homestead.

I saw the world suffer and it changed my life. It changed me.

[lifescratches]

Who wants to watch me get my ass exiled.

[furiage-deactivated20200421]

{ ☀ } the world's ours

The people here were all mere decorations on the street, pushed aside by the young man with a look of plain annoyance. A sky-blue sash adorned his arm — a color he wasn’t too fond of — hell, why couldn’t it have been a red? Red was far more pleasing to look at, the magi thought with a sardonic smile. The color of blood, the color of war. Still, he’d managed to get through that completely boring explanation without shoving the old coot off the canoe and into the river. Fight for some people he hadn’t even met yet? Report to your assigned station? Hah!

Instead he’d made his way to the center of this neutral meeting place, past the string of merchants and stalls — right inside the plaza of the city. Upon an elevated stoned path he would stand, cupping his hands around his mouth as he shouted violently at natives and similar newcomers.

"All you pathetic, powerless worms down there! Clean your filthy ears out and listen real good!" The outburst spat out while rigidly thrusting a thumb at his chest, hauntingly hollow eyes gazing down at all who happened to look up — and they’d all better be paying attention. After all, look who was bothering to spend his precious time on a bunch of commoners who’d sooner be under his feet than shaking his hand?

"Fuck the banners and prestige! I’ll let all you losers know right here right now — that this amazing Judar’s gonna be the one to take everything! Your lives, your treasure, your country! So you better get ready to forfeit ‘em to me in the future!”

[lifescratches]

The neutral area had served as an intersection of ontologies, peoples and cultures alike, establishing it as a particularly resourceful place to lurk. If he intended on adapting to this land's ways, understanding what exactly connects its people--despite their factions--was pivotal.

He stands out regardless, however. The herculean stature and white hood do him no favors. 

At least he wasn't the buffoon screaming atop the the stone centerpiece of the plaza. The man himself was distinguishable from the peoples of this land--akin to those who had recently arrived in the same manner as he did. Quirking a brow, he clears his throat for a moment--the gesture itself inaudible.

However, what he says afterwards is certainly audible.

"SHUT UP."

The crowd bustles for a bit before coming to a silence and shifting--now leaving him in the spotlight.

"WHAT CAN YOU DO AT THE MOMENT ASIDE FROM TALK? DO YOU TRULY EXPECT US TO SUBMIT TO YOU? SURELY YOU JEST."

[lifescratches]

He hasn't a clue as to what this contraption is. Or rather, what any of these contraptions are. A red pathway with a groove in which children would...sled upon? Without a sled. Metal bars akin to something an animal would hang from. And--

Chains. Chains suspended from a pole of sorts, holding up a single seat sans a backing.

Sitting in the red, plank of a seat, he kicks his legs upward--and he gradually soars, in fact he soars too far, accidentally tearing the swing from the set entirely--causing him to leap through the air and ultimately land on his feet.

Well. It seems as though he had company. Remnants of the swing still in hand, he holds it up for his visitor to see in its entirety.

"...Do you know what this is?"

[lifescratches]

muiryl

He gasps. To think, even in a place such as this--

A dog! It’s a dog! He strokes it's head, gradually running his fingers through its fur, and it’s almost instantaneously attracted to him. He sifts through his robes and near his back pocket, he locates what he once knew as—dog kibble! At least a bit of his inventory had remained! Hid it well enough too!

"There you go, boy."

Drawing out the kibble had proved itself to be a particularly reckless decision. They all come rushing, dogs large and small alike, snouts hounding through his robes for kibble--fingers raking through a sea of fur, he pets them as best as he can and all is well until they begin to pounce and eventually have him pinned against the ground whilst licking at his face.

"H-hey…! I…! Stop! That tickles! Off!"

Footsteps are audible, and he peeks through the sea of dog fur hovering over his face.

"Do you need something?" His tone is surprisingly firm, almost concrete considering he’s being dogpiled at the moment—quite literally.

[lifescratches]

[ ✯ ] -- apples to apples

Notoriety: Incognito

Well, this certainly could have been worse.

Reality jumping--an experience he's all to accustomed to. Time upon time, he would be helped captive in a world unknown to him. Be it the world of the colonists' or a realm distant from his own, certainty in his circumstances was not a luxury he would be provided--not now, not ever. That could be accredited to the Apple of Eden, Juno or honestly, his lack of luck.

The fisherman had seemed amiable enough--something he could appreciate despite his succinct and lacking in expression his own responses are.

However, upon reaching civilization, he is met with hostility--hostility that isn't exactly foreign to him.

He hates being ordered around, commanded without any sort of context. Regardless, he would accept it--for the sake of whatever marginalized peoples resided in this city. He ventures through the slums, hood hanging over his visage. A teenage boy struggles from afar--confronted by a man, much larger, much stockier than himself. Grasping the man by the wrist, Connor would loom over him, wordless.

His intentions are evident.

However, he finds that they have company. Stoically, his gaze meets that of the strangers, and he would firmly state a single word:

"What."