All it took was a brief run-in with a courier, a jostled pack, and a few letters that quickly went scrambling. A moment to get the boy sorted and on his way, and the Wanderer happened upon a photo tucked under a bench nearby. He swept it up, unmarked and seemingly newly taken as he flipped it over.“Oh my, Miss Bella...”A fond smile turned his lips into a warm expression as he carried on down the road.“Rather candid picture, wonder who managed to snag that of her. She seems...troubled but happy, maybe for being in the water. Can’t say I’d ever feel cross while swimming. Lovely as ever, though...I really should find her and return these photos that keep popping up. I think there’s a gremlin playing tricks or some such, but I can’t figure out why....Ah well, such is the way of things.”
FEEL. -How does your character react to a persons touch? A random stranger’s? A loved one’s? A friend’s?@aenlandrin - He’s not overly fond of being touched by strangers, and it would thoroughly depend on the person in question. Just some passerby who though to lay a hand on him? Probably walking away with burnt fingers. Someone he’s been having a conversation with for a few moments and, say, they touch his sleeve or something, probably would just politely distance himself. Friend’s really the same way. He doesn’t overly mind, but it’s not something he particularly enjoys. As for a loved one...he REVELS in that touch if we’re talking about a romantic interest like @lavinyia he sort of thrives on that. It’s another form of a connection and even just a brush of a hand is a rather intimate gesture for them, especially in public.
@arandrian - GIVE HIM ALL THE TOUCHING HE CARES NOT. Honestly though he literally has 0 issues with people touching him, and will in fact go out of his way to make that contact happen. If a person seems unsure he’ll set a hand to their shoulder and offer an encouraging word. If someone’s making a pass at him well...nothing wrong with getting just a little closer and pressing a hand against a hip. And friend’s? Hugs, hands, scoop them up and cart them off to drop in the fountain. He has no issues letting his personal space get invaded and no aversion to physical contact, ever. It was one of the things I realized over time as I wrote him because random strangers would just..touch him, an arm a cheek, his hand. And every time I go to react, I don’t get that drive to pull back and keep him distant. He revels in it.
@denlandis Random strangers? Probably going to find him being uncomfortable about it. He has issues with trust, but his polite nature keeps him from outright stonewalling a person just because of contact. A friend? @catraenablazewing is a stubborn fan of randomly hugging him, so he’s gradually become fine with that. He’ll grasp hands and hug others, but he needs that emotional connection with a person and that level of trust to be okay with it. Loved ones? Given that the only real loved one he has is @adilynia, the two of them maintain a level of decorum in public but it’s not unheard of to see them with a hand resting on the others arm, or standing close by with a hand at the other’s back. There’s little moments where you can see the connection, but they keep their public and personal lives on designated sides of the spectrum.
"What if, for what ever reason, you were unable to travel and explore the world you love?"
Also asked by @waitingrose so I’ll incorporate them both.
He couldn’t remember what had happened clearly, which for him was the first sign of trouble. There was the obvious muck that plagued one’s mind when they first were roused from slumber, but it felt as though he’d been buried under a ton of loose gravel. Every inch of him felt sluggish and sore, and his fingers were slow to curl and respond. Soft fabric, simple stitching, freshly starched. Then the smell touched him, or rather, the lack of one. Clean air, too clean. His eyes forced themselves open as the muscles in his face constricted. A curled expression showed his confusion, and even mild distaste for waking up like that. Not since he’d visited the brewery in Pandaria had he had such hellish time of waking, but even this felt different. It was when his eyes opened, and the blurry surface of a stark white ceiling greeted him, he knew something was wrong.
“He’s...he’s awake.”An unfamiliar voice touched my ears, and I couldn’t help trying to look and see who it was. There was a curtain blocking by view, so I reached to try and pull it back. That’s when I noticed the bandages across my arm. They were wrapped thickly from wrist to shoulder, the stain of red beneath them. As my mind cleared from the haze I could feel the dull ache of pain from simply moving, so I gave up and let my arm fall to the bed.“Sir...sir can you hear me?”My head turned, and I found a charming elven man standing at my bedside. His form was draped in soft shades of white and strips of black, and his face was a picture of noble birth. All high cheek bones, and sweeping features. But it wasn’t his face I stared at, it was the pin attached to his chest. A phoenix laying over a cross, its talons perched across the surface.“What...happened?”My god, what happened to my voice? It sounded as though I’d had nothing to drink for months, and the fire in my neck was instant. I decided it best not to try and talk so much, but the look he gave me...“It’s...important that you rest, you’ve been through...you just need your rest.”“What...happened?”He chewed the edge of his lips and I found myself drawn to that quirk. There were a thousand different things about a person you could learn just watching the way they moved, the messages they sent without uttering a word.“Please...”He hesitated for another moment, a sigh passing into the air as he slowly nodded. A hand came to lay against my other arm, and I could feel the bare contact. No bandages there, that’s good at least.“From what we’ve been told...you were...caught in the blast of an infernal when it landed on the battlefield. It...struck the ground not ten feet from you. You’ve been here now for almost a week, kept under sedation.”Images flooded into my head, but they were like jumbled pictures flashing. Like someone had taken a portfolio and tossed it in front of you and asked you to try and piece them together. Heat, a loud crash, and then weightlessness before I hit.“How bad?”Again I saw his hesitation, and his eyes flashed down towards my legs. Instinctively they twitched, fingers curling in and flexing as I tried to figure out why he looked almost distraught. Or rather, they would have...except they didn’t. My heart was beginning to reach a steady, fevered staccato and the grogginess was quickly washed away.“I can’t feel my legs...”
The months that followed were some of the hardest of my life. I’d been torn apart my magics chaotic and tormented but nothing compared to the agony of a journey’s end. When the infernal had landed, I learned later, shards of its rocky structure had blasted out like shrapnel. Pieces had struck into my body and torn the muscle and bone beneath it. They did what they could, they told me, but the fel taint had twisted the torn structure of my spine and muscles. Corrupted them in even the briefest touch and made their mending impossible. Time and again I asked them if I’d walk again, but after a few weeks I stopped bothering. I think it was the first time I stopped smiling, and just stared out one of the distant windows for the longest time. That would be my only viewport to the outside world, and so I took to memorizing every facet in the grain of glass, the people that wandered by and I imagined were living their lives. Would they find the time to go and learn the world as I had, would they find a loved one and cherish their existence like the air they breathed. The world continued to turn, but I would only ever see it through that window. Wanderer no more, it seemed.
Since this was mistakenly sent a second time to my mage, I let the dice decide, and Aran! Ask: 📷 - Fey {Nina Dobrev}
As the streets began to dim beneath the fading afternoon light, The Wanderer found himself amidst familiar walls. Couriers came and went as quickly as a breath, and on that air the letters and parcels they carried went to and fro. It was rare to find him with an expected letter or box waiting for him, but this time his luck panned out. A small box and note were retrieved, along with a few letters marked by familiar names that drew his smile. Just as he turned to make his way back onto the road, a photo slipped from the stack in his arms to grace the countertop. Lifting a brow he carefully flipped it over, and felt his eyes widen a hair.
“Oh my...What a beautiful creature, delicate and yet the defined ridges of her face give her an almost stern appearance. I feel as though I’ve seen her before and yet...my mind wonders as to where or when. Mayhap this wasn’t meant for me at all, but fortune falls upon strangers every day. Wonder if I could find her to return it to her keeping...And it’s an excuse to walk about the city...not that I ever needed one, mind..”
He awoke from the bed with a start, his back leaving the cushion of the bed beneath him as he sat up. Gripped in his hands like a vice, the sheet twisted and fell across his body to pool along the taut line of his waist. All at once he tried to clear the haze from his mind, peering about in the pitch black room as he fumbled for a light. There was a scent of lavender in the air, a familiar aroma that calmed the dizzying haze of thoughts when his hand struck a table beside him. With a jolt of pain up his arm, he hissed quietly.“Sir?”The voice was unfamiliar, but the tone pleasant and smooth. A woman, young by the sound of it, but why was she trying to talk to him in the dark? Another of the whispers seeking questions, most like.“I...I’m alright, just need to get a lamp going, it’s unbelievably dark in here. Why aren’t there any lamps?”
A quiet sound touched her mouth, and Aran’s ears flicked. As they did he became acutely aware of a few things. His cuffs had been removed, the titular clinking of their motions silent as the felt up along the length of each ear. Down his fingers traced when he felt a subtle shift, fabric wrapped around his face just before his hands grazed down and felt the soft linen surface.“Sir...you...”He couldn’t help the sigh that left him, or the way his hands fell into his lap slowly.“So it finally happened...”The light shuffle of feet told him enough to know that she had come to stand beside him, and that trace of lavender peaked. He reached a hand out, finding it taken up in delicate fingers and held firmly.“Sir?”He squeezed her hand, folded his thumb around to the knuckle and gave it a passing touch. It wasn’t anyone he knew, despite the fond scent in the air. With a shake of his head, and a wave of that hand he dismissed her notion before his fingers together. A few moments passed in silence, and the Wanderer slowly shifted to press his bare feet to the marble flooring. Cold and smooth, but if you paid enough attention you could feel the subtle imperfections in the grain.“I....I’ll need someone to...write me some letters, if that’s alright. I need to...inform...I need...please just find me pen and paper, and someone who’s quick to laugh.”
Diablo: What would you do with the knowledge of another’s greatest fear? Loved one’s? Enemies?
“Help them to face it if I could, else I’d never speak of it.”The answer was drawn from the Wanderer’s lips as easily as he breathed, the notes sifted with the brush of cool silk and rolling from one syllable to the next. There was an easy smile touched to each one, the curve of his lips ever present. He sat reclined against a railing, the massive stonework outside the temple giving him a perch from which to watch the blossom trees. His eyes could hardly hold their place for long, and a look cast itself across the rolling sea of petals.“That which one fears is as personal as their own heart. There’s they that would abuse it, use it to further their own gain. I’ve no need for such, so why indulge? Life’s far too exciting and sadly..short lived to try and hold something like that over another. Better to simply exist, and face your fears together. Then...you might find less enemies, and far more friends.”
Returning to the festival grounds after the evening’s events had been easier than expected, but Aran was hardly one to carry a grudge against anything, let alone an empty group of buildings. His steps carried him past the post where he’d perched, down the courtyard where words had turned to a shared drink and troubles bridged. As he rounded the corner a slip of paper fluttered by on a stiff breeze, brushing up against his boot. Bending down he turned in the same motion and flopped onto a stone bench nearby as he flipped it over.“Oh my how lovely. She’s got a sort of softness in her eyes but she’s still seen quite a bit…beautiful face, and her hair looks incredibly soft. I wonder what her story is…and just who inspired THAT look…hmm, maybe I’ll find her one day and ask.”The photo was slid into his pouch, a look cast across the now empty courtyard before a few passerby happened through. With a warm smile and a wave, he hefted himself up from the bench and carried on down the road towards…somewhere new.
