memento mori

cian o'clare. thirty. woodsman.

[cianoclare]

*      & .    🍂    ◜    〔    barry keoghan,  cis man, he/him    〕    good   morning,   fellow   dreamer   !   have   you   heard   of   CIAN O'CLARE   ?   they   are   thirty   years   old,   known   to   be   observant   and   self-assured,   yet   provocative   and   morbid,   from   what   i've   heard.   rumor   has   it   they’re   a  WOODSMAN   of   THE MARSHES & FOREST. 

ok y’all im gonna keep this one brief. since ilaydas is so interconnected, i’ve left this guy kinda vague so i can hammer out the details with uhhh... you! anyway

im slater, any pronouns are fine but i usually put they/them for simplicity’s sake

this is cian! (pronounced key-en)

he’s recently become a woodsman. i’m thinking.... 6-9 months ago. long enough to think he knows everything about it, not long enough to find out how horribly wrong he is. 

it’s really just a means to an end for him. it keeps him fed and provides him with materials for his true passion: taxidermy.

he specializes in mice dioramas, but he also works with birds, rabbits, squirrels, and other small animals. occasionally, he mounts a buck head or something of the sort for a hunter.

some people find his art (and he himself) creepy, but he doesn't see it that way. he treats his subjects with respect, and finds peace in granting them an immortal second life. for him, it’s a meditative practice. almost religious.

death was always rather mundane in his household. his mother was a hunter, and his father was the island undertaker in his time. they found it amusing when their little boy started playing with dead things.

he doesn't mind when people find him a little off-putting. in fact, he gets a little thrill out of it. he likes to push people’s buttons. if he’d been born in the modern era, he’d probably be like,,, a relatively benign troll.

that said, i think he’s fundamentally a pretty good guy. i mean, we’ll see. but i think so.

wanted connections/plots!

an elder woodsman or hunter who’s taken him under their wing, maybe grudgingly. a trainer of sorts. i might make this a wanted connection.

family! blood or found. i’m happy to play with his backstory to fit a sibling in, but i also imagine that his parents died relatively young, so he may have people who kind of took him in after that as well.

people who find him creepy or who he’s offended in the past. he’s got a good heart, but you’ve got to get past several layers of instigating and morbidity to get to it. there are plenty of people in town that haven’t gotten that deep.

fellow weirdos! he’d be naturally drawn to anyone else in town who’s kind of an outsider. he’s fairly outgoing in his own strange way, and might make himself a presence in their life until they relent and let him in.

this one will probably depend on chemistry before plotting, but it’s always been my intention for ilaydas to write a character who would be at home in a grimm’s fairytale. something dark and tragic and otherworldly with a moral to it. it’s why i made him a taxidermist. i think there’s a lot of potential for creepy fairytale-esque themes there. a doomed romance would be nice, but any character/s who wanted to share in that tale with him would be welcome.

[cianoclare]

LAVINIA CADDELL.

before you spread more slander. she fights the urge to roll her eyes at his theatrics, entirely aware that she’s prone to the same when her craft is called into question. ❝ it’s not slander if it’s the truth, ❜  lavinia counters, relenting nevertheless. she doesn’t pull away when calloused fingers ghost over wrist, merely takes a shallow inhale of breath as the foot finds its way into her hand. she would be remiss in disregarding the way it fits just right in her palm, all gentle lines and velvety smooth fur.

thoughts drift unbidden to the journey the paw had endured before it reached this moment. the meadows and rivers it scampered across up until its untimely end, liked to imagine that the body hardly registered the loss. what was one lost limb to a creature with four? with a sigh, she looks up, resolve shattering the longer her fingers cradle the fragile bauble. ❝ are you certain you don’t want it for yourself? ❜ only but so superstitious, she can’t help but give some credence to the beliefs of those who came before her. ❝ i’d imagine luck is more important in your field than mine. ❜ 

✣

he dipped his hand into his front pocket, and pulled from it his own ornament. this one was much older, the paw grey-brown in colour, the cap roughly hewn from aluminum which had darkened with age. on it was fused a single hoop, which currently hung from cian’s middle finger.  “ i’m flattered that you’d think that that little miracle was my first attempt. ”

he spun the thing once around his hand and then looked at it in his palm.  “ people misunderstand the luck of rabbit’s feet. it’s not that the animal itself was lucky. rabbits are so fast, so clever... ”  his eyes raised to hers, then between his talisman, worn and well-used, and the one in her hand, pristine and waiting.  “ if you find a rabbit’s foot, you’re the lucky one. because whatever removed it, got it and not you. ”  less charm, more ward.  “i have my luck, it’s served me well. when i find more, i try to... pass it along. ”

✣

[cianoclare]

DEVYN ARCADIA.

—-

Why – was he like this. She’d never be able to figure it out. She didn’t see the world like he did. They were both the same, straight to the point kind of individual, and she thought she was pretty logical –

despite being 100% sure there was a monster in her closet until she was nine years old, and still find the fisheries to be the stuff of nightmares.  

But Cian’s logic was … kind. Focusing on what the town had already and what she brought to the town now changed the narrative. She was prepared for put-down humor, an acknowledgment of her lack of trades – and what she received was … kind… and here she was insulting him.  In her mind, Cian was handsome, but she could see why someone wouldn’t think so if they thought only of his physical appearance. “Somebody called you ugly?” she asked, raising her brows, stopping to make sure she didn’t get off track with her work due to her indignation. You’re not ugly – unless you’re grumpy… was it Miss Arslan? She’s always saying things wrong.” 

Sometimes, like with Miss Arslan, her life had a whole in it, and she tried to fill it by making trouble. 

She looked up at him, serious-faced, and studied him. She didn’t know, or care to know, why the size of a man’s package would make up for a face with a nose a little too large, a jaw leaning towards weak and a heavy brow. “You’re Cian and that’s all that matters.” 

Back to work, her own sort of rambling, saying whatever was on her mind, as she filled the space when another was nearby, as if there needed her words. Another brief glance up, and she quirked her head to the side. Now, when she studied him, it was for the look in his eyes. “Ah – too Lorraine, not enough Ilaydas,” she decided. Now she knew what she thought was normal was yet another deviation. Parenting books only said what to do; they didn’t provide many bad case examples. She had to find them on her own. 

“Sorry… it was more a joke and less a…” she shrugged finally, finishing her last stitch. She snorted and shook her head. “Your job is more dangerous - go to the doctors before you find me. The worst that happens to me is pinpricks… and poison ivy. Don’t ask. Did you hear that there’s puppies? I had nothing to trade for one, but they’re cute.” An easy change of subject, as she set to look over her work and test the stitches. 

✣

Out of all that, that was what she heard? He started to protest, “It’s just a turn of— ” but she was off like a shot. He didn’t really think himself ugly. Or rather, if he was, he didn’t think it was such a big deal. He knew his own face, the strange planes of it. He knew it wasn’t his primary selling point when courting. But that was fine. He had other things to offer: The charming lilt of his voice that pleased most. A deceptive strength that allowed him to haul lumber and lift girls off their feet. His sparkling wit, of course. 

If it was nearly anyone else, it would be discomfiting for her to be so focused on that one word. Embarrassing. The lady doth protest too much. But Devyn, he had learned, meant what she said and said what she meant. So instead, he held his tongue and studiously kept his face serious and receptive, nodding graciously when she concluded. “Thanks, Dev. Don’t worry, I’m very clear on how incredibly dashing you find me.”

But then it was his turn to be cowed. “Right. Of course. Sorry, I just— ” Know what a monster your mom was, heard it whispered through a chain of townspeople like a children’s game of telephone. “I guess we both take each other a little too seriously.”

He shrugged off the dangers of his job. She wasn’t wrong, the forest was unpredictable. He thought briefly of showing her the scar on his thigh from his first week out. He’d sewn that one up himself, not wanting to bother Matilde with something he could handle. But then she was changing the subject, and maybe that was for the best. He didn’t want to start a game of compare-the-wounds. His fingers found it though, subconsciously rubbing at the raised line of flesh between the hem of his shorts and swell of his knee.

“Puppies, huh? You really think you could handle that? I think any hound you raised would be an absolute terror.”

✣

[cianoclare]

TAMSIN CROSS.

~~~

Whether it was pure solipsism or pure optimism in another person’s intentions, Tamsin Cross had no reason to think of the morbid implications of a severed rabbit’s foot held before her. The man – Cian – was far too kind to her for her to think those things. Instead, Tamsin treated this encounter as a mere curiosity. What a strange little trinket Cian chose to dangle before her, and what a kind gesture it was for the odd man to offer her a good luck charm. 

And a little white bow on it, too. 

“I can’t see why, myself, either.” She said. “And what happened to the rest of the poor rabbit? Do you have a bowl of secret stew to offer me?”

It was strange to have her in his home after she had spent so long as a vision on a stage. Too bold of him to invite her, maybe. But then again, she had agreed. Maybe that was the strange part. She was the kind of girl you shoot shots at without hope of landing any. Like throwing a coin into a wishing well. You don’t actually expect it to work. 

And yet, here she was. He hadn’t scared her away. Yet.

He grimaced theatrically. “A bigger animal happened.” The thing was little more than a mess on the forest floor when he found it, a puddle of sticky red with four white legs sticking out of it. Part of a face, too. He had that tucked away in a drawer, but it was quite unlikely Tamsin would be seeing it. As far as he could tell, she was a lady. “I don’t think you’d want to eat what was left, love.”

✣

[cianoclare]

LAVINIA CADDELL.

amusement danced across her features. ❝  next you’ll claim that your whole life has been leading up to this very token. ❜ there was sense to his musings, though. despite her best efforts to remain transparent about her process, not bothering to hide the dirt on her brow after hours of replanting, there were always comments on how leisurely her days must be. ❝ the result is easy, it’s the process that stops others from picking it up. ❜ 

just as well, competitive as she was, a rival was the last thing she needed encroaching on her trade. haste makes waste; if the silken fur was any indication. ❝  i’ll indulge you, mister o'clare… but i still don’t want your rodent foot. ❜ his craft fascinated her, the reanimation of what once had life spilling from it. the antithesis of her life’s devotion. she didn’t care for blood, much less for toting carcasses. the outcome, however, was worthwhile. allowing her to readily stomach the rest. mostly. ❝  it might scare the flowers. ❜

✣

call him a romantic, call him a fatalist, but he did think it was possible his whole life led up to that very trinket. this very table. he thought things like that all the time. he liked to muse on the series of events that had led him to pick up a stilled white mouse behind the barn as a child, to kick the chair of a dark haired girl in class, to accept an invitation to dinner at the bustling hearst home, to submit himself for the task of woodsman; the seemingly mundane choices that shaped the course of his life. who knew what led to what, or what drove him towards it? maybe he chose to come the bazaar this morning, maybe he happened upon miss caddell, maybe it was a coincidence that the token he’d made matched her so prettily. maybe not.

he put a hand to his chest and swayed backwards, as if he’d been shot by an arrow.  “ rodent foot, she says... here. ”  he reaches out and, gently, clasps her wrist, turning her palm upwards. boundaries had never been his strong suit.  “ you have to feel it, properly. ” he places the soft thing in her palm and closes her fingers around it. “ before you spread more slander. ”

✣

[cianoclare]

DEVYN ARCADIA.

—

“Do you want me to kick your ass because I have my special ass kicking boots on today if you keep with that kind of bullshit,” she said with the kind of colorful language that was normally reserved for down by the docks but then – Devyn became prickly when people insinuated that she may want to be closer to them, teasing or not. “I’ve seen you in worst states - and not at one time have I thought, I absolutely want to warm my winter months by jumping into your bed.” 

Realizing after she said it that she was being mean for the sake of being mean – and he had done nothing wrong, she softened. “I’m sorry - that was so Lorraine of me. You didn’t deserve that, you were only playing.” 

She sat down on her stool and started to work; she was methodical and precise, capable of small stiches so it would look like the tear was never there. “My heart is broken,” she grumbled, as she held up the garment to figure out how to navigate a particularly difficult turn of the tear. “I think sewing up people is more worthwhile than this, you know? At least you’re being helpful… proper helpful, not just fixing clothes and doing mendings.” She needed better relationships in order to trade for dyes and wools and things to make better fabrics. The other seamstresses were nice - but they wouldn’t go out of their way to give her work. For now, she did mendings. 

“If you want to show me how to sew on people, I have a knife and the ability to self-inflict a wound as needed provided it’s not too deep and won’t impact my day-to-day,” she said without a trace of joking in her face or voice. She had grown used to doing whatever it took to make Lorraine happy, after all. There had been a time that happy equaled having the townspeople think that Lorraine was a dedicated mother to an injured daughter. Of course, after it came out that the injury was inflicted by Lorraine - for Lorraine’s benefit, the attention dried up. 

✣

His eyebrows shot up as Devyn launched full-tilt into her assault. Ouch, that one felt a little personal. Like she’d actually thought about it and found him wanting. Still, her tirades were more amusing than they were hurtful. Despite her impressive stature, she reminded him of those little dogs rich folk carry around. Yipping interminably if the wind blows on them wrong, but no real threat.

He was about ready to spar back, but then she mentioned her mother. He kept his mouth shut, and instead did a half-nod, half-shake to acknowledge her apology. Nod; It’s fine. Shake; Don’t feel bad.

“We have doctors,” he replied coolly. His eyes were trained on her fingers, trying to memorize her movements so he could take them home with him. “We need clothes and mendings just as well.” The ghost of a smile returning. “If it weren’t for you and your ilk, we’d all be walking around naked.” Not strictly true, but true enough. He gestured to himself, in his state of semi-undress. “I’d be fine, obviously. Might even do better with the ladies if they could see the whole package and not just my ugly mug.” He was breathing laughter between words now. “But you... I think you’d hate that. All that flesh. Seeing old Mr. Wilmore in the buff everyday. I don’t think you could take it.” His arms uncrossed so he could point a loose finger at her. “Imagine that nightmare and then tell me again you aren’t proper helpful.”

But then all the joviality drained out of his face. He never knew what to say when she said things like that. Was she truly so out of touch with what was normal, or did she crave to say her traumas out loud? Maybe she needed people to hear how hurt she was. Like those little dogs, bones too thin for this world.

In truth, he was curious to try his skills on someone else. But thanks be to god, he had his head screwed on tight enough to know it was patently wrong to let her hurt herself to do so. Even if she was used to it. Maybe especially because she was used to it. “Don’t take a knife to yourself, Devyn, jesus.” That was too harsh. “How about... next time one of us gets a knick, accidentally, we’ll come to the other instead of the Maison Dieu. I’ll show you what I do.”

✣

[cianoclare]

LAVINIA CADDELL.

❝ i am, if it comes at the price of carrying a severed body part around my neck, ❜ she retorted around a bouquet of vibrant hydrangeas, the flower stand awash with purples, blues, and pinks. to be fair, she could admire the woodsman‘s craftsmanship, delicate muscles tied off just so to give the impression that it had always been this way, created for the explicit purpose of being a trinket in someone’s pocket. finally rounding the stand to face him, lavinia’s teeth flashed in a grin, ❝ he might have needed that. ❜ she gave the paw a gentle prod for good measure, half expecting it to twitch. ❝ how long did it take you to make this? ❜ 

✣ 

he was starting to doubt he could spark her interest, but then she came out from behind her veil of flowers. he was pleasantly surprised to see her interested, smiling; still on the hook.  he might have needed that.  cian’s lips twitched up. no, he really wouldn’t. if there had been a whole rabbit left, he would have stuffed a whole rabbit. but that seemed too gruesome an image to evoke at this table, so he breezed past it.

how long did it take you to make this?  “ it’s not so simple as that. it’s not all done at once. i think it’s much like your flowers, miss caddell. a patron may think it takes you but a moment to wrap them in a bundle, but only you know how long it takes to grow and gather and trim and learn how to arrange... ” he ran his thumb over the impossibly soft, impossibly white fur.  “ if you’ll allow me to be a little self-indulgent, it took a lifetime to be able to make this. ” a grin spreads across his jaw, self-aware but not self-conscious. he knows he’s waxing poetic, but it’s only half bull.  “ if you won’t... ”  a shrug.  “ a couple nights. ”

✣

[cianoclare]

MATILDE BARBOZA.

      𝑨 𝑴𝑶𝑪𝑲 𝑳𝑶𝑶𝑲 𝑶𝑭 𝑫𝑰𝑺𝑮𝑼𝑺𝑻 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑺𝑯𝑶𝑪𝑲  displaying  on  her  face,  a  hand  clutching  her  chest  to  finish  off  the  act  as  cian  dangled  the  detached  limb  in  front  of  her  face.  all  her  theatrics  dropping  as  quickly  as  it  had  come  on.  ‘ me ?  needing  good  luck ?  i’m  a walking  four  -  leaf  clover.  ’  matilde  was  not  squeamish,  her  upbringing  along  side  her  doctor  mother  and  following  in  her  footsteps  herself  had  dashed  any  qualms  or  fear  around  such  morbid  or  morose  things.  ‘  if  you’re  feeling  generous  and  would  like  to  gift  it  to  me  out  of  the  sheer  goodness  of  your  heart,  then  i  can  certainly  take  it  off  your  hands.  ’  reaching  her  palm  out  to  him  with  a  grin.

for a brief moment, he felt defensive.  “ of course it’s a gift. ”  his tone was almost incensed, but he remained deferential with her. he always did. it wasn’t an act, it was real. real respect. true admiration. he placed the trinket delicately in her palm.  “ doc, i would never accept your money. ”  but he did have an ulterior motive.

“ however... i did take a bit of a hit yesterday. ”  he admitted, rubbing his bad shoulder meaningfully. she herself had notched it back into place many years past, and soothed his aches and worries about it since.  “ i just... hoped you might take a look. ”  he stumbled, unpracticed in genuine requests for aid.  “ i mean, if that feels fair and decent to you. ”

✣

[cianoclare]

JIHAN MOON.

             intrigue  tugs  at  the  pleasure  center  of  her  brain,  though  her  visage  remains  passive.  ❝  that’s  an  odd  way  of  looking  at  it,  ❞  the  words  are  spoken  softly  before  she  tears  her  gaze  from  his  artwork,  deciding  to  focus  on  smoothing  the  fabric  of  her  dress.  ❝  i’m  more  interested  in  why  you  think  you’re  in  a  position  to  tell  me  i  need  good  luck.  ❞  plus,  jihan’s  always  found  herself  on  the  opposite  side  of  things:  it’s  the  bad  luck  items  that  seem  to  bring  her  the  most  joy.  her  attention  shifts,  soon  settling  on  cian’s  face,  ❝  anyway.  let’s  say  i  was  interested,  shall  we?  hypothetically,  of  course  ..  but  what  happens  to  my  luck  when  the  rabbit’s  foot  deteriorates?  ❞

✣

“ you wound me, ”  but his grin doesn’t falter. this was her way, and he was long used to it by now. enjoyed it even. pretty girls could say just about anything to him, as long as they kept talking.  “ you think so little of my work? ”  he ran a thumb over it’s fur. there was not much left inside to deteriorate, but she didn’t need to know the gory details; his thin fingers peeling bone and sinew away from skin.  “ this thing won’t lose a tuft for as long as we both live, god willing. ”

he let his eyes drift to the stage, where ms. cross was performing.  “ she’s good, don’t you think? quite good, ”  his face set serious. he enjoyed giving a little insult as much as he did taking one.  “ quite pretty, too. getting a lot of attention. ”  his eyes roamed over the crowd watching the singer, then back to jihan.  “ we all need a little luck now and then, ms. moon. ”

✣

[cianoclare]

status:  open to any, up to three threads. closed. setting:  flexible— the tavern, the bazaar, the jazz club, his workshop. slots:  ( jihan. )  ( matilde. )  ( lavinia. )

“ah, come on,” cian needled, “it’s good luck!” he dangled the snow white rabbit’s foot in front of his companion. it was damn fine work, if he could say so himself; capped with seamless pewter and adorned with a little chain he’d spun by hand, so it could be attached to a key ring or a belt loop. he’d even run a thin white ribbon through the chain links. soft as a cloud and pretty as a picture, and he couldn’t understand why anyone might not want to carry a limb around. “you telling me you’re in a position to turn down good luck?”

✣

[cianoclare]

DEVYN ARCADIA.

Title: Just a Quick Stitch For: Anyone || Open (x2) Time: Mid-day Location: Seamstress Shop - The Bazaar Taken By: ( #1: OPEN ), ( #2: OPEN )

—-

“It’s not that big of a deal. Come behind the curtain, strip down - I’ll give you something to change into if you’re modest,” she said, leaning over her booth ledge to speak to the person who clearly had a rip in their clothes that had not been done on purpose.

(but then, Devyn didn’t like the “ripped on purpose” fashion but that was because far too many of her clothes had been hand-me-downs and mended until there was nothing left to mend.)

The nature of Devyn’s work meant she was used to seeing people at different stages of undress. What little modesty she might have had disappeared when Lorraine started walking around the house in her lingerie, bemoaning the loss of one lover or another. People were frames to carry her clothes - it didn’t matter to her what they looked like.

“Come on - around back. It won’t hurt. Not like I’m sewing you up instead of your clothes.”

✣

Cian scoffed, but he followed her behind the curtain, shucking off his pants as he went. Modesty was not a trait he could rightfully claim. “Ah, Dev... If you want a peek, you need only ask,” He taunted, as he handed the garment over. There was a small, but jagged slash in the thigh, and though he hadn’t intended on having it mended today, he was grateful for her help. He would’ve left an ugly line of stitch if he’d done it himself.

He felt a little exposed, in nothing but the thin linen of his undergarments. In relative privacy. With a girl. But it wasn’t in his nature to show discomfort, so he leaned back comfortably on a pile of rolled fabrics, arms crossed, covering nothing. He watched her work studiously, as if this was perfectly normal. It seemed perfectly normal to her, strange bird she was.

Not like I’m sewing you up instead of your clothes. He cracked a grin. “No, that’s more my department, isn’t it? I dare say I’d make a half-decent medic, if you have any open wounds that need stitching.” How different could human skin be from animal skin, really? “You know, to return the favour.”

✣

[cianoclare]

🍂 + 🖤

🍂  :  what  are  some  of  their  hobbies?  what  is  their  dream  job?

this one's easy. same answer for both: taxidermy. if he's not in the woods, cian can most reliably be found in his workshop (the smallest room in his family home, aka his childhood bedroom). the shop is cluttered with drying racks, chemical bottles, and various sundries of the craft. because of the nature of ilaydas, he has to make most of his materials himself, which means he's become rather skilled (in a limited capacity) in glass blowing, miniature painting, minor metalcraft, and tiny clothes fabrication. when he reaches the limits of his ability, he reaches out to the local craftspeople.

if he's not in the woods or mounting, he can be found in the tavern, the bazaar, the jazz club. wherever people are. books don't hold his attention, so he likes talking to people that do read, or who hold knowledge that he doesn't. or are just weird & interesting. that's probably his second-most hobby: talking.

🖤  :  have  they  ever  been  in  love?

tbd, as this is something i’d prefer to plot out with a player character. but i’d say likely yes. cian is a romantic. he was the kind of kid to get fake-married in the mud with stick wreaths. he enjoys flirting with & courting pretty girls, and he wants to share his life with one. his parents were somewhat reclusive and very wrapped up in each other, so that’s what he imagines for himself as well. me and you against the world type beat seems nice to him.

[pwlanier]

VICTORIAN DOMED TAXIDERMY BIRDS OF SOUTH AMERICA DIORAMA

19TH CENTURY

comprising twenty-five specimens, including a golden oriole, a scarlet tanager, a honeycreeper, and various hummingbirds, on a canted oak base with an old paper label

Lyon and Turnbull

[maya-hawke]

BARRY KEOGHAN as DRUIG Eternals (2021) dir. Chloé Zhao

[fairycosmos]

incredibly empathetic of me to not skin you alive btw

[talesfromthecrypts]

Alice thought to herself ‘Now you will see a film… made for children… perhaps… ’ But, I nearly forgot… you must… close your eyes… otherwise… you won’t see anything. 

Alice (1988) dir. Jan Svankmajer

[xueyangapologist]

“this is the hill you want to die on?” oh no i just love arguing. i fully intend to leave this hill once it gets boring. sorry for the confusion!