#character shorts

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Genshin Impact 2022 Birthday Artworks & Character Shorts (CN) - Xingqiu

[transxiao]

Noelle Birthday character short illustrations from the Character Birthday Web Event (CN Exclusive)

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Apropos of nothing and perhaps only a little inspired by the previous reblog to finish it, a short character story set in a New York tattoo shop, about 9 years prior to the start of the game.

Character short: Marley

The beep of the entry sensor disturbs his lunch. Sal puts down his sandwich and grumbles a few obscenities. Some people won't read. Some people won't even look at the color indicator on the door. Moments like this he wonders how come most of his clientele is young adults and wishes his business could attract the older grumpy types. Those make appointments. They know the value of time.

He squeezes out of the service room, grabbing a towel on the way to do away with the grease. Other than that, Sal deems himself presentable. At least presentable enough to tell off whomever dares enter the door he forgot to lock.

In just a few steps Sal sees who it is.

The lad has been here before. He stands there in his typically pristine clothes, of beige that Sal finds a messy eyesore, ogling the wall of Sal's previous work like he were in a damn art gallery, hands clasped behind his back. Not browsing, actually fucking studying it. Something warm wraps around Sal's neck and his chest puffs out a little.

"I ought to just straight ban you from this place." He brings down the towel onto the reception counter with passion. The intruder has the gall to smile apologetically, although he is damn capable of reading, of that Sal is sure. "I don't need mommy and daddy in here screaming their lungs out like I'm the problem."

The boy laughs—Sal cannot call him anything but a boy, although he has seen his ID to confirm that what's-his-name is at least 18—and returns to scanning the drawings. "They know who the problem is," he says with mirth.

"You all say this," Sal parries, sighing. Much to his reluctant admission, he was never good in dealing with the polite types, although rarely did he ever need to. "What do you want? Quick, it's lunch break."

"Oh." The lad turns to face Sal, expression humbled, but doesn't move to leave the shop. "You have a sketch in there, of an astrochart, not a finished tattoo. I like it."

Sal narrows his eyes, feeling wary and strangely defensive all of a sudden. "You want to buy… a sketch?"

"Ah, no." He raises his right hand and places it on the top of his left shoulder blade. "Somewhere here."

Although the drawing immediately comes to mind, Sal walks to find it on the wall, hoping to see in it what the lad has seen. The wall is busy—the best he had done was not have the images overlap—but the light lines stand out in the sea of ink. Out of the base of the databank cube lines burst out in a projection of a star system, Sal cannot recall which one even if his life depended on it. The charts are tweaked to splay like that only for expos, the everyday usage is far more prosaic. He drew it years ago, almost a decade, on a stained diner table on the way to visit his aunt. It wasn't supposed to mean anything, just a quick gift for a boyfriend he had back then, when both dreamed big and spoke tall.

Kids all like the same shiny things, he absently notes and resigns to throwing out his sandwich at a later time.

"Take the chair," Sal grumbles, and the small light in the lad's eyes flares up.

Red neon on the outwards facing sign wards off other visitors—which are rare to non-existent at this time—and Sal tells the lad to bare the shoulder. It is not the best place, he thinks, and he is used to arguing for the sake of a satisfied customer. They were never right, especially not the likes of this one.

What he sees answers many questions. The very logical spot on the upper arm is taken.

Three circlets of lines: dashed, diagonal, crossing. It is simple geometry. It is lousy geometry, too, the kind that forces you to drive your prices into the ground until you either improve or realize there are other jobs. He runs a thumb, teasing it a bit, exposing the glaring faults of the work that is already well-faded.

"Ever heard of touch up?" Sal criticizes before the dots, much like the dots in his drawing, connect. "Who the fuck did these?"

"Uh, a friend." The reply is awkward but earnest. Sal hardly wants to know more because—

He glances at the ID again: Jordan, Marley, Owen, date of birth—second of May…and it's barely June. Belated happy eighteens.

"Did your friend ask you to provide your parents' permission?"

"She did," the lad—Marley—replies with ease.

Sal feels his jaw grit, but he knows this line of questioning leads to a maze he is too familiar with already. The permits lends themselves to forgery, and no one cares. Some places do not even ask. Some places do it as a side hustle, and the sole damage waiver is pretending you do not know each other for the rest of your lives.

"You sure you want it there?" He pivots instead. "You won't see it."

Marley lets out a short laugh as if the question is in any way amusing. "Yes, there."

But the shitty one goes onto his upper arm, Sal notes with discontent but decides not to argue, although the whole thing feels almost insulting. Marley's track record is hardly something Sal wants to add to, given what lousy of a job he has accepted prior.

Well, he can't expect much from a kid, is how he convinces himself. Maybe once the lad gets something decent…

Instead he measures, finding the good spot and size that he will need to specify for the machine. The tattoo is numerous dots and thin lines, but the lad is not too bony, which balances it out.

Once finished, Sal turns him around to the high-pitched creaking of the chair. If this is some kind of a joke, Sal wants the punchline to land already. But Marley looks at him with a silent question in his eyes, his expectation entirely different. Sal just sighs.

"You're so weird," he voices. It doesn't explain his frustration, not even to himself, but no word of it is a lie.

The lad's hands are crossed, hanging loosely over his hips, and the look on his face is genuinely curious. "Oh, why?"

This kid is a headache, but a well-spoken one, with at least a semblance of an idea what he's doing, so Sal, despite himself, explains.

"You show up here, reeking of good grades, family vacations and a spotless record, a star athlete too for whatever sport trends now, probably. On a rapid shuttle to some top school—and you haunt my shitty shop and look at these tattoos like you are in a fucking museum. Like, fuck, yes, that's weird. Is this a rebellious phase? I might as well book you for removal in three weeks."

Oh, and the fucking beige, but that is a nail too many and too petty even for Sal.

His chest feels lighter. Still, he doesn't chase him out. The lad looks up, a pleasant smile fixed on his face.

"I'm ready to sign the contract," Marley replies.

Bullheaded. With this revelation, Sal relaxes, one foot back in the familiar territory. All of his customers are, that is why they land in his chair. Each searching for their own closure in a few dozen millilitres of ink when the rest of the civilization has found other outlets.

He looks at the sketch in the center of his screen, looks at the young man who requested it, and for a fleeting moment feels a surge of confidence his silly drawing will be taken to the stars, and there is no better place for an astrochart.

How silly.

Sal scoffs—at himself—and names the price because his feet are firmly on the ground. No discounts, not for a silliness, and he tosses the price of the sandwich on top.

[tolkiens-middleearth]

Character shorts: Éowyn

People often complain that Tolkien's characters are too black-and-white, not nuanced enough or too static. I disagree – I think that Tolkien created some really good characters and interesting arcs. One just has to pay attention.

Today's exhibit: Éowyn

Éowyn is a character worth writing books about, and I can never do her justice within just a few words. All the more I want to mention her. There is always lots of debate about her character arc, and I think many people see very different things in her – which is fine of course. But I feel it's often reduced to just one aspect of it when it has actually more to offer.

‘All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more. But I am of the House of Eorl and not a serving-woman. I can ride and wield blade, and I do not fear either pain or death.’

Éowyn is known for riding with the Rohirrim to Gondor against Théoden's wishes and Aragorn's advice, and for killing the Witchking of Angmar - defying a prophecy that he cannot be killed by any man because she is a woman.

And this is a major part of her character arc: Éowyn is fed up with staying behind and "mind the house while [the Riders] win renown, and find food and beds when they return". She, too, wishes to fight battles and win glory, and is unhappy when she is put in charge of ruling the people of Rohan in Théoden's place. Her interest in Aragorn comes from the same feeling – she is interested in him as a great captain and because he is "high and puissant", but in truth she barely knows him as a person.

But what has lead to Éowyn's unhappiness in the first place?

‘It is not always good to be healed in body. Nor is it always evil to die in battle, even in bitter pain. Were I permitted, in this dark hour I would choose the latter.’

Éowyn's story, for me, is also a story about a woman struggling with a deep depression. She has taken care of Théoden for a long time while he was ill, and whoever has taken care of a sick loved one knows how painful and exhausting this can be. Wormtongue's lies made it even worse, making her believe that "the House of Eorl was sunk in honour less than any shepherd’s cot". Her self-worth was basically non-existant. When she no longer had to care for Théoden's health, she yearned to gain some self-worth for herself and her House, and became frustrated when when it seemed to her that men were given that opportunity that she was banned from.

When she joined the Rohirrim, she did not do it out of selflessness nor to sacrifice her life in the line of duty. She was desperate because she saw no other option in life, and hoped that at least with her death she could improve her own worth. But not even killing the Witchking could change her own image of herself or undo Wormtongue's lies. The glory she gained in battle did not giving her life actual meaning or purpose.

'I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren.'

I have seen people who are upset about Éowyn's "change of heart" in the end – that she now longer wants to be a fighter but a healer instead. But I think often the true meaning behind this is ignored. This is not about a woman going back to doing woman-things after having been a fighter before. This is about Éowyn finding new purpose in life, beyond dying for glory. It's a sign of healing, it's about growth and rejecting the glorification of war. Famous healer's in Tolkien's work include Aragorn and Elrond, so it's not just a skill or occupation of minor importance and only reserved for women.

It's fitting that Faramir helps her with her healing. This is not about the love of a man changing Éowyn in any way, it's about what Faramir represents as a person: he is patient and kind, and he has no interest in war despite being rather famous as a captain of Gondor himself. And he shares some experiences with her that help them both to understand each other: they both went to war and did not expect to survive, both were hurt by the Nazgûl, and both lost their father figure in the war. Faramir is able to make Éowyn understand that glory and death and tragedy aren't necessary requirements for love and admiration. She is worthy of love and recognition because of who she is, not because of deeds of glory in war. And I think this is a beautiful end to her story.

One of the last moments between them I find to be very moving: Éowyn is worried about a potential marriage, fearing that the people of Gondor would call her a "wild shieldmaiden of the North" that needed to be tamed and if there was "no woman of the race of Númenor to choose" for Faramir. Her shaky sense of self-worth comes through, and inferiority complex towards the heirs of Númenor. Faramir assures her by kissing her while both stand on the walls "in the sight of many".

[hmvw2015]

Here’s the first preview of “Star Bound.”

Enjoy!

[o-we-whohunt]

"That face you made...

"I remember when Inohya looked at me like that. As if he had seen someone who had turned into a monster before his very eyes. We were together three moons by that time, and he came to deliver something from his mother to mine. At the time he walked in, Ophela had me tearing out the guts of a couerl to see what secrets were to be divined from it's passing."

There was a pause as Behna let out a chuckle and he at least stopped scrubbing his hands in the sink.

"It took seven nights and the sun reaching it's highest point for him to go near me, or let me touch him. I don't blame him just as I don't blame you. I wouldn't touch me either...

"...the thing my mother made of me."

@sun-courter

[genshingraphics]

Genshin Impact 2023 Birthday Artworks & Character Shorts (CN) - Sangonomiya Kokomi (late upload)