Carwyn O'Doherty

"The footnote that holds our names no doubt has us pinned in spite of ourselves."

[carwynodoherty]

001. Fog

[xcynthiahastings-deactivated201]

Her stomach was weary, weak in it’s lining as the sour ache called to it’s owner in asking of something more substantial then the granola bar Roxanne had stuffed down all of twelve hours or so ago. A part of her was still reluctant, not wanting to spend even the smallest bit of her savings, but considering she had almost fainted and was sent home early from work— she knew that she needed to get something else into her system. Earlier that evening had become a bit of a blur, having gone into work with a slight headache her sense of aware had slowly crept away from her throughout the evening. Certain patrons stood out in her mind, forming a peculiar montage as she squinted her blue eyes to beckon back the motions of her evening. 

She could just barley make out the form of the middle aged patron whom Roxanne could not help but to compare the features to that of a small pug dog. He spoke with a scruff bark to his tone, and a heavy accent that she had not quite been able to put her finger on. His company had been a rather paper thin man, whom felt the need to wear rather flashy attire— a hot pink fedora adorning his head, which she would have noticed even if he had not tipped his hat to her upon the arrival of their drinks from the bar. There had been another that seemed to stick out in her mind, though his appearance was undistinguished there was something in his eyes that had caught her off guard. She was use to seeing things like guilt, from the men whom clearly had tucked their wedding rings into their pants pocket. Sometimes she saw a glint of curiosity, or someone whom was attempting to appear stoic or indifferent in spite of having obviously paid for the scenery. This man however, seemed to rest with a sense of pity in his eyes. As if he was drawn to the scene against his better judgment, and now happened to be looking his nose down at Roxanne; as well as the other girls whom were working the floor of the club.

Recalling it made her irritable. Her hand clutched tightly to her overtly warn down duffel bag, her eyes scanning for the familiar sign of the bar just a few paces from where she happened to work— she tried to allow the fresh air to calm her but it did little good. In her head she was a rambling mess. Cursing the man to hell and back for daring to assume anything of her, or her lifestyle. Who was he to pity her? Her free hand finally fell to to the door handle of ‘The Illusionist’, and the young blonde let out a steady breath which huffed her bangs from her eyes— reminding herself that in order to get what she required of the establishment she would need to let the edge melt away for her demeanor.  

Moving toward the bar, she set her bag onto one of the stools. When the bartender spotted her he immediately began to shake his head ‘no’. Knowing full and well what Roxanne was going to ask of him. “Oh come on, I haven’t stumbled in here in over a month. Got asked to leave work because I was destined to pass out cold at any minute. Have a heart, sir”. In trying to sell her plea, she batted her eyelashes at the young man and pouted out her bottom lip. He in turn let out a reluctant sigh, but did in fact come over to her side of the bar— tapping a glass onto the table as he bartered with her. He’d slip her an order that someone had neglected to pick up earlier that night before the kitchen closed down, but she had to buy a drink. Roxanne agreed, securing the box of Merlin knew what along with a Long Island ice tea as she balanced her bag on her shoulder and scanned the bar for a place to settle into.

Her eyes narrowed on her usual spot, noticing that a figure was hunched in the dimly lit corner of the establishment. Taking a step closer she began to notice the features of the individual as a familiar. She paused in her tracks momentarily, attempting to put together a name to the face— it came quickly. Recalling the evening she had run into the young man in the park, recalling his artistic slight of hand and him having referred to himself as ‘Car’. Roxanne pursued the table, gesturing across from him in a grand sweep as she spoke up “May I join you? The bartender isn’t exactly my biggest fan, and I would rather not be seated by myself just in case I start to fade out before I happen to be able to stuff down whatever toxic excuse of food is in this Styrofoam box here”. Though her intent seemed genuine, she moved to sling her duffel bag onto the floor at the foot of the table before allowing herself to take a seat across form the young man before he had even happened to grant her permission to do so. 

[carwynodoherty]

Whenever his pen decided to recount unfavorable memories, Carwyn would force himself to stop. There was no need to set in stone the pains of the past. After all, the more he allowed himself to let the stories play in his head, the more power he ended up giving them. So with a quick stretch of the neck he shut the journal to a close. No more for tonight. No more gloomy comparisons to the people that surrounded him. Maybe he actually needed a drink tonight.

That's when he caught sight of a familiar woman. She had come off headstrong and stubborn. And yet she had a warmth to her eyes that could easily offset any harshness she let out. Carwyn admired her sense of self. It was hard to find someone who had a good grip on themselves. "Roxanne." He spoke her name softly, almost to himself after she asked to join his table.

"Take a seat, it will be nice not to sit alone for once." A smile that reached his eyes began to spread across his lips. It wasn't difficult to notice that the young woman was going through hardships. At the park she seemed to put herself down because of the clothing she was wearing. Despite that, Car could essentially tell that she had a commitment to her pride and that any indication of concern could potentially translate to 'pity'.

Instead Car decided to keep the conversation light. In this way he hoped to comfort her in a way she wouldn't normally expect. "I myself haven't tried any of the food here so I can't say whether it will taste good or not. Not even a drink." Twirling his pen between his fingers he chuckled, "I mostly come here because they don't play crummy music. Though the bartender does have a weird tendency to forget that I'm  taking up space for free."

[carwynodoherty]

001. Fog

[e-pierce-deactivated20140722]

The pub was surprisingly crowded at this hour. People trying to drown their sorrows and forget about their problems for a few hours. Emily always had been the kind to avoid places like that. Yet here she was, with her own sorrows and problems that seemed irreparable and only time could truly heal those. Nevertheless she knew better than to choose alcohol as her friend and helper. Her gaze fell embarrassed onto the floor a second after their eyes met. For some reason she felt shy, but could she really be blamed for it, after all chances of him not remembering their meeting were huge.

Her smile from before only widen when he actually packed his stuff together and made his way towards her. She could see it from the corner of her eyes, but yet only dared to look at him fully, once he almost stood in front of her. “Hii.” The brunette was relived that he obviously remembered her and even made his way over. Emily eyed the cardigan for a moment before her slender fingers wrapped around the fabric. “Thank you, ..uhm though… I hope you won’t mind if it will get wet.” She let go of a chuckle and pealed off her own, soaked jacket before slipping her arms into the cardigan, pulling it tightly around her slim figure. She knew better than to refuse something warm when being cold.

"It is raining rather hard at the moment, I think not even an umbrella would keep someone dry." A light shudder ran down her spine, the wet cloth only pressed tighter onto her skin as she wrapped her arms around her mid section. "It is nice to meet you Car, I’m Emily." She gave him a genuine dimpled smile of hers. Nodding her head in agreement, it was indeed rare to cross path twice. Especially in a crowded city like this. "That is true, I wouldn’t have thought I’d meet the same person again, but I am glad I did." She slowly turned her head away as the bartender shoved a glass of vodka towards here. "Here you go, Miss." Emily thanked him and pulled the glass closer to her, wrapping her fingers around it before she began to it a few times, yet without taking a sip. "Were you drawing?" With her chin she pointed towards the journal.

[carwynodoherty]

"Don't worry about it. The thing is older than Methuselah.." He chuckled remembering the day he was gifted the greyed wool cardigan for his fifteenth birthday.

Settling in his seat he focused on the way she held his sweater delicately, almost afraid she'd tarnish it with the remnants of rain that clung to her skin. The fabric could always be salvaged. Even if she was dowsed in mud he wouldn't have hesitated to offer a form of warmth, regardless of the material. Carwyn deeply believed that kindness without selfish motives was almost extinct from society. People were always out for themselves and Car was usually always on the abused end of such things.

Once her fingers took a hold of the glass holding her drink he grinned, "So ye drink the hard stuff?" His Irish accent seemed more predominant when he was amused, and now was no exception. Car himself wasn't one for drinking, which was odd for an Irishman, but occasionally he'd indulge in some Baileys. His adversity to alcohol probably arose from his peers smuggling liquor into school and using it as a sort of social leverage. It was a vehicle for abuse and servitude. And for a sensitive child like himself he was always a prime target.

His memories of foggy school days stopped as soon as she asked him a question. It still amazed Car that whenever he found himself in a conversation about himself that he'd feel extremely vulnerable and uncomfortable. Sure, he could speak in generalities but when it came down to being frank about who he was it always sparked fear. If someone knows of his weaknesses wouldn't they take advantage? Bowing his head slightly he picked the journal up and began to leaf through a few pages until he found a sketch of an old cathedral back in Dublin. He held it out for her to see.

"I don't draw too often in this journal. I tend to scribble thoughts more than anything, but when I do draw I usually do it quick sketches."

[carwynodoherty]

001. Fog

[e-pierce-deactivated20140722]

A scream torn the peaceful silence apart. Emily immediately sat up, alerted by the cry of help. She turned around, trying to find the source of it. Heavy clouds of smoke rose into the dark sky. The smell of fire filled the air and another desperate scream echoed in her ears. The scream, the voice, it was familiar, more than it, it was her mother. “Mom!” Emily panic and ran as fast as her feet could carry her towards the burning building. “Mooommm!!” She ran towards the building, trying to help the one she loved, but something held her back and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t enter the burning building. With a loud crash the house she called home, collapsed.

Bathed in sweat the young brunette woke up, eyes widen in shock and her fragile body shivering. It took minutes until her heavy panting returned to a calm breathing. It was the same nightmare over and over again yet it wasn’t any less realistic to her. Sliding her slender legs over the bed edge she got dressed. There was no use in finding sleep, for it was impossible to get any more after such a dream. She had hoped that with her coming to London she could leave her past as well as those nightmares behind herself, but they followed her no matter where she was.

Strolling through the empty streets of London, she tried to find some peace, some comfort. Emily felt alone, without a human soul who understood her. She hadn’t just left her past behind but also her dear friends. And though she liked to believe that she made new ones, none of them knew who she really was. A rain drop fell onto the tip of her nose and soon after she felt another one. Before she knew it, it began to rain cats and dogs. This wasn’t a nice summer rain like the ones in South Carolina, were you would dry in less than a few minutes once it stopped raining. It was cold and ugly and you rather wouldn’t spend too much time in those wet clothes.

Noises and laughter appeared from the pub and Emily didn’t waste much time to enter. She was soaked and cold to the bone. “Do you have something warm?” She asked the bartender. “No Darling, but some vodka will definitely warm you up.” Emily wasn’t much of a drinker but she nodded her head anyway. “Thanks.” Sitting onto the bar stool she took a look around, a familiar face immediately caught her attention, but she wasn’t sure if he recognize or so much as remembered their conversation. After all they hadn’t even exchanged names. A shy smile curled her lips upwards, hoping to find an eye-connection.

[carwynodoherty]

Carwyn leaned back letting his legs fall in front of him to dangle while his neck strained to keep upright. It wasn't the best of positions but it allowed him to stretch and to give his wrist a break. Once he felt confident that he received all of the benefit of becoming a rag doll he straightened up, resuming the posture he held before. His wrist still ached ferociously so he twirled his hand in an attempt to lessen the strain on his joints. As he did so his eyes began to wander the whole of the dimly lit room.

Wooden paneling, a few heartbroken men and a crumpled swan shaped napkin came into view. From the small scan he didn't find anything that spoke to his sensibilities so he turned his sights back to the half written page that he had in front of him. When Carwyn took a hold of his pen again he felt eyes search for his. The feeling of being watched is like the sensation of a breath against the neck. It ghosts over the mind like something physical. As if you're being undressed with mere thoughts.

Slowly Car looked up, almost concerned that he was simply 'seeing' things. But sure enough the cause of his ghost touch came from a young woman he chanced to meet in the park. She had been sweet and fluttering in her defense of scarves. He remembered the earth hues of her eyes and how the light warped inside of them when she smiled. In fact it seemed she was waiting for him to notice her.

Letting out a breath of a laugh he stood, gathered his things and made his way over to her. Car set his journal and pen onto the counter and removed his cardigan. "Here you can put this on if you're cold." He placed it atop his things and took a seat beside her. Shaking his head he laughed.

"I'm Car by the way, I don't think I introduced myself before when were in the park. Normally in a big city like this I would think chance encounters were less frequent. I guess I was wrong."

[xcynthiahastings-deactivated201]

Roxanne, is my name. I believe I have seen you around before, as I happen to frequent the park myself. My reasoning is less recreational in it’s nature, as I simply have come to find it is one of the better places for me to catch a bit of sleep. 

[carwynodoherty]

I couldn't agree more. Leaning against the trunk of a tree, or lying down on the grass are perfect combinations for a good siesta.

If you want, you could join me here Roxanne. Maybe if I press my luck you'd let me draw your portrait.

[carwynodoherty]

001. Fog

[stuart-kings-deactivated2014080]

Doing rounds at the Children’s Ward is always draining, more so than any other ward at the hospital. All the adults, young or old understood the gravity of their situation - they knew whether they were leaving the next morning or if this would be where they’d watch their final days from. Children, in their endless optimism, expect to get better and think that they will. For the rest of the world, in their medical opinion, their survival was questionable at best and no one had in their hearts to tell a six year old that she won’t live to see her sister being born in a month. Having to wish them goodnight, knowing that they didn’t have many nights left while they’re stuck in hospital when they should be at home with their families, letting their mother tuck them into bed and their father to protect them from nightmares. It most certainly shouldn’t be Stuart’s job to do it, not when they are plenty of people who are dying to do the same. It was on nights like this that made him sad, sad for all the things that could be done and sad for all the things that can no longer be done. He strolled into a pub after what seemed like a forever of walking, distancing himself from his work. It wasn’t that he advocated turning to bourbon when he’s sad, but … it’s worked so far and he only ever drink because of work when he couldn’t be indifferent. He scanned the pub from his seat at the bar in attempts to drown out his thoughts with the white noise that came with sitting so close to the beer tap, its patrons were buzzing with energy and life, definitely a change of scenery from the hospital. However, amongst the people, he noticed one particular individual, scrawling furiously away in what looked like a notebook. Stuart had a thought then, writers and artists often record their musings, dark or light, to serve as a reminder or later inspiration, but what was most important in that moment was to allow that voice in their head to flow. He wondered if his thoughts right now were worthy of recording, or were they the motions that any newly minted doctor would go through and should be forgotten. Not knowing what had possessed him, Stuart got up from his bar stool and made his way to the man at the back, “Your writing,” he started, “Is it about you?” Biting his lip nervously, praying that he wasn’t being too invasive with such a direct question.

[carwynodoherty]

[Emotions don't cement in stone;they meander, distort, collide and disintegrate. When I've felt fragile there were always moments where I couldn't quite pinpoint...]

An unfamiliar voice captured his thoughts and did away with them until his pen lolled out of his hand. Looking up Carwyn met the gaze of a man that seemed to carry the weight of his troubles in the darkness of his pupils. Like most troubles they weren't particularly well hidden from the observer. It took him a few seconds to realize that he was asked a question and that the man before him wasn't there simply to entice his curiosity.

"It's about what I notice around me and what I make personally make of it."  His voice displayed a calming confidence but inside of him he began to feel the prickling sensation of anxiety. Car was never confronted with a person who directly wanted to know of him. Usually there was some sort of rapport, a build up before people asked him about his personal matters. It took him out of his comfort level, but he had no reason to lie. After all this chance meeting was a temporary exchange between strangers.

"I also write about myself, but most of it is just the ramblings of a man who isn't sure what he feels." A naked truth about himself that he would otherwise allude to with a joke was now out in the night air. Carwyn swallowed down a dryness that began to assault his mouth. Giving a half smile he motioned for the stranger with smoldering pupils to take a seat across from him.

[carwynodoherty]

001. Fog

[When looking through a foggy mirror you can barely make out the outline of your body; it's almost like the colours and shapes that make a human are temporarily bleeding out. We are blurry and indiscernible right after we cleanse ourselves from a day of monotony and false pretenses....]

The clock stuck midnight, initiating the start of a new day. For Carwyn it meant that he had less time allotted for him in the pub. Only two more hours before he would have to shimmy his way out. It wasn't that he was an avid drinker, or that he was accompanied by some friends, no, Carwyn was almost always sober and alone. Tonight he stumbled into the pub slyly named the Illusionist, in an attempt to escape the stark walls of his home. He planned to jot down some of the thoughts that he had that week. Most of it was a yammering monologue of his observations, which included the morning he almost shattered the bathroom mirror with his forehead. What stopped him was the reflection that mirrored his exact emotions: confusion and lack of identity.

Carwyn was a man of escapism. Often he sought out the refuge of places unknown, people he had never met, and adventures he would never find back at home. More often than not his running away landed him in a corner of a dimly lit establishment. Sometimes people would stare, wondering what things of importance was the young man frantically writing about. Usually the curiosity would die out before he was ever approached physically. In a way he was relieved, in others he was disappointed. Would he ever find that moment in time where he was completely enchanted by the essence of another?

[The bartender looks my way, though she does it so timidly. Her eyes never wander farther than the edge of the table. Maybe she feels that I won't notice, or than I can't sense her desire from such a far distance. I'd like to meet eyes but I'm sure I'd break away before she gets a good reading on me.]

The worn journal he was writing in had some history attached to it. But like any good origin story it was kept well hidden. In the binding there were signs of Celtic symbolism, and a single thread of white silk that held everything in place.  Carwyn longed to be well put together. He wanted to be a singular work with no loose ends to speak of. It wasn't perfection he sought out for. It was unity, clarity, a want to be whole. But he knew he was fallible and that there were far too many strands that couldn't be bound. He was incomplete.

[xcynthiahastings-deactivated201]

Interesting. I have always been of the variety to think that it is impossible for anyone with a well formed personality to not at some point or another offend. I do not tend to think any one person should be overtly cautious in such a manner, however I do of course realize there are certain things an individual should be mindful of. I suppose balance is a requirement. I like to think I achieve it, but I accept at times I can be crude.

As for this encounter turning sour, it’s not something you have to fret over. It takes a lot to offend the likes of me. 

[carwynodoherty]

It's good knowing I don't have tread lightly in front of you.

I think we've been too serious, partly due to myself. If you want to start over, I go by Car. I spend most afternoons at the park since it gives me the peace of mind to unwind. 

[xcynthiahastings-deactivated201]

It is rather ironic, if you happen to ask me. As it seems that people not only go out of their way to be in a huff over matters of which are trivial at best but that in most cases they also wish to somehow make the whole affair casual and just. If you are going to be an over dramatic cow, at least own to it. Yet, apparently, people are incapable of taking responsibility for their actions— especially in circumstances alike to what have been mentioned. They want to make a scene, but yet they somehow want it to be justified all in the same even when clearly there is no foundation in such a matter. 

[carwynodoherty]

In the past I would have never bothered to apologize for words that I've said; but I learned early on that I'd be better off biting back my tongue, getting a little blood in my mouth, instead of blood on the ground.

I'm still not sure whether I've shaped my life in the right way. What I mean is, is it worth speaking my mind and having the world turn it's back on me? Or should I stay silent, observant and cautious about what I say and be in peace? I think for now I'll make my decision based on what situation I'm in. With you being a stranger I tried to make sure our first encounter didn't turn sour.

[xcynthiahastings-deactivated201]

No offense was taken, I assure you that if I was the sort to take offense to things of such a nature that surely I would spend my day to day curled behind some dumpster with a river of tears flowing down my cheeks— which really is not befitting of me in any manner. Then again I do not suppose such a thing is quite befitting of anyone.  

[carwynodoherty]

Well I can honestly say that I'm relieved. And although it might not befit anyone, most people will go out of their way to get upset over something trifle. Like for instance, when I complimented my literature professor for being a humble person, my peers assumed that I was....

Well let's just say it turned into something unpleasant.

[e-pierce-deactivated20140722]

Ooh, you draw? My mother used to draw the sky as well, but she always would take photos of it. Sun and wind make everything look different in a blink of an eye. Are you still drawing?

You do the same? I always wrap the blanket around myself before I snuggle up in bed. It feels nice and cozy. That is maybe why I like rainy days. You can stay inside and watch the rain drops knocking against the window.

[carwynodoherty]

Taking a photo of the sky would be a ideal, but I'm too absentminded to think of doing that. I still draw quite often, it's almost a daily occurrence.

It's funny you mention that; I always go out of my way to let the cold into my room just so that I can cover myself in blankets.

[e-pierce-deactivated20140722]

Here’s to finding creatures in the clouds, watching the butterflies and humming a song. 

Scarfs are awesome, they always give me a feeling of being protect and you can easily use it for multiply purposes. 

[carwynodoherty]

I support the finding of creatures in the clouds any day. Though I remember once when I was trying to draw a cloud, that looked oddly enough like an old man, the wind blow away it's form and I wasn't able to finish.

The scarves give you a cozy feeling then? Maybe in the same way I wrap myself in a quilt when I go to bed.

[xcynthiahastings-deactivated201]

As far as the reasoning goes behind wearing it, it is far easier to simply sling it over one’s shoulders then carrying it around. Has a quite few uses, it does. For one it allots me the ease of hiding my features enough that I may exit work without being followed by any of the patrons. For another it doubles as a handy little sack of sorts, a barrier when need be, and a make-shift clothing line. It also works rather well within the concept of self-defense, should ever a circumstance arise in which such measures happen to be necessary.

[carwynodoherty]

You've clearly found a way to make use of it throughout your day to day. If you were offended in any way it wasn't my intention to poke fun; sometimes when I observe things I tend to speak out of ignorance.

[clarkehxnson]

This is true, and now when I go home, i’ll probably be pointing out how many things could be used for the greater need..

If it makes you feel any better, this has been the most interesting conversation i’ve had all day today. It’s nice to meet you Car, i’m Amelia and people tend to call me Amy, or Mia. I’m not judging, trees are your place, and the back of the library would be mine. Does this mean i’ll be seeing you around this tree tomorrow if I decided to walk by?

[carwynodoherty]

Maybe not necessarily under this tree. I like to nest under different shades. But you will find me in this park, tomorrow and probably the next. It's been refreshing meeting you Mia.

[clarkehxnson]

Funny when you put it that way, because now it sort of makes me wonder what else can save a life. We’ve got the scarf working wonders, who knows what a simple cardigan can do — Or a sock.

[carwynodoherty]

The good thing is that while man is the most dangerous of animals, he is also the most resourceful. Anything has the potential to be a tool.

Anyways I think I've wasted enough of your lovely day discussing the in and out's of fabric. I go by Car, and yes I normally spend my free time alone under trees...

[carwynodoherty]

Shorts. So be it then. As a prize you won’t have me assuming you’re deliberately hiding behind useless clothes.

[darlingmcmahon-deactivated20140]

In which case my work here is done. Running into the same stranger twice is pretty difficult around here, but if I ever do, I hope to see you’ve taken my logic into consideration yourself.  

[carwynodoherty]

It's a pleasure to know there's people out there willing to lend a few words. Enjoy the sun while you can, shorts or not, this city is almost always dreary.

[carwynodoherty]

Maybe you could keep one, tucked away in your bag in case you need to use it on someone else.

[clarkehxnson]

I wouldn’t be able to strangle anyone, but typing someone up, that I can do. Would you ever carry around a scarf just so you could use it on someone if you had too?

[carwynodoherty]

/Leaning back he thinks for a moment./

Frankly I wouldn't  remember to bring one with me every day. But now that I think about it, keeping a long scrap of fabric could in fact save your life. Not only could you tie up a crazed assailant but you could bind a wound, filter dirty water...

That flirtatious, finicky piece of clothing can do so much more than fashion.  

[clarkehxnson]

How long before one gets tired of the teasing due to their own discomfort? Noose huh? Never considered it as a weapon, but now that you mention it, I think i’ll avoid using scarves for a while.

[carwynodoherty]

Maybe you could keep one, tucked away in your bag in case you need to use it on someone else.