#event * proxy

[arsnova]

It had been a sweet dream. That was all that filled his empty chest when he woke, unfamiliar bed and unfamiliar ceiling his first and only companions. But with the sunlight it fades and whatever hazy dreams had warmed him had fled elsewhere, never to return. Alas, but Solomon is not disappointed; has never tasted such a thing before, and will likely not during his time here. 

Instead, he turns his eyes to the room and the personable items scattered about it. Let’s see-- idols, and strange items; a large humming box on the desk and a mountainous amount of tomes. A well-read person lives here. Perhaps a mage.

The door creaks and the sound of footfalls just beyond pause. Solomon’s honey gaze rises off of the text he’s flicking through, deft fingers pausing.

“Hello.” His soft is soft but fills the room nevertheless, gaze sharp but empty of anything. “Would this be you room?”

@hopeled​

[arsnova]

This isn’t a story of hope. It could be a tale of love, like a sad longing and an unfortunate end met by all parties; a love that doesn’t die but perhaps stagnates over time. What it is is this, however: an unfortunate circumstance neither would ask for. Roman certainly wouldn’t wish this on anyone, but Roman’s not here right now. No, there is someone else in his place - still Roman, but not quite. Go back some years before the Grail, before the War, long before Chaldea, and you’ll find his roots. 

Go back and you’ll find Solomon.

But now you needn’t look hard, for here is Solomon in all his ( empty ) glory. Seated oh so comfortably, a look of bland interest across his face. His mouth tip upwards to a smile, albeit hollow in some strange way. 

“That’s quite the change in appearance.

“Human Order Correct Ritual.”

@exousiate​

[arsnova]

There’s an odd focus to Solomon’s gaze as he looks down upon this girl. The entire morning has been a strange one - a feeling of nostalgia he can’t quite shake. And this girl is no different, nameless and unknown as she is, she manages to catch and keep his attention above all else. 

“Hmm. Poor eyesight...” The way she’d simply ran into him was enough of giveaway. He should be elsewhere, doing something about the current situation, but he kneels and considers the way she squints and blinks at the world around her instead.

It’s not quite a memory - not really remembrance - but somehow he knows exactly what she needs. A twist of his hand and, like magic, a pair of glasses take form. “Try these and tell me how they are.”

@castilium​

[arsnova]

There’s a title attached to Solomon’s name, and it calls him the King of Magic. Yet it seems that magic remains scarce here for a reason he can’t quite discern. But it’s of no real concern, insofar as he cares. The aura of a mage remains, and thus is draws in all sorts; the curious and the careful; the human and the not. 

“Magic is within my purview, yes. Evocation and familiars are my standard, though many would call them other names. Demons, for instance, though they are fine as any other.” He speaks of them almost fondly, like pets, despite how monstrous they could be. “A feat for a human, or so I’m told.”

He blinks slow at the other, a disarming smile at play. “Your magic would be something else, however. That’s easy enough to discern. Do you care to share?”

@festire​

[arsnova]

That thin veil of nostalgia and knowing lightens for but a moment. He’s met so many interesting people in the span of only a few hours - so many like ghosts, as if he knows them almost intimately, but the knowledge escapes him still. This one is different, however. There’s that passing feeling of knowing, but nowhere as deep. Something else lingers over him, but even that falls flat.

And so Solomon simply blinks, as if this is all nothing. “No, I don’t believe we’ve met before,” comes out almost dispassionately. “Do I know you? Am I meant to?”

@amelserru​

[arsnova]

A ghost shaped like nostalgia has hung precariously over his shoulder since waking. Yet every time Solomon turns to catch it, even confront it, though it’s never been within his nature to, it escapes just beyond the periphery. Perhaps it’s best he remains ignorant - maybe this, too, is simply another plan from Him, spoken with less words than usual. Solomon doesn’t question it. He’s never questioned it. 

( Maybe he should, maybe now it the best time for such things. )

So he lingers in areas rife with that not-quite-nostalgia, quietly soaking it in; never quite questioning it. Beneath one verdant tree, the petal soft shades of drawn, he finds the nicest feeling of-- something. A touch, a tickle; he’s not sure himself, but it’s warm and gentle in a way few things are. 

“This place is so very interesting. Like I’ve seen it in a dream before,” so he says to the other ghost, loitering in the shadows of the grand branches. There should be a laugh here, but it’s all silence instead. “Would you say the same about this city, I wonder?” 

@junaou​

[arsnova]

The exact details that lead to this affair are perhaps best left unknown. But for now, here is Solomon and a child - Gilgamesh, as he’d so cordially introduced himself as - at a diner, enjoying all the niceties that this strange land will afford them. Paying is of no consequence apparently, given Solomon’s wealth ( or so he assumes, but little does he know ). 

The menu tells tales never seen before, and the tea they brew stuck to the tongue in the most delightful ways. And of course--

“The pancakes are very good. Would you care for some too, Gil?” The plat that sits in front of the King is horrifying in its size, but he continues on regardless. Questions of who and why and where are left by the wayside, under a river of syrup and tea. Perhaps that’s for the best, for both of them.

@deepsought​