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  lost carcosa  ▷ writing storage

Postby lysander » Fri Jun 02, 2017 2:01 pm

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LOST  CARCOSA
W R I T I N G  S T O R A G E / P L E A S E D O N ' T  P O S T
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Re:  「 — ✲ lost carcosa — 」

Postby lysander » Sat Jun 03, 2017 3:24 pm

Last edited by lysander on Thu Sep 21, 2017 7:22 pm, edited 19 times in total.
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Postby lysander » Sat Jun 03, 2017 3:29 pm

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Last edited by lysander on Sat Mar 31, 2018 2:30 am, edited 4 times in total.
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golden bells

Postby lysander » Sat Jun 03, 2017 3:31 pm

    x


    「  golden bells // excerpt 」
    notes: something i wrote for something else a long ago.
    needed some samples so here we are! just a snippet of
    the full work (which isn't even done yet...)

    _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________



    Kaj sweeps away the crumbs from his shirt with the delicacy of an artist, Rafar thinks. In truth, it seemed that anything he did was wrought with such a gracefulness that one might assume he was royalty, at first glance. The only things to betray him were the very clothes he wore on his back— tattered, off-white, and worn from months of continuous travel. As Kaj always said, it never did him any good to waste money on new things if they were not broken. Rafar was sure he’d wear those rags until they quite literally began to fall off his body.

    Clapping his hands together, Kaj stands, stretching in satisfaction. “The bread was good today, don’t you think? I thought the poppy seed was a nice touch.”

    Rafar is still sitting down at the table as he watches. He only takes a sip from his canteen, eyes diverted— now zigzagging through the marketplace crowds as they pass by en masse. Kaj catches this, smiles a little, before leaning down to block his line of sight.

    “Hello. You’re deep in thought today.”

    There’s no avoiding those eyes of his, golden and sun-flecked. It’s almost embarrassing how much Rafar likes them. And to think that Kaj could be clueless to it all seemed to be the most impossible thing. How could someone so wise for his years be so completely oblivious when it came to his feelings?

    And yet, maybe it was yet another reason why Rafar could not bear to leave after months together. In retrospect, it was silly. He merely agreed to escort him from Arkaios to the next town over, in order to ensure the young man’s safety would not be compromised enroute— and yet, here he was, months later and miles away from his guard post at the palace.

    In truth, he was a deserter. He trained his entire life to assume a position of importance as a palace guard. All those hours toiling under the desert sun, skin nearly blistering with the heat, with water barrels propped against his back— solid and heavy. The burns underneath his feet from every step in the sand. And the endless meditation— priests chanting in harmony as Rafar would bite back his howls of pain, each crack of the whip demanding the same thing: clear your mind. breathe. rinse and repeat.

    All that, thrown away on a whim as soon as he saw him walk alone, hungry and tired, past the palace gates.

    “Are you thinking about the palace again?” Kaj asks, tilting his head to the side. “You know… I never did insist you come with me. That was entirely of your own volition.”

    Rafar plugs his canteen. No matter what he did, Kaj could read him like an open book. “No, I am not thinking of that, thank you very much.”

    “Well, you must certainly be thinking about something important. You had that look in your eyes again.”

    “That look?” Rafar asks.

    “You look like a lizard when you think too much.”

    “A lizard?”

    “A lizard.”

    Rafar looks absolutely unamused as he crosses his arms and reclines against the table. “Care to explain how I resemble a lizard?”

    Kaj taps his nose a few times with his index finger. “When lizards sit very still, they look like statues. Always wearing that serious expression on their faces.”

    “Lizards can’t make any other faces.”

    “Yes, and so they always look serious. Like you.”

    What a curious feeling. Rafar came to know it intimately— indignation, embarrassment, exasperation, adoration —all astir underneath his careful decorum. He would always turn away, make some show of annoyance, then Kaj would always laugh as if he knew that his companion secretly enjoyed his constant teasing. And he would not be wrong— Rafar did indeed turn away, and Kaj’s gentle laugh caught his ears like a string of bells in the wind.

    It seemed as if Rafar’s fate was inevitable: he was to fall madly, deeply in love.




    x
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the anarchist

Postby lysander » Sat Jun 03, 2017 4:40 pm

    x


    「  the anarchist // excerpt 1 」
    notes: cw: some violence and a death
    although it's not all that graphic! i hope it's not too violent ;;;;
    a novel project i'll probably never finish at this rate wwww


    _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________



    The clock struck twelve. Lilya Diallo listened to the bells chime, counting the seconds between each one. One, two, three, ring. One, two, three. She loved the bells. When she heard them, she could imagine the fireplace she and her sister gathered around in their childhood. The blistering cold under the tent. Huddling under blankets with what little clothing they had. And telling stories.

    Her sister loved to tell stories, she remembered. Stories crafted with the delicate artistry of a weaver, each thread a sentence and each sentence a world in which magic lived, thrived, and flourished. Places where their kind roamed free without fear. Where people danced upon staircases of water, walked cinder roads and their every breath spoke of life.

    In Koel, things were different. They lived in the outskirts before, in the slums that evaded the clergy’s watchful eye. But further inland, things changed— structures sprung out of the permafrost like trees, pointing their jagged edges towards the sky, as if threatening it to never fall apart. They seemed to lean forward, over her when she walked the streets. It reminded her of how the clergy looked when she was small— tall men, pale as death, dressed in long black robes.

    She hated Koel with all her heart. She hated the footsteps of soldiers, the sound of cavalry making their rounds. The silence. The occasional cry. She hated the ground on which their king walked, each step cursing the dirt beneath it. And oh, how she hated the king.

    “Lilya,” said the king. “The towels, for god’s sake?”

    She bowed her head. “Forgive me, my lord. I will fetch them immediately.”

    She left the room, heart drumming quietly in her chest. They prepared for this day extensively. Working her up the ranks through a series of strings pulled taut. And how little the king knew how few allies he truly had— the entire council had their eyes on her and she knew they were waiting. They waited years for this. Decades. Far too long.

    In the service room, they were already prepared. Another maid nodded to her in greeting, leaning in close as Lilya entered. “It’s between the folds. You’ll feel it,” she whispered. Lilya nodded. She ran her fingers underneath the first towel, running the scenario through her head. He could retaliate. She was agile, but not strong— and the king could easily overpower her. She imagined straddling his corpse, panting, with blood spattered on her dress and on the opalescent tiles. It would be a death sentence regardless.

    She didn’t care.
    She was ready.

    She held her breath as she walked down the halls, back to the baths where the king reclined against the edge of the pool. The room was hot; moisture hit her face as she opened the door, the smell of salts and lavender flowing around her. She took off her shoes, stepping into the shallow layer of water that washed the floor, then walked towards the king. Slowly. Deliberately. Her hands trembled, one holding the towels, the other hidden— tucked between them.

    The king opened one eye, glancing at her before closing it again. “You look pale, Lilya.”

    “Felt a bit faint earlier, m'lord. I promise you it is nothing to worry about.”

    “That’s what I like to hear. Now, please, would you?” He rolled his shoulders, groaning. “Here.”

    She pulled her maid stool over, placing the towels in her lap as she sat behind the king. With a gentle touch, she caressed his neck, let her hand slide down to his neck, then shoulders. She kneaded the muscle there, tightly knotted, and felt the tension melt slowly. The king relaxed, closing his eyes once again.

    And oh so quietly, Lilya drew her knife. There was no struggle. The king choked. Lilya pushed his head down into the water.
    Blood blossomed underneath the king’s body. She dropped her knife and stood. Stepped back.

    And ran.




    x
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kalesys tryout

Postby lysander » Sat Jun 03, 2017 11:00 pm

    x


    「  kalesys // sample post 」
    notes: for my kalon entry here!


    _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


    It's hard to find another kalon quite like Kalesys. Their bright demeanor, although more than amiable and friendly, can often be a little overwhelming— not to mention the fact their infectious curiosity for the natural world around them tends to get them into stickier situations than they'd like. Still, nothing seems to get in Kale's way; sometimes rash, sometimes clever, and always quick on their feet, Kale possesses a tenacity that is hard to beat. Fueled by their passion for learning, they are the first to try new things and their hobbies and obsessions tend to change faster than the wind. Yet, despite that, the depth of Kale's interest usually leads them to become at least somewhat proficient in anything they try their hand in. They might be very, very lucky, indeed.

    Of course, Kale has their faults just as anyone does. Their boundless energy and excitement can lead to poor judgment, and Kale's ability to read others is trying at best. Additionally, their confidence can make them cocky and snarky more often than not. They can be oblivious, insensitive, and irritable when they do not understand others' points of view. In fact, Kale can't understand why everyone can't be more like them— because they're convinced of their own greatness and believe everyone ought to be just as happy as they are. Because of this, Kale can often be blunt to the point of hurting others, even if this is not their intention. Perhaps worse still is that Kale rarely apologizes for their words or actions— they hate being wrong, and will argue their reasoning until the other party gives up. In this way, Kalesys still has a lot of maturing to do— because as experienced and richly-lived they might be, they can be very naive when it comes to relationships.

    They love to travel more than anything. Kale has an insatiable wanderlust that sends them to places far away and unknown, often leaving home for months at a time only to show up again randomly, usually with interesting artifacts and souvenirs in tow. They love to hoard interesting objects they find on their travels and to eat new foods, meet new people, or do whatever else their heart tells them to do. Kale wears their heart on their sleeve, and tends to be trusting of others and optimistic about their intentions; However, betray Kalesys and they will be scathingly merciless in their judgment and their words. Wrong them, and they will remember for a lifetime.


    --

    it'd always been kale's motto that what didn't kill you only made you stronger. of course, there were exceptions to the rule as with anything, but as far as kale was concerned it worked in almost all situations... for them at least. that being said, kale couldn't decide if the pickle they were in fell into the latter half of the sentence or the former— because whether or not this cobra would make them stronger seemed to be completely depended on kale's ability to avoid getting bitten in the first place.

    it'd been their mistake to volunteer for an experiment that, for some reason, involved snake venom. the prospect of wrangling a cobra like in all the movies seemed pretty cool at first, but it occurred to kale a little too late that they did not actually know anything about snake handling. it couldn't be too hard, right? snakes were just tubes with fangs after all— no arms or legs or anything that could reach out and grab you, so kale figured they could wing it.

    bad idea.
    for two reasons, actually.

    the first reason had to do with kale's lack of experience, but the other, perhaps more important reason was that they completely underestimated the size of the cobra they were supposed to abduct. it was no ordinary cobra— instead of a regular-sized snake waiting in a little hole, kale came across a huge, gaping cave. its darkness practically swallowed the sound of kale's footsteps as they tentatively traveled further in.

    this is where kale probably should've noticed the red flags. alas, the pursuit of knowledge was too tempting a fruit for kale to back out now. after all, this snake was supposed to provide their client with valuable samples that could be used to create antivenoms, medicine, all kinds of wonderful things.

    it was those thoughts that carried kale's feet through the darkness, and now, merely fifteen minutes after first entering the cave, they found themselves blinking incredulously at a pair of huge, glowing yellow eyes blinking right back at them. kale swallowed dryly.

    the things they did for science.




    x
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2s sample

Postby lysander » Mon Jun 05, 2017 4:23 am

    x


    「  2s sample // roleplay post 」
    notes: sci-fi character starter based heavily on nier:a...
    i think 2s is confirmed in canon though so i might
    need to give him a different number www


    _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________



    The crash left 2S’ frame wracked with pain. It was incredible what advanced technology allowed faux-neural networks to transmit such an unpleasant sensation to his processor, but even then 2S was glad just to still be in one piece. It couldn’t be helped that he was an older model— his generation, marked on the back of his neck along with his model type —was 2. A second generation scout unit, sent on what was supposed to be a simple recon and data-collecting mission. All the later models were currently tasked with responsibilities that were higher up the chain of priority, so routine tasks like these often fell to older, obsolete models.

    Still, he couldn’t complain much. He’d wanted to come back to see the Earth after decades in stasis back at the bunker. Just, he didn’t expect to be attacked so soon after approaching his target site. Machine gun fire came out of nowhere, along with the sound of static— something trying to jam his flight unit.

    Then, the descent downwards. He was supposed to rendezvous with another soldier on the surface, then work jointly to complete their mission. As system malfunctions flashed warnings across his display, 2S couldn’t help but wonder if this was how his life was going to end. Of course, they had his backup memories back at the base, but dying was never a pleasant experience. Why androids could feel pain, he didn’t quite understand.

    He woke up days later, next to the debris of what used to be his flight unit. One of its wings jutted out of the ground a good fifty meters away from him. Surrounding the crash site were huge, towering trees— the product of centuries untouched by humankind. The canopy above him seemed to whistle with the wind. A flock of birds passed overhead, their cries breaking the near-silence in the forest.

    2S stood, groaning as his joints creaked. He could feel the loosening bolts and metal inside him, aching with every attempt to move. He needed maintenance, as soon as possible, but… he tried accessing his communications with no success. The program refused to boot up, most likely due to physical damage to his internal memory chip. As is, there was no way 2S could contact anyone at all.

    At length, he sat back down with difficulty, dusting off his standard-issued uniform. It seemed like he had little choice but to stay here for the time being. Yet, despite everything, he couldn’t help but feel… lucky. Around him were the tell-tale signs of life he never had the pleasure of seeing back in space. Flowers rose from the ground with delicate petals, as white as the surface of the moon— no. Not quite. The moon never looked quite as bright as these flowers did in the sunlight. Unlike the space station, the terrain on Earth was so different— grass and moss covering every surface, and all the sights and smells and wonderful things that 2S had the privilege of researching…

    To die here wasn’t so bad, he thought.




    x
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alex sample 1

Postby lysander » Mon Jun 05, 2017 4:33 am

    x


    「  alex sample 1 // roleplay sample 」
    notes: cw;; alcohol mention
    it's mostly about dogs though. boy. i love alex so much.


    _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________



    “…”

    Alex looked at the picture.

    He looked at the picture for a long time, with a glass in one of his hands, a bottle of cognac in the other, and one confused customer blinking at him as he continued to look at the picture.

    It was a picture of two puppies. Two shiba inus. Factually, they were very intelligent dogs, which made them popular splicing choices for the canine-inclined. But another thing about them was that they were really [censored] cute. And Alex, being a dog person (and also a tiny bit dog himself) loved dogs, which by extension meant he loved shiba inus.

    His expression did not change as he looked at the picture. Nor did he stop looking as he poured the cognac into the glass and finally slid it over to the customer, who mumbled an awkward thank you in return. At length, Alex finally pulled his eyes away, staring somewhere at the wall with an unchanging expression.

    “…Very cute.”

    That was all there was to say on the matter.
    Except. Not at all.

    “While I like shibas,” he started, taking another order without missing a beat, “I prefer larger dogs myself. Something sturdier, larger, more befitting an active lifestyle and one that would warrant a large estate in which to get it run. I do like spitz in general, so shibas rank a higher on the list than a dog such as a chihuahua, for example, but compared to its much bigger relative, the akita inu, I would have to pick the latter for its sheer size difference.”

    Trace didn’t realize it, but with a single picture he’d opened the flood gates of hell.

    “Of course, taking coats into account, I prefer dogs with more varied coloration. Akitas are wonderful dogs, very intelligent, feisty, and independent, but I also enjoy russian borzois for their odd, but endearing skull shape and their gorgeous fur— and, on top of that, they’re very active animals as well, which I believe is an important quality for a dog to have. Though, I’m not sure how fastidious they are. Cleanliness is an important factor.”

    “But I think I can overlook messes if such a dog is amiable in nature. Friendly dogs are the best kind of dogs. I do prefer the kinds that are very open about their emotions— the ones that greet you with lots of energy at the front door, for example. They are straight-forward which makes it much easier on someone like me, because I don’t have to guess at how they are feeling, or otherwise worry about their emotional well being. It’s funny, because dogs can’t talk, and yet they seem to communicate better than some people do…”

    “But, I think,” Alex continued, seemingly unaware of the fact that he was on one of his rambling stints again, “that the best dog is a siberian husky. And I am not saying that because I happen to be somewhat genetically similar to one. I believe huskies are the superior dog breed because they possess all the traits I find attractive in a canine. For example, they are aesthetically pleasant to look at, with their lovely black and white fur, sharp eyes, and stately posture. But, in addition, they are very playful, loving, friendly, silly…”

    He trailed off a little, seemingly distracted with thoughts of love.

    “I love huskies.” Alex mumbled at length, soon realizing that half the bar’s population just heard him think out loud.
    He turned a very obvious shade of pink.

    And with that, Alex’s entire life was over. That was it. It was over. Gone. Good bye. Sayonara. Leave the funeral arrangements to his mother— Alex was too busy grieving the untimely death of his dignity.

    “Oh god,” he breathed. “Did I just say all that in public.”




    x
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keith sample 1

Postby lysander » Mon Jun 05, 2017 4:42 am

    x


    「  keith sample 1 // post-apoc 」
    notes: uuhhh this might be a teeny bit graphic!
    an rp starter with my favorite boooy


    _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________



    Keith didn’t know what it felt like to feel anymore.

    The blast that swept across his city and destroyed it in one fell swoop left the remnants of a life he once knew, from a time that seemed like entire eternities ago. The skeletal remains of buildings stood in the wake of ruin, with cement and brick and debris strewn everywhere like blocks from a child’s playroom. Among the rubble Keith could remember seeing far too many bodies to count. Some dead, killed immediately by the impact of the blast, and yet others still alive.

    He saw a man get crushed to death underneath the weight of a toppled 16-wheeler. Sometimes in his sleep Keith can still hear the wet sound of his bones cracking between the truck and asphalt. The smell of gasoline and blood mixing together would not leave his mind for weeks, nor did the memory of his final hour before the explosion.

    Keith remembered being outside. It was a Friday afternoon. It was routine for him to take a walk downtown to pick up an after school snack before heading home for dinner. He’d go to the local T-mart and grab a soda, then stroll through the business district where all the mom and pop shops were, then he’d say hi to the locals, catch up, make small talk, and occasionally help a kindly old woman with her grocery shopping before he returned home. That particular Friday, he stalled longer than usual, catching a late bus on the way back, then —

    — everything went dark.

    Retroactively he could recall the ear-shattering noise of wheels screeching and glass shattering. He remembered his body being thrown from his seat with such force he felt like he’d been tossed like a rag doll. But he could not remember these things in the moments right after he woke up.

    When Keith opened his eyes, the sky was red. A huge plume of smoke seemed to mushroom out of the horizon. He air was scalding hot and he nearly choked on the scent of ash filling his lungs.

    It took a moment for him to realize that his entire neighborhood had been wiped off the map.

    Against his better judgement, he went back. He walked the remainder of the way home, limping with a sprained ankle and bruises marring his body. He could feel glass cuts leaking blood into his shirt. He refused to stop. And when he made it back, there was nothing left of his house except the imprint of the floor he used to walk on so many times before. Everything else had been vaporized immediately.

    He could not think of the unthinkable. Whatever family he had before the bomb was buried miles deep underneath the debris in his mind. He did not think about them — could not think about them. Like clockwork, his thoughts switched immediately to survival. He left the radiation zone, propelled forward by some force that wasn’t his own. His movements felt mechanical, but he didn’t think much of it.

    No. He didn’t think much at all. It was sheer instinct that made his feet move — the drive to live. What for, though?
    Keith supposed that was the question he had to find the answer for.

    He’d taken up shelter at one of the abandoned warehouses still left standing in the city. Scavenging what he could find, he managed to collect a few cans of food as well as a handful of items. First, plastic jug. He used this for collection what little clean water he could find. Next was an old blanket, for the nights when the hoodie he’d been wearing for two weeks now wasn’t enough. Third, a lighter. Keith avoided using it as much as possible, just in case of an emergency. And, finally, he still had his pocket knife on him since the day of the bombing. It proved to be an indispensable ally in acquiring and crafting things.

    The first few days were hard. He could not relax — not after what he witnessed. He ripped his tank top into makeshift bandages to stabilize his ankle and tie the cuts on his arms. He then tried to look for others — help them, if he could. But everyone alive in the city seemed to have vanished somehow. They were either running away from the radiation, or they were already dead.

    Keith knew he should follow suit. Find what he could and move on to another location, far away from the sickness-inducing radium that contaminated the city grounds. But somehow, he could not bring himself to. Instead, he waited. He broke into abandoned stores and only took what he immediately needed, spending the rest of his time curled up in the warehouse corner. He tried to sleep. Couldn’t. Bags formed under his eyes soon enough, and the sting of his untreated wounds along with the high dosage of radiation he received were all taking a toll on his body.

    At the top of the warehouse, Keith had enough sense to spell out an SOS message using whatever he could find — old tarp, bottles, used cans, whatever. If someone was out there looking for survivors, they had to see him too. That was, if anyone was still out there looking at all. Hunched with his back to the warehouse corner, he had a knee pulled to his chest — the other leg with his sprained ankle lay straight, and he let his head rest on the adjacent wall.

    Whatever feelings he should’ve been feeling vacated his body two weeks ago. All he wanted to do now was sleep.

    Keith closed his eyes.



    x
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jonah sample 1

Postby lysander » Mon Jun 05, 2017 4:48 am

    x


    「  jonah sample 1 // ancient magus bride au 」
    notes: oh man i looove this au so much...
    jonah's a little different in this but still the same @ the core ;w;


    _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________



    “Cassius…”

    Jonah repeated the boy’s name, as if testing the syllables out on his lips. “Cassius. That’s a wonderful name. Much better than a number.”

    It occurred to the magus that Cassius was probably beyond confused at his situation at the moment. It was true; wizards were not particularly well known for being kind. Jonah himself had witnessed the cruelty of the more power-hungry, selfish sort, who may have used Cassius for purposes Jonah could only begin to imagine. It was probably about time he explained himself, he thought.

    “So, as to why you’re here today,” Jonah started, taking a seat at the desk. “First of all, I have no intention of harming you. I’m a pacifist, and I would really like to keep it that way.”

    Between his sentences, a little snap of Jonah’s fingers opened up the dresser drawers, from which a change of clothing materialized and floated towards Cassius. “Unfortunately, you do lose all your rights as a human being once you’ve entered the wizarding world in this way— that is, as merchandise. I don’t like it myself, but the demand for living goods is so profitable that the International Federation of Magic likes to turn a blind eye. Although, I can’t say I would’ve been able to find you myself had you not been put up for auction, so I’m guilty as well.”

    Reaching into his pocket, Jonah pulled out a pair of reading glasses, putting them on as he conjured up the contract he had waiting on his desk in his study. A quill pen appeared next to it. “The reason why you’re here is because I need an apprentice… sort of. Actually, your job description is something like a fusion of apprentice, body guard, errand-runner, house maid, and, well. Erm.”

    He cleared his throat, looking away a little sheepishly. “It’s pretty quiet here, you know, living by myself and all.”

    “Of course, I probably could have hired any young mage, but… I have a very specific problem.”

    It was a problem Jonah himself didn’t understand well. Every so often, in his dreams, he’d find himself in a series of dark corridors. A black labyrinth of shadow and of silence so thick it felt impenetrable. Yet, he’d still feel something in the darkness there with him. Something following him, watching him. A fear that felt so familiar, but he could never figure out its source. And in those hallways he would run until he could run no more— until the ground below him vanished and he found himself plummeting into the abyssal black.

    He would always wake up before he hit the ground.

    He’d been to shamans, witches, many different specialists. Some said that it might have something to do with his uncontrollable output of magic, but there were no discernible links between the dream and his condition otherwise. Yet others dismissed him, saying that sometimes dreams were just that— dreams.

    But surely something had to account for the large gap in his memory. Still, Cassius didn’t need to know the details.

    “I have a condition where I produce far more magic than I can use safely. It’s lead to unexpected flare ups, not unlike those of the slay vega. I thought that, since you’re able to absorb ambient energy, that maybe we could… I don’t know. Figure something out?”

    He didn’t mention the money and instructions sent from the mysterious benefactor. Best not to complicate things too much on the first day.

    “So, um… I’ll teach you how my business works, then… you can live here. And you’ll be free to do things, provided you come back and don’t leave me with a nearly four million pound hole in my pocket. If that sounds alright with you, then… sign this contract. I promise it’s not enchanted— I won’t make you do it if you don’t want to. Although, that would leave me in a very bad place, haha. Still, you do get legal protection as my ward this way, so… It might also work out in your favor.”

    Goodness. He talked way too much.




    x
Last edited by lysander on Mon Jun 19, 2017 5:16 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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