Alvin from Tales of Xillia / Xillia 2 RP Blog. 15+ years RP experience. Multiship, AU, and OC-friendly! Come play with me! Written by Jishin. Tracks broadswordandpistol
I know I haven’t been on much lately — the urge to write comes and goes with the amount of other stuff going on in my life, though the muse never truly leaves. I’m still here, I still check in occasionally, and I still love the Tales community.
You all have made such a difference in my life. I’ve made fantastic friends, some of whom I’ve even gotten to meet in real life. Being a part of this group has brought me so much joy, laughter, wonderful writing, and cherished memories.
I cannot say enough thank yous. Thank you. You all are the best.
"Just a moment! May I pull you away from your duties for a moment, Esteemed Businessman Mr. Svent? I'll keep it short-- there's also free food."
Julius waves Alvin down on the streets of Alvin's world. Initially he stuck to the shadows, but people's non-reaction to spotting him let him roam more freely. Still, better to act on the side of my other self's still wanted than end up under a guillotine.
But with that offer (and, if needed, a host of other excuses and promises), Julius ushers Alvin to the nearest inn. Another round of convincing gets him a round at the kitchen. They insist he keep it short, which they're in luck-- the patron they lent their services to has a special power that lets him isolate a small area in spacetime.
In at most five minutes of real time, Julius is back out with... a beautiful stack of warm peach pies. And it's not just looks they sport-- the once disaster in the kitchen's cooking is more than just edible. It's no Ludger's cooking, but he trusts he'd get a 9/10 on the taste scale.
"Here we are, please enjoy it," Julius cuts them up and offers Alvin a slice on a fancy crystal plate. While he eats, Julius continues, "Now, what I wanted to tell you comes from Ludger and I both. We would've both come, but he's got two kids, a demon, and our lovable goat friend to wrangle right now. Where me, besides my job, I'm a very bored, friendless man."
His list still consists of Balan. No one else, just Balan.
Suffice to say, if the family's busy, he's sitting around.
"Our message is: thank you for treating my brother like a friend despite what he's done. I don't blame those who turn against him, nor does he, but I know having others remind him he's the 'worst Ludger to exist' hurts him more than he'll say. So having you treat him well even after you know the truth makes him, and in turn me, happy."
"If you ever want to see our world, we'd be happy to show you around. We'll even throw in a party for the occasion. Thanks again, Alvin. Or am I allowed 'Alfie' privileges?"
Like Alvin would turn down a peach pie? Unlikely. And these wafted a gorgeous, cinnamon-peach scent.
He cut a pair of slices, and slid the second over to Julius. He paused for a moment with his fork over his slice, before cutting into it.
"I have to admit, it was a hard thing to swallow when I first met him. I'm glad I took the time to try." Alvin himself was a walking demonstration of the power of forgiveness, and it'd have been on his conscience forever if he hadn't at least made the effort to try to understand this particular pair of Kresniks.
He nudged Julius gently in the ribs. "You know you're allowed to have friends too, right? I know you're hyper-focused on your family, but you might be a little less bored with some more buddies." Wink.
"I might take you up on that offer sometime, but if I do, it's only fair you show up here now and then, too. I can't promise I cook like Ludger, but I'll spare you the eggplant, and you can see how things are going over here. And maybe get a chance to relax for a bit, huh?"
The 'Alfie' question ... that was harder. But he'd promised to try to be more honest.
"I gave that name up a long time ago," he said quietly. "My mother forgot it, and my uncle used it against me. Balan likes to tease me with it, so it's kind of a sore spot." He didn't have very many good memories associated with it at this point. " ... Once in a while is probably okay."
More collectibles from Spring Rise. Thanks, @pyonpyonpyon!
"That'll be fun to wear out and about." He's already speculating on occasions, as if he needed an occasion besides "it's Tuesday". It's pretty sweet having a fantastic tailor as one of your friends.
[Context: Alvin owes Aeris, the maskmaker, a story for crafting a mask that he gave to Chilion, the Lake Entity, to enable Chilion to manifest on his own. This story is his payment. Edited slightly so that it's only the story.]
Something personal, huh? That was tricky; so much of Alvin’s life required context. He folded his arms and mulled over the request for a long moment, then found himself a seat on the same wall Aeris was seated on.
“When I was a kid, my mom was sick,” he began. “Not the easy stuff like a cold or a fever. There’s a degenerative disease that runs on her side of the family, and after too many twists of fate, she ended up bedridden. I was only about twelve, and my dad had passed away six years earlier.
“She and I were living with my uncle at the time. He … took advantage of her, let’s leave it at that. Her doc at the time came up with an idea for getting her mobile, and I’d have done anything he wanted to get her away from my uncle. So when he said he needed the biggest spirit fossil anyone could find, I told him I’d come up with it.”
“Her doc had moved to Leronde not too long before — wanted to get away from —“ He paused. “It’s complicated. Luckily for him, and for me, Leronde’s renowned for its mines, and the spirit fossils in the depths of them. They’re not the safest places — full of monsters. I don’t know if he thought I’d try to buy one or something, but I was saving every coin I could get my hands on. If I got Mom away from my uncle, I’d have to support her on my own.
“So I went in on my own. It’s not too hard to sneak when you’re a pint-sized kid. I followed some miners and hid whenever they looked like they were gonna turn around. It was dark down there, and creepy from the tap-tap-tap of pickaxes somewhere in the distance. I kept close on ‘em as best I could. They had the light. Even if I’d wanted to steal one of my own from the supply area, I couldn’t use spirit artes to light it.
“It was going okay until one of those giant worm monsters shot out of the ground and tried to eat me. I say giant — not the big one that Leia told me about that she and Jude and Milla fought. One of the regular ones, but to a kid, they feel enormous.”
Alvin shook his head. This was a story he’d never told anyone — not even Jude. Especially not Jude. If it got back to him later, he might piece together the extra parts of the subtext Alvin wasn’t sharing. It might be all right if he did, at this point.
“I’m pretty sure I yelled. Definitely took a potshot at it before it knocked me down. Don’t ask why a kid my age had a gun. You don’t want to know. The miners heard me — either the yell or the bullet or both, and managed to scrape it off me before it did any permanent damage.
“Then they had to decide what to do with me. They couldn’t ship me back in the minecart on my own — no guarantee I’d stay there, and for all they knew someone else would dump their ore on top of me. They settled on keeping me around until they were done for the day, though they weren’t too happy that I couldn’t keep their lanterns lit or send the orecart off on my own. One of ‘em was certain I was lying about that, and he made it pretty clear more than once.
“At the end of the day, he was the one I pickpocketed for the biggest spirit fossil I could get my hands on."
Alvin dragged a hand through his hair. “You can imagine I went pelting into the doc’s office as fast as twelve-year-old legs after a day of hauling buckets of ore could go. The doc seemed impressed enough with the fossil, at least, but he refused to do the procedure until morning. Looking back at it now, I get it, but I sure didn’t then. I spent the entire night awake, imagining what it’d be like — being able to take my mom somewhere else, having her able to get around on her own.
“I sat outside the waiting room tied up in knots the next morning, after the doc took her in. Waited, waited, jiggled around, waited some more.
“And then … “ His voice caught; his eyes closed, and he swallowed. “And then she screamed."
“The silence after that was deafening. I threw myself at the door. Locked. Rattled the doorknob and yelled. It was a minute before the doc let me in — didn’t realize it at the time, but he must have been stabilizing her. “She didn’t look good. The doc told me she didn’t take the aspyrixis well — the device that would help her walk. It caused so much pain that she’d passed out almost instantly. He’d already taken it off her, and it was sitting in a box nearby.
“He told me — there was nothing else he could do for her, or for me. And in no uncertain terms that it’d be best if we went as soon as I could move her. My uncle wouldn’t take lightly to her being missing.
“She woke, then, and called me over to the bed. Mom was still sane back then, most of the time. She told me, “You tried your best, Alfred. We’ll find another way,” and kissed my forehead.
From top to bottom: everyday wear, swim outfit, everyday wear (again, because I liked the pose), cherry blossom viewing outfit, and Shark Bait Ooh Ha Ha uniform.
(( Hey friends! Just a heads-up that I haven’t forgotten all those drafts — I’ve been head down on the Discord side of Spring Festitales for the last few days. My family will be in town this weekend, through Tuesday, so I’ll be scarce until then, but I’m all fired up and looking to get back to my drafts.
I want to give major, major, MAJOR kudos to everyone who attended Festitales, and especially to our wonderful staff, their fantastic support, art, RP ideas, and characters. You all are amazing, and I’m absolutely hooked on this event.
I also wanted to express my thanks because that particular event really gets my muse rolling. I’m very excited to be back on the dash and playing with everyone!! ))
(( For context: Alvin has been teetering on the unpleasant revelation that he's an imaginary character for some time. Events at the Spring Festitales managed to push him off that tightrope and into an existential crisis. Fortunately, the walls between fiction and reality are particularly thin there, so his author decided to give him a hand.
Below the cut is some admittedly self-indulgent fic, because sometimes you gotta take care of your muse.))
Alvin gave Elize a gentle squeeze, and nudged her off his lap. She looked up at him, worry etched across her small forehead.
“I’ll be fine,” he promised her. “Just gotta clear my head. It’s noisy in here.” It certainly was, with Vicious, Raven, and two different Judes going at it hammer and tongs.
He slipped out into the night, moonlight gleaming palely through the cherry blossoms. The path was paved with fallen petals; the festival would be over soon enough. He’d thrown himself into it with vigor, and for the most part, had felt good — strong, rejuvenated, and content.
But there was — not a voice, not like the one Ludger had in his head, but a definite sensation of another, and a physical feeling of unreality he couldn’t seem to shake. He could feel it time and again elsewhere, but here it was stronger. He’d nearly confronted it last year, until events had conspired to occupy his time and his energy. This year, he’d felt it again, too strongly to ignore.
You can keep walking. It’s safe here. All the instigators are back at the kiddie table.
He snorted. “Yeah, I thought so. Only matters if there’s something important going on, and even then.”
Are you angry?
“I — no.” That wasn’t a lie. “Upset. Feeling a bit lied-to. Ironic, I know. Who likes to find out that they’re not real?”
Who told you that?
“Julius.”
And you believe him?
That earned a pause. “I … don’t know. I feel real to me.”
That’s because you are. You’re not flesh-and-blood real. But you’re still real enough. That whole business about being a vessel for a story — that’s not wrong, but it’s not the whole truth.
You’re an Idea. You’re not even my idea, to begin with.
“The hell you say.”
I’m serious. Other people created you. But I liked your Idea so much that I kept it close. Gave you access to more people, more life experiences, more story, so your Idea would stay alive. At this point, you’re as much my Idea as you were someone else’s to begin with.
“I don’t —“
Like not knowing things, being pushed around, treated as a tool. I know. You’re not. I couldn’t tell you; you had to come to this understanding on your own.
I don’t ever force you to do things. But you don’t always get to know everything. That’d be counter to who you are, anyway.
He flopped down on a bench, arms over its back, and looked up at the moon.
“Let’s say what you’re saying is true. Why would you even bother with an idea like me, anyway? There are a million better ideas.”
But they’re not you.
Your Idea is one of persistence and determination. The willingness to pick yourself back up and keep going no matter what happens. To play a bad hand, and try to make the best of it. To make choices and live with them, and their consequences. To be honest about being dishonest, and about being human. To learn to truly understand friendship. To suffer, to fail, and to redeem yourself.
You’re a really powerful Idea.
Doesn’t hurt that you’re smart, strong, funny, and good-looking, on top of it.
He paused, taken aback, then chuckled. “Smart enough to know flattery when I hear it, too.”
Is it flattery if it’s true?
“That’s my line.” The corners of his mouth turned up.
I can’t say I’m not pretty deeply invested in you. You speak to a lot of my values through your Stories.
That silenced him. “Role models” were one thing, and he would never be one, in his estimation. But values — those rang a different tone.
“So …” he looked around, seeing the world again from a different angle. He probably looked like Koun, seeing color for the first time, he thought dryly. “These are all Ideas. This — all of it — ” he swept a hand, indicating the people he’d left behind earlier, the others in his multitude of lives and scopes, that somehow he could always feel, even if he couldn’t bring them to bear — “it’s all Ideas, making up new Stories.”
That’s right. You know now why it is you can tell four different Judes apart from each other, but they’re still all your oldest friend. Your Idea and their Ideas are part of each other. It’s pretty cool.
“Huh.” He propped his elbows on his knees, and leaned his chin on his laced fingers. “And you — you chose my Idea, out of everything else you could’ve taken?”
That’s right.
“You’re crazy.” There was no sting in his words, just an uncomfortable surprise. “So, now what?”
Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it? I can’t make this easier. That’s not part of your Idea. But getting through tough times — that is. It’s what makes you so strong.
“Heh. So just — pick up and move on, and play it by ear, huh?”
Yep, sounds like you. You’ll manage. Besides, you’ve got friends now, who care about you. And you know that includes me. Between you and me, you’ve still got plenty more Stories left to tell.
"It's a catastrophe! A horrendous, horrible catastrophe!"
"My beloved dunk tank is no more! Ruined!" Indeed. Not only was it not in its usual spot, it also must have been broken by some thing. The joys of not being involved in the Sharknado.
"I swear, when I catch the primitive perpetrator of this positively preposterous profane crime, there will be words!"
A certain normin may or may not have been grateful for this development.
