to be a new fan,” Nohemi remarked with a knowing smile. Most of the band’s followers were misunderstood, lost souls seeking refuge in the profound lyrics and haunting melodies. It was remarkably easy to feel in harmony with the universe while listening to The Forgotten’s music. The band name itself was an ironic gesture, bestowing a renewed sense of belonging to those who felt forsaken, for they were never truly forgotten by the band—never could they be. She could sense that the person standing before her might soon become one of these kindred spirits.

“Micah’s the lead singer, yes. They’ve been making music for years,” she continued, her voice tinged with pride. “I’ve heard a rumor that they’re going to debut a couple of new songs tonight. So you’re in for a treat. You’re not scared of a couple of breakdowns, are you?” The question was delivered with a playful challenge, her eyes glinting with amusement as she gauged the newcomer’s reaction. "What kind of music are you typically into?"

[bijanmousavi]

Bijan smiled. He did not know that, but he decided that yes: he would be a new fan. Though he had no idea if he would like the music, but he was sure he would like the idea of people standing on a stage and not getting scared by all the faces looking up at them. “I am sure you are correct about that,” he said, nodding slightly. 

His eyes glimmered. He’d always had these dreams of going abroad and getting into a band, seeing them live, wear the same clothes, be a groupie. But music had never held his attention long enough. He would attempt to listen to it and then be swept away by thoughts of his research. The music he knew the best was wedding music. “They must be very famous,” Bijan said, at the mention of many years in their pockets. “Emotional breakdowns?” he asked, as such was the only type of breakdown he could think of. “Ah, I would not really say I’m into any specific music, I enjoy traditional Persian music.” he said. His mother had old cassettes she used to play, and friends of the family who could play instruments would repeat certain famous ones over and over again. "How about you?"

[thechellambharath]

"The apple," was all she said of his assessment that it was physics that had brought her things to the ground. The story of the apple was all she really recalled from that class, the notion of gravity. Still, she was glad that at least the person didn't seem as bothered as other patrons did, giving her little looks of distain. A young person making loud sounds in a place of elegance and quiet, if not for her designer clothes she imagined they may have begun to sneer.

Reaching for the things he held she gave him a nod of thanks. "I think in a place like this near any sound requires apology," she whispered, eyes lifting from him to the paintings and back again. "I appreciate your understanding though."

[bijanmousavi]

Bijan chuckled. He had always valued the places of quiet: libraries, galleries, and so forth, places where one could quietly contemplate and not be disrupted by outside noise, though in places like that, he’d always been wearing headphones, because in places that were quiet, the smallest noise was even more disruptive. He did love the invention of the noise-cancelling headphones, not just for how handy it was for him, but also for the science behind them. “I’d personally say that a place such as this requires conversation.” He paused. “And I would suggest for people to wear noise-cancelling headphones, because it is a lot of negative energy to get mad at people making sounds they have no control over.” 

He got back up slowly, leaning on his cane with a smile. He wasn’t whispering, perhaps lowering his voice, but he did not think this was a library. The one rule seemed to be not to touch the artworks. “Did you come here before? I saw they removed some of the paintings that were here during the event.”