#event:01.

[brooksfeldmcn]

— who: anyone — when: Street Fair — where: Outside The Tin Roof

Walking through the fair, Brooks felt a little bit like he was back in Massachusetts. Crowds of people enjoying live music, hanging out on sidewalks surrounded by food stalls and small businesses. The only thing reminding him that he was not in fact back home was the heat. He tried walking out of his apartment in his lucky sweatshirt, desperate for every ounce of luck he could get for his first performance in the city he now called home later on, and immediately went back inside to swap it out for something else as soon as he felt the humidity. So now, he was walking through the streets of Nashville in his hand me down Hyannis Fire Department tshirt, which was just as lucky, having a grand old time with a beer in his hand, when someone spotted him.

Brooks Feldman loved meeting his fans, taking pictures and listening to how they connected to his music, but as this particular group walked away, he couldn't help but chuckle. Grabbing his beer off the spot on the ground he placed it before, he shoved dark curls out of his eyes as he looked at the person next to him. "It's always a little weird to me when peopel say they want to get my handwriting tattooed on them, y'know?" he said, taking a swig from the can in his hand. "Like I got shitty handwriting...that's going to be permanent."

[vvielder-blog]

♔ — NOT SO MICKEY MOUSE CLUBHOUSE

'Overwhelming' isn't even the half of it. That said, he's used to this. He's long-accustomed to nights where they just don't stop coming from each and every angle, where nothing but the blade between gloves faced with friction and the remains of shadows makes sense. And it's okay, because he's capable of adapting, sure… but that doesn't take away from the severity of it. Having a fiancé is nothing he should make light of, even if that just increases the chance of him doing so. One of his coping methods is exactly that - mitigating pressure and letting it drip away. Such is the way of the sea and its danger on soft sands. 

But losing the keyblade for a second time around racks him with spiked nostalgia, aching underneath his skin. Because the person he's going to in his time of confusion is the only one ever proven capable of sleuthing it right out from under his nose. This is behind them - naturally - as the composition of his bones are forgiveness and oblivion's favorite pastime. But he doesn't forget the eerie absence that grapples him with a faint fever dream. A nightmare? Either way, it's not the most positive essence, but he can tolerate it. Grin and bear it. All very typical processes. 

He tries once more just outside the doorframe, to summon his weapon and call it forth with all the faith in his body. It doesn't come, and his fist closes too-tightly, shoved in his pocket as a moment for safekeeping. All he knows is this, and the inevitable fear of being bare, weaponless and without magic, has him blinking for a moment at the doormat. What if he's alone in this? 

What if… Riku still has Way to Dawn? And he's left empty-handed with ceaseless upcoming risks in their near future? (It might not be weakness, but it's close enough, and he wishes it away with eyes shut briefly before seven paced knocks, inspiring a familiar musical sequence in the back of his head. By the time it cracks open, his grin is spread from cheek to cheek. Sheepish, perhaps, for the confession he's about to make, but typical enough as to avoid rousing suspicion. 

"Some day, huh?" As if he'd ask if he was intruding, the absentminded boy weaving to the side and into the other's home. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

[vvielder-blog]

♔ — UN'S NEXT TOP KEYBLADER

So far, the best he can do is set any unease aside - stress and worry and immediate panic won't do him any good, not here. This place is brimming with surprises, experiments and attempts of all kinds to make the new world work. Really, he's okay with that… if the worlds need peace (as far as his eyes have been capable of seeing, there's not a heartless or nobody in sight) and this is the only way, so be it. To sum it up quickly and quietly, everyone has lost something dear to their hearts, and the brunet doesn't want anything to do with contributing to more heartache. Any of his internalized struggles can come second, being less of a priority - that's okay, too. 

Even so, that hardly means when he catches another someone fiddling with something that looks all too similar that he won't react with an 'o' for a mouth and saucers for eyes. It's not his keyblade, that much is for sure, but he has seen it on a few less than promising occasions. Discerning it as a belonging of his best friend's with a furrowed brows, he realizes it's best to close any distance between himself and the stranger… even if it is pure coincidence. 

Most members of Organization Thirteen would be quick to say that the benefit of the doubt is nowhere near his strongest suit - all who he eliminated without a second thought for a greater good… a cause he didn't doubt with any sensitivity. They'd say he doesn't think, that he's not capable of doing any of that for himself because of each black and white realm he sees in, moral grayness miles away. But this light-haired other isn't donning a black coat, nor is their skin inky black. What could he possibly have to worry about?

His approach isn't slow - it definitely isn't steady, and he doesn't clear his throat in warning. "Uh, hey there!" It's a miracle his voice doesn't crack, but his gut isn't emanating any unsettling vibes. No point in making harsh assumptions. "Sorry to interrupt - you wouldn't happen t'know where you found that, would you?" Or… where it originates? Or if it belongs to someone else?

Oh, that's right; he should introduce himself! "I'm Sora."