I also want to make a relationship page for Samil as I’m easily swayed by sense of conformity. Please like this post if you want to be on the page; even if we haven’t interacted, I will just base the writing off of my muse’s first impressions.
While the words spoken are not laced with a derisive or snide resonance, it is difficult to believe that the male has no intentions of conveying sarcasm when she inquires the whereabouts of the extension ladders. She is not sure if it comes from his description of how massive the implement seems to be or from that of his nonchalant mention that people seeking such a apparatus is that of troublesome. It does little to help her in discerning his words as wholesome even more so when he continues, casually stating that someone would certainly injure themselves handling such impressive feats.
Melodeia turns over the idea in her head that she may be better suited to take her leave for the afternoon and that her chances of learning more so about humaneness and benevolence collectively will have to be put on hold for another day. Of course, she’d scoured the country more so in order to study that of mankind ( one of her closer friends in this world had suggested she pursue volumes that described more consideration in the human world as opposed to that of the crusades ), but she cannot help but wonder if perhaps it was a sign altogether that she wasn’t able to achieve her goal.
She considers Poseidon himself sending the signal, gently waning her curiosity by forcing obstructions in her path. Maybe ( much to chagrin and apparent displeasure ) it is the opposite, however, as in the place of what she’s come to learn about is that of a manifestation of an actual being.
Another question, another attempt at keeping up a conversation that he didn’t expect, but will welcome nonetheless. Maybe today would not be as unrewarding as he thought, which is splendid. For someone who seems to have all the time in the world (because he does,) he has always disliked the notion of wasting it.
He tilts his head to glance at the front desk once more, and only a sight of its emptiness greets his gaze. It’s a bit bizarre to see the surface not being guarded by a librarian, considering the large mass who drift to this place on a daily basis, whether out of curiosity or of scholastic passion. Samil sweeps his gaze around the vicinity and lets his brain circle through a list of faces he has bothered to keep remembering. Shifts in the soon-approaching afternoon are often occupied by a lady who often chastise him for reading whole textbooks without taking a break; her kindness is more of an annoyance than virtue. That woman also seems to never take a day off, much to his chagrin.
“To be honest, I don’t think the librarians will be off for long. The one working in this hour won’t, anyways. She’s a real hard-worker. And,” A pause, and a faint smile for extra reassurance, “I often come here. So, you can trust my testimonial.” Although frankly, he thinks the young woman before him looks like she would rather burn down the whole establishment with look alone,instead of waiting for help. And hell, maybe she can; Samil has heard stories of powerful people (and not-quite people?) who are much more powerful than him, living in this Wonderland with whims and thoughts no mundane, low-ranked peasant can hope to comprehend.
He refocuses his attention on the young lady before him once again, as a distraction from the faint nervousness in his guts. Whether she’s supernatural or not, it saddens him to see someone directing so much annoyance and displeasure toward the Celsus Kütüphanesi, especially when it has served as his second residence in Wonderland for months ever since he moved to Carreau. In all honesty, he has grown fond of everything belonging in this place: the suffocating proofs of human’s curiosity, the huge shelves, the feel of leather bindings different from Acromion’s, even that busybody librarian who wears her heart on her sleeves. Which is why he perked up a bit at the woman’s attempt of asking for book recommendations; maybe he can make a fellow fervent reader release forgiveness for these tall shelves and fully enjoy what this library has to offer. Also, to prevent a potential fire from breaking out (which would actually be a great thing to accomplish, since he has always fared badly with heat.)
“Well, if you’re interested in Human Philanthropy…” The words reverberated hesitantly in his mouth, out of perplexity. That’s such an unusual topic to be researching in this place, when books of such notion are littered all across other libraries in the world. Experience has taught him humans are quite eager to leave something deserving of pride behind, as they’re too aware of their mortality (a notion he knows of, but can never understand.)
Oh, well. Weird tourists and their weird priorities. Can’t judge them too hard.
“I can see there’re some biographies of Queen Calypso of Trefle to your left; she’s quite a magnanimous monarch whose accomplishments are deserving of record. Or would you like to study something more isolated from Wonderland? Berk Ahmet is a good figure to look into, then; you can find the records of her achievements on several lower shelves to the right. She’s a great healer who has saved millions during the Unspeakable War without charge, and even established her own hospital when she’s only in her 20s. A great woman she is, but so is…”
The names and events poured out of his tongue effortlessly, akin to flood leaking out from a broken dam, and the sensation makes him feel right. Usually, he has always been labeled as that one quiet boy who leafs through tomes in the library without much purpose; a lost stranger whose presences is much too faint and easily overlooked. But right now, all that matters is he can disclose a fountain of knowledge a mere child is unlikely to have attained, all for the sake of glorifying a place he loves. He has the power to make the woman realize that this place holds much more potential to be tapped into than she has presumed. It’s refreshing to simply be himself, if for only a few minutes.
♛-; He notices the motion of the other–how he steps backwards while he approaches, but it doesn’t phase him at all, and he simply offers the other a smile. Wary, this one was, but Ephraim couldn’t blame him. With all that was currently going on, it’d probably be odd not to be wary of strangers.
♛-; “I’m glad to hear so! I hope nothing too bad happens to you, but I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it!” From his attire, Ephraim assumed him to be someone from Carreau. He had gone to the kingdom in order to visit Lucy–ahem, Luster enough times to recognize the style of clothing that came from the kingdom. He recognizes the confused furrow of brows though, but Ephraim can’t put his finger on what would elicit such a reaction from him; he hadn’t said anything odd, had he? “It’d be rude to continue our conversation without knowing each other’s names though, don’t you think? Mine is Ephraim; now, what has you looking so confused, mister?”
The man’s easy smile has eased his nerves slightly, but it still cannot make him regret his earlier attempt of putting up a distance between them. His new companion doesn’t seem unfazed by the act, however; either he is quite clueless, or has categorized it as a common reaction. Most likely the later. Despite his innocent appearance, Samil is not totally oblivious of some…rather unpleasant happenings unfolding in Wonderland as of late. There’re ominous rumors to be found in many corners, if you know where to listen (and have the courage to open your eyes to reality.)
His companion’s attempt of reassurance makes something akin to mirth bubble in his chest, although the not-boy quickly shoves it down. Nothing too bad, huh? Oh, if only this man knew the amount of such occurrences he has faced (and fought back, to his tooth and nail) throughout the years. Nonetheless, Samil pushes down an inclination to make a snippy retort, as he’s not such an impulsive fool to let slip the more personal details to a recent stranger.
It seems that his conversation partner has a different idea from his own, however. Ephraim, hm? That sounds familiar, and it’s the kind of recent familiar that keeps tugging at his brain. Maybe he has heard someone in Wonderland mentioned that name before. At that sudden but very plausible thought, he focuses his gaze on the man’s appearance, starting with his attires. Elegant, tasteful, and is made of expensive fabric materials. He’s probably someone affluent in the area, then.
“Apologies for not introducing myself earlier,” not really. “I am Marcescence. Pleased to meet you.” And “Marcescence” it shall stay; few (none) are intimate enough, safe enough, to know his first name these days. “And please don’t mind my earlier look. I was just…distracted.” Asking someone why they would trust a death god to guard a sacred place would be too revealing of the hidden negative connotations. Some offensive things are better left unsaid, especially--green eyes subtly traced over the man’s sharp frame covered in costly attires, once again—to someone whose place might be above my own.
name. samil marcescence; the last name “bertha” is one he doesn’t use, and would like to forget about.
nickname(s). samil (from close ones which he has none); marcescence (last name basis w/ everyone else),,, are these even counted as nicknames pfft
age. around 90(+). He himself has already forgotten exactly how old he is bc he’s old and senile ; appears in his early teens
species. human (kinda)
p e r s o n a l .
morality. chaotic good (but he acts like/believes he’s a true neutral)
religious belief. ?????? probably,,,, atheist.
sins. lust / greed / gluttony / sloth / pride / envy / wrath
virtues. chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice (?? though it’s a bit skewed)
primary goals in life: “happiness” he insists it’s to finally get rid of acromion and die but deep down he’s not quite sure about he wants.
languages known. english, greek, german. He has some knowledge of french and spanish but far from the fluent level.
secrets. his family, anything relating to the bertha family. Even one mention of the last name makes him tense up; Acromion (he’s not afraid to get his hands dirty to cover up its powers.); his actual age
quirks. he likes to stare and “take a closer look” at everyone he doesn’t know well; tends to let his mind wander in conversations; is mindful of personal bubbles and always keep a short distance with conversation partners; does not appreciate being touched without prior given permission/knowledge
savvies. book-smart knowledge (esp. about history); is (often) pretty pleasant in social situations
p h y s i c a l .
build. slender / scrawny / bony / fit / athletic / curvy / herculean / babyfat / pudgy / obese / other
height. 5′3″.... he’s tiny.
scars/birthmarks. Acromion takes care to heal all scars; no birthmark
abilities/powers. superhuman self-healing; can generate physical items when writing down words on Acromion; good with using ranged weapons
restrictions. self-healing power can kill him if too much of it was used; Acromion can’t create magical items or abstract concepts; using Acromion’s item-generating power drains him physically; doesn’t have a good stamina
f a v o u r i t e s .
favourite food. warm soup; quick and easy to digest for him who has a small appetite.
favourite drink. black coffee
favourite pizza topping. green pepper
favourite colour. turquoise and black
favourite music genre. classical; he enjoys pieces with accompanied piano
favourite book genre. non-fiction; he thinks their contents are very intriguing as they often get revised/updated when people change their recorded preconceptions
favourite movie genre. does documentary count?
favourite season. winter
favourite curse word. "shit”
favourite scent. lavender
f u n s t u f f .
bottom or top like he has time for that (ok he does but)
loud burper or soft burper. soft
sings in the shower. hahahahahahahaha no
likes bad puns. yes (VERY SECRETLY) / no
their opinion on the mun. mild annoyance and then breaking all contacts within 2 days of acquaintance bc he doesn’t have enough patience to deal with this bullshit
It is without a doubt that shelves so high are known to have no concern about those closest to the ground ( greater than that of average height, they have no qualms about looking down on those whom come to seek the knowledge within their bindings ), but they seem to laugh in that of a contemptuous manner to those whom are out of proper reach.
Of course, this is all artificial ( she knows that inanimate objects do not possess the capabilities to feel disdainful; she wonders if perhaps she envies their inability to become that of derisive ), but their height makes it seem as if they are almost doing a scornful mocking of how infinitesimal she and others appear to be. She knows that her time here on land is nothing to be made of significant ( she wants to be undetected, after all, carefully choosing her objectives in a methodical fashion so as not to drawn unwarranted attention ); she feels indignant ( irritated, frustrated, annoyed; her displeasure is clear on her dainty features ) about such a fate however.
Though the ocean ( surrounding landmasses or engulfing them entirely with salt water ) was an expanse to be that of tremendous, she’d never felt so inadequate there as she did within the confines of this man-made structure.
Melodeia considers taking her leave for the afternoon ( she’s traveled a great distance in order to ride herself other annoyances in her home country; two playing cards must of been diligently trying to locate her to amuse themselves ), but is stopped as she hears soft footsteps echo down the hall before they stop just a few feet away from her lithe-frame.
The NEREID turns her head nothing but a fraction, cerulean orbs drinking in the appearance of the male she’d stopped earlier and had turned from in posthaste. Simply looking at this human hadn’t been giving him an invitation to engage her ( she’d shifted her gaze in order to prevent such a thing from happening ), but it seems as though he’s taken it for one.
“ There were no attendants at the front desk, ” she explains after a moment, features still directed to the large shelves overhead to avoid meeting his gaze; his voice is faint, nothing above a whisper so not as to disturb others around them. Even with such a considerate persona emanating off of him, she doesn’t find herself willing to occupy herself with idle chit-chat.
There is a brief pause, however, as he mentions that of a structure she’s discerned once or twice back when she’d been in COEUR; it’s a series of steps fastened to two upright lengths, if she remembers correctly. She considers this for another moment, debating if her curiosity is something she’d like to truly indulge, before simply inquiring with him, “ Would you happen to know where one of these ‘ladders’ are to be held? ”
In the brief time while waiting for the stranger’s reply, Samil takes a closer look at her. Some may say it is not wise to judge people by their covers. Yet, appearances can often provide good ideas about what one is comfortable of presenting outward, which are plenty information to be gained and filtered, in his opinion. With more attention, he can see the superfluous flairs on her clothes, the avant-garde dash in each folding of the fabric, and a doubt of whether she’s a true Carreau resident bubbles in his chest. A tourist, maybe? Not to say the people here aren’t fashionable, but living in what essentially is a frigid,mountainous terrain tends to make many emphasize utility and warmth over vogue and artistry.
At the woman’s explanation of her predicament, he tilts his gaze toward the direction of the front desk, more out of curiosity than confusion. It’s true as she said: there was no staff present who would be able to provide her with the tools she needed. However, he’s sure they wouldn’t be away for long, if his long hours spent here on an almost-daily basis is to hold any credibility as witness for the librarian’s work ethics. He can only offer a subtle shrug at the woman’s trouble, though he doubts she can notice it when her eyes are still glued on a book binding far above. Well, he wouldn’t blame her for getting annoyed at him; his suggestion has seemed quite redundant now and, perhaps, even a little patronizing, now that he has a chance to reflect over it in his mind. While he was thinking of a response to alleviate the tension (he would hate to end this unproductive day with a stale conversation,) the woman’s inquiry snaps him out of musing quickly. A confused blink blooms on his feature at the rough emphasis on the word “ladders,” like the woman has found the common noun foreign and unfamiliar on her tongue. Nonetheless, he was quick to smooth his scrunching eyebrows before she turned around and mistook his perplexity for annoyance.
“Ah...,” a brief pause to consider his next reply, “…No? But I assume such cumbersome things would be hidden in some storage. Probably off-limit to everyone except the library staffs. After all, you probably won’t want some unauthorized, mischievous souls hurting themselves or others using those huge tools.” And why would you want to find out where they are? I don’t think you have the strength to carry one on your own, young lady is left unsaid, masked behind a smiling face. It’s less of an insult and more of a logical deduction he has drawn from observation (and hey, even he can’t carry this library’s ladders without assistance,) but it still doesn’t sound pleasant. As if nicer words can be more helpful than curt ones.
“I think your best bet would be to wait for the librarians to come back. Perhaps you can look at other titles on the lower shelves in the meantime? This place has a big selection, after all.” He has intended these to be parting words than actual suggestions; this lady doesn’t seem like she holds much enthusiasm to keep up small talks, if her earlier insistent lack of contact to his gaze is any indication. In some ways, he could share her sentiments. He is not fond of being near chatterboxes when he’s occupied with thinking, either. Besides, it doesn’t seem like he can be of help to her in this situation even if he stayed longer.
“…” Silence. A very awkward silence slowly crept its way between the two. It was too be expected, Luiza thought after all she approached him, a complete stranger, with a straight forward request.
“ I-I mean you do not have to accompany me if you don’t wish to but…-”
A brief pause before continuing-
“ It’s only normal for a man to carry a girl’s things right?”
He tilts his head and breaks the long eye contact. It is a motion that seems innocuous and naive, but in truth, is hiding a bubbling annoyance. It takes all of his self-control to not blanch and scowl at the impetuous young woman in front of him.
“As you can see,” thin arms start to dangle the bags containing trinkets gained from his earlier shopping trip in the Büyük Pazar; less so of an excuse than a warning, “Both of my hands are occupied, and I don’t think I have the strength to handle more. I sincerely apologize.” And never bother me again for such a juvenile reason left unsaid, hidden behind an impassive face.
♛-; On a whim, he had decided to visit Mikage again–and by ‘whim’, he meant that Nox had kicked him out of the castle again. The shrine keeper was always there though, to console him and keep him company, listen to his worries and complaints about how his Jack was always so cruel to him, to give him pats on the back and reassure him that Nox was just in his rebellious phase.
♛-; It was relatively quiet on the island, with only a few people here and there–people of Pique, of course, however one stood out amongst the crowd. His attire was different than that of Pique’s style… A Carreau man, perhaps? As he ripped up his ‘divine fortune’ though (a name Mikage had coined), Ephraim couldn’t help but release a slight gasp. The fortunes that were told on Izumo Taisho always came true. Perhaps not immediately, and not in the way you might have expected, but they always came true without fail.
♛-; After he shakes him head a bit, he walks up to the other, perhaps entering his personal space a bit too much, but as he looks at the torn up pieces of paper that enter the waste bin, he can’t help but let out a sigh. “A bad fortune, huh? You should be careful though, the fortune’s here always come true sooner or later! You should at least remember what it said in case it comes true; you have to brace yourself and be prepared for whatever comes your way…!”
Now that there’s a voice providing him more inclination to turn around, he can finally ascertain the source of the earlier gaze he felt. His eyes meet the man who has approached him with a small, scrutinizing frown. Carefree braided hair and an amiable feature met his inspection; those traits help dull the edges in the newcomer’s sharp, tall frame, if only slightly. Nonetheless, Samil makes small steps backward to put up a short distance. It never hurts to be wary of first meetings, especially with the ones who appear they do not warrant this treatment. He has often discovered them to be the more dangerous individuals he met throughout the years.
To mask his slight unease, Samil tilts his head up to meet the man’s gaze and flashes a smile which he hopes is innocuous enough for the job.
“Thank you for your worries. I will keep those words in mind.”
In spite of vigilance, it wouldn’t be nice to brush away a person’s well wishes for his being. Furthermore, the man’s earnest gaze in his earlier talk about the fortune slips’ “truth” has only reinforced the widespread tales of Pique people’s convictions in their beliefs. It doesn’t seem smart now to disparage their spiritual faith, no matter how nonsensical he finds it to be at times. Breaking eye contact with the man momentarily to further inspect the grand shrine’s peaceful ground, an inquiry flashes into his mind. A death god is supposed to be keeping vigil here? It’s bizarre to see this land’s people entrust their places of worships, their haven of metaphysical peace, to such morbid entities. At the notion, Samil’s brows knit together without his own knowing.
The state of a relatively low temperature stretched out among the mountainous land appears inhospitable and that of uncongenial. It is that of an unpleasant feeling of coldness circulating in the atmosphere, extending from the heart of the capital to several landmarks scattered about the frostbitten terrain. If one were to glance above the fringe of the historical monument, they’d be able to clearly see the series of icicles that cling to the outline of a large building housed within the bazaar.
It is lacking the affection or warmth associated with that of where she resides among this WONDERLAND, but it is easy to identify the peculiarity that it shares with the home she finds so vivacious. Of course, this land is better suited to that of physical arts ( where individuals gather in large troupes to compete against one another for entertainment purposes ), but that does not mean it does not have it’s own primordial charm.
Secluded in that of a winding aisle in the heart of the Celsus Kütüphanesi, Melodeia allows her cerulean hues to graze the binding of a thicker textbook about the highest shelf. She’d come here in hopes of ridding herself of a persistent curiosity ( she’d sworn herself to loathe humankind, but she still found herself fascinated by the structures they’ve built and how their history has been formed; stories above water were nothing like the ones she’d been told long before she’d emerged from the depths ), but it does appear she will need some assistance in doing so.
Lithe-framed features move to glance down the passage in order to find an attendant, but it seems that all that is in her path is that of a gentle-looking male with skin as subtle as her own. She stares at him for a moment ( their eyes meet almost in an instance; two shades of blue locking together ), but hastily turns her head and focuses on the shelve once more.
The NEREID would sooner climb the bookcase before resorting to asking that of a male for assistance.
He didn’t dare to hold any expectation, at first. If there has been any worldwide spread of a story about a gold-granting book, it would have reached every librarian’s ears, and his mission would be rendered less painful a long time ago. People can be quite single-minded in what interests them, and it only takes one look at the Celsus Kütüphanesi to affirm this. The proofs of their passion for learning, their legacies of pursuit, are suffocating across these grand halls. Despite himself, he found the corners of his lips quirked up, out of admiration. Greed of knowledge, he can abide to, as he is also under such. A fountain of books, and Acromion’s truth is buried underneath some (or maybe just one); this thought is less of a discouragement than a drive. He has all the time in the world to satisfy his hunger for information, after all. What he really prays for, is patience.
Thwap. He knew the forceful sound of his book closing has attracted several patrons’ attention, but Samil could care less. He has more to do than heeding some mortals’prejudices. Especially now, when his hunger for the only valuable knowledge he wagers his life on is still not satisfied. There has to be something he could scour here, for he knows Acromion didn’t just drop from the sky in the Ber-his manor one day. Beside him, the cursed tome grows hotter in his leather bag, as if sensing his anger, his disappointment. Its existence is enough to spite.
He lets out a quiet sigh as small hands returns the book to its home, a lower level in one of the tallest shelves in the library. Maybe it is suitable now to take a break; Samil knows a hot head would be as productive as a stupid one. The not-boy is about to leave when his gaze momentarily locked with another unfamiliar one, before the contact was broken. There’s something, can he say, expectant? about the look, which tugs at his mind. He has never been as proficient at reading people as he does with words, but that only encourages excuses to scrutinize them more, picking them apart and categorizing until he feels safe enough to move on. The holder of that subtle gaze is one who is, to his mild curiosity, not that subdued. Her eyes seem to hold the highest, biggest shelves in a staring contest, her neck craning cruelly high. That behavior of hers is attracting attention in itself because of how petite-framed she is (a comment he has no right to make, really.) Don’t you feel tired of doing so? He wants to ask the young lady, but maybe that is too out of his place. It’s not that he doesn’t understand her predicament; on the contrary, he knows full well how Celsus Kütüphanesi’s grand everything can create many inconveniences, as most of the books he takes interest in are often located on the higher levels not many can reach.
However, after a brief minute of watching the young woman staying lodged in one place with her eyes focusing on one spot, realization dawns on his mind. It takes most of Samil’s whole dignity to not let slip a giggle at the amusedly pitiful sight.
“Hello, miss,” he is careful to put soft edges into his tone, not wanting to startle her, “You could ask the librarians here to provide a ladder to reach the taller shelves. I think more height would make it easier to retrieve the more elevated books of your liking, wouldn’t you agree?”
He has never believed in fortune-telling. There are too many uncertain tragedies to be despised, too many false wishes to be trusted. For someone who has all the time in the world (to his chagrin,) Samil would hate to spend it fixated on fickle concepts whose bearings shift with each passing moment. And yet, green eyes betrayed and found themselves poring over the innocent piece of paper on his palm, why am I feeling so restless?
Distantly, he could hear the sounds of frayed long ropes scratching on dirt; they shook him out of early blooming apprehension that should never sprout. How foolish. His original plan to visit Izumo Taisho does not include getting nervous by groundless superstitions, and look what he had done. A drop of sweat on Samil’s forehead dripped down and dampened the paper in response to his musing. Maybe the heat of Pique had numbed his brain.
Well, if he’s really losing control of lucidity due to the humid summer air why couldn’t I just stay in Carreau for a few more months, might as well do something he wouldn’t let his usually stable sanity consider. With a resigned sigh, Samil unfolded the slip of fortune paper he pulled.
It was not good luck.
“Figures, if I’m still here.” Such vocally soft words stumbled out of his mouth in a bitter breath, and he couldn’t be bothered to muffle them with outward melancholy. Samil doesn’t think anyone would be bothered to pay attention to heat-delirious words formed by a nameless child’s tongue. True to his thoughts, the temple ground looked empty in the summer afternoon. Not quite. He could feel a distant gaze directed at his back, but then quickly shrugged it away without turning around. Samil ripped the paper into tiny pieces, out of spite more than disappointment, and threw the shreds into the nearby trashcan.
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