` sonder [ drop-in roleplay ]

[Saxhleel]

Ｎｉｎａ Ｈｏｐｋｉｎｓ
●▬ ▬ ▬ ▬๑♙♟๑▬ ▬ ▬ ▬●
Currently;In the Florist Tags;  Vice Cordova

Nina did seem rather puzzled by his last name, though not for it's femininity. It just didn't sound very American to her. More, Russian? or at least eastern Europe, because of the 'va' sound at the end...maybe it was just stereotyping. But who was she to dictate the giving of last names. Maybe she was jealous, Hopkins was a little boring. She withdrew her hand and slid it into the deep pockets of her parka, gently rubbing her thumb over her key rings. "Vice is an odd name, Where did you get that?" she asked curiously, beaming him another grin. By the end of the day, she was quite sure that her cheeks would be hurting. She was flashing her teeth like a barbie doll and her usually neutral cheeks were already crying out in protest.

((what to?))

[tiredrobin]

╔xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx╗

Robin Kaehn

☁ ☂ ☁ ☂ ☁ ☂ ☁

androgynous • they/them pronouns

19

Panromantic Asexual

Tagged • n/a

╚xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx╝

Robin wasn't sure what others thought of the London weather (though they had heard of plenty of complaints), but they themselves enjoyed it. It was nice to wake up to gentle patterings on the window, and walking through rain was a gift. They could see it's lack of appeal— grey skies, getting wet, that gross mildew smell that came when clothes weren't washed in time— but Robin didn't let those things bog down their mood. If anything, the thick clouds hanging overhead helped them relax. It was easier to forget about staring eyes when they were focused more on weather of their preference.

Robin wished that it had been raining long enough this morning for them to have seen some of it, but alas, the weather was clear— er, as clear as it could be. Their gaze swept the streets, and then their artists eye caught sight of one building that, though no different than the rest, caught their attention. They were no architect, but as an avid fan of background artistry, they couldn't help but notice certain angles and structures of buildings that set off some urge to recreate the image.

They might have stopped right there to find a place to sit and draw that otherwise ordinary construction, but the light weight of their basket in hand ruined any such dreams. Milk and eggs, it reminded Robin, and maybe some tea. Or coffee.

A lot of the time they had the goods delivered to them, especially because of their arm, but they didn't like feeling helpless and often went to get whatever it was they needed for themselves. Which they really should just do, instead of standing there and staring dumbly at a building. Robin made sure to set down their basket and snap a picture of the place with their phone for future reference before continuing on their way, ignoring any looks they got.

The trip to the small corner store was fast. A walk to the isle with the milk, to another to the eggs, a two minute browsing of whatever tea's they had before finally settling with what they liked to call "Elephant Tea" (earl grey), and they were done. The walk back to their apartment went smoothly, and as soon as they had their perishables situated away they were heading out again, this time to the nearest cafe. It was nice; not too crowded, but busy, and the wait in line to order wasn't as long as they expected for this time of morning. As soon as they had what they wanted, Robin bee-lined for the farthest corner table, settling down and placing sketchbook and coffee onto it as a sort of "Sorry, not enough room" type of claim, even though there was enough space for someone else to utilize. Without farther ado they began sketching out the building on their phone, paying no mind to the world around them.

[interrobang]

Ooh, Seattle was really not in the mood for this right now. Not that he was typically a very understanding person, but today particularly was just not a good day for him. And it was not unusual that Seattle let his temper get the better of him. Unfortunately that meant the people around him were usually the victims of his displaced emotions. "Clearly you weren't paying attention, because if you were, you would've seen me. I'm not hard to miss." His tone was very emphatic, maybe even just short of yelling. His eyes were wide, and the fact that one was blue and the other brown made him look even more riled than he already was. He sighed, taking a long, deep breath, trying to channel the exercises he'd been taught in the one anger management class he'd attended.

"Listen..." Geez, he was really bad at this. Then again, he wasn't very good at most human interactions. "I'm not having the best day." At this point his gaze had fallen to the sidewalk. For one brief moment he glanced back up at the girl, making eye contact for one brief moment. Looking away, without another word, he took a step to the side and brushed past her to continue down his path.

[selenite.]

hannah winston || nineteen
the sidewalks were quiet, well, for the most part. hannah had originally run out from her apartment to do come convenience shopping in the highstreet. however, the soft pattering of cool rain had stopped her and caused her to take shelter under the canopy of a dimly lit flower shop. as she stood there breathing in the aroma of the tiny flowers from the window box outside she caught someone walk down the street and slip into the coffee shop along with a few others on their trail. nothing too out of the norm. she spotted a pair of friends walking out of the shop, it made her heartache and she looked down at the wet pavement below her. there was nothing she wanted more than to go back to the states, her best friend was there.
yelling at just got her attention, she looked up at a boy and a girl who seemed to be arguing. taking a clue from what the boy had said it was probably because one had bumped into the other. the boy seemed overly angry. just as the boy started walking away she caught herself from starting anyore and dropped her gaze to the wet, petal covered, sidewalk.

[acacia.]

───────x────────
ＶＩＣＥ
⚪⚪⚪
ＣＯＲＤＯＶＡ
───────x────────

.........male
.........twenty-two
.........tagged: nina

⚪⚪⚪"Actually, my mom got my name from her high school crush... Kinda weird, but eh," he shrugged. Of course, that was one of the things his mother only told him after she divorced. "Is there anything special about Nina?" The blonde countered with a grin. He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to tell her, but her name only reminded him of his friends mom. It definitely wasn't a bad thing; that woman made the best enchiladas he's ever had in his life, but he decided she probably wouldn't appreciate it.

(really short but i have serious writers block. anywho, want to maybe timeskip to the pub?)

[Saxhleel]

Ｎｉｎａ Ｈｏｐｋｉｎｓ
●▬ ▬ ▬ ▬๑♙♟๑▬ ▬ ▬ ▬●
Currently;Outside the FloristTags; Vice Cordova

Nina was unable to catch and hide the soft chuckle she gave when he explained his name. Though it wasn't her usual laugh. Which was hyena like, with soft 'oo' sounds and a definite predatory vibe to it. That laugh was normally when she was being mean, or at least, laughing at someone else's expense. This laugh was just a soft tinkle, genuinely amused in thinking that was sort of sweet.

After a pause to think, she shrugged in her large coat, the baggy material accentuating the gesture "My mother told me once it was Russian, and that it means strong or graceful. Which I suppose are the qualities she wanted me to grow up having. And I think I've done a decent job...But I don't think there was any emotional significance to it." She replied, seeming rather pleased with herself. Her ego had never been easily tarnished.

Nah it's fine, I didn't give you much to reply to. But sure feel free to skip to the pub.

[acacia.]

───────x────────
ＶＩＣＥ
⚪⚪⚪
ＣＯＲＤＯＶＡ
───────x────────

.........male
.........twenty-two
.........tagged: nina

⚪⚪⚪He raised his eyebrows. "Okay, so your name is definitely more meaningful than any others I've heard." A perfect example is Rob, a friend of his who got his name from a cereal brand mascot. Some parents...

xxxIt hadn't taken them that long to get there, but the cold made it seem like forever, even with a good conversation partner. Now the two sat at the bar, having only taken their seats seconds ago. Looking around, Vice felt like he stepped into the past. With the wood, leather, and ancient-looking wallpaper, there was no way he was in his own day and age. Though it certainly wasn't a glass-and-neon-sign club, he still managed to somehow like it. "So do you come here often?" Only a second too late did he realize his legitimate question was also a lame pick up line. He decided to grin and roll with it.

okay, i thought i replied to this, but then i didn't. sorry for the wait.

[Saxhleel]

Ｎｉｎａ Ｈｏｐｋｉｎｓ
●▬ ▬ ▬ ▬๑♙♟๑▬ ▬ ▬ ▬●
Currently;At the pub Tags; Vice Cordova

Nina had to dig her feet onto the wood paneling in front of them to keep herself still as she peeled her coat from her arms and rested it across her lap neatly. She wasn't the shortest woman ever, but small enough for her shoes to not quite touch the floor from their seat and she needed to stabilize herself somehow. She too liked the atmosphere in here. At this time of the morning it was mostly elderly citizens eating their breakfasts, and she preferred that type of crowd to those her own age, who just wanted to go out and get drunk for the sake of getting drunk, regardless what time of day it was.

She was unable to suppress the soft laugh that escaped her as she listened to his words. It was sort of sweet that he probably didn't mean that the way it came out. "I can't say I do." She began "I don't drink often unless I have a reason to, but I do come for the odd meal or whatever. But I come here enough to be confident that the food is nice." By meal she meant date, but didn't really want to mention those. "It's not very expensive either, so it's good for someone like me."

[chantesuta;]

▅▅▅▅▅▅ x_ t o n y a _ x▅▅▅▅▅▅

....................female
...................nineteen
..................tagged: n/a

▅▅▅▅▅▅ x _ tchiffely _ x ▅▅▅▅▅▅

Tonya opened her eyes. It was another dark day. She liked dark days.. it made her feel safe and cozy inside herself. She liked it when her hair fell close to her shoulders and protected her shoulders from the drizzling rain; it was an independent feeling. Not everyone will really understand that thought.. but anyway.

Pushing her hair back out of her face she crawled out of bed and stumbled to her diary. The orchestra was having an off day today and for the first time in many a day she felt just a bit free. Nothing made her feel more free than making music on her lovely German handmade violin, but there were some days that she felt like she wanted her own freedom. A freedom that not all the people in the orchestra felt, but what only she felt. A song she made herself; A freedom of her own. She smiled as she looked at the blank page in her diary that was otherwise filled with schedules from everything to rehearsals to lessons and all that long hours filled as a professional first violinist with the London Youth Orchestra. Today was a blank page waiting to be created. A new song waiting to be played.

After half an hour she was dressed in a slim fitting velvet red dress with long sleeves but only reached her knees. She had a red beanie on top of her plait that hang long behind her back. Her legs were dressed in brown stocking that matched her leather lace up ankle boots and a pretty black over coat with matching gloves made her look every bit the artist she was.

Right here, she smiled to herself as she took a place under a big old London plain tree right across a seemingly popular little coffee shop for shelter and took out her equipment. She began to play. A sweet melody that matched the rainy streets and seemed first flow, and then dissolve into the business of the London morning hours. She played for her family back home in Russia.. Her mother tending the nearby country school and working so hard as a single mom to two yet still small little sisters of her. Just a few more years, and they too will be grown up and flying across the world on their own journey. And she played for Tim.. her dearest of friends. Tim.. She sighed and stopped playing for a bit, looking out onto the streets full of souls and wondering how such a busy world could feel so lonely.

[tiredrobin]

╔xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx╗

Robin Kaehn

☁ ☂ ☁ ☂ ☁ ☂ ☁

androgynous • they/them pronouns

19

Panromantic Asexual

Tagged • n/a

╚xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx╝

Art is like music, in their opinion. It flows with its own notes and cues, lines falling into patterns like the rows of a melodic language. Sometimes it's harder to play, jotting keys not sinuous but stuttering, stopped up and so many mistakes ruining whatever effect they tried to create.

Today was an "eh" sort of day. They couldn't quite figure out how to put down certain lines, how to create that subtle hint of majesty for such an otherwise ordinary building, but it was passable at the very least. They wanted to blame the environment even as they appreciated the lively atmosphere, or to frame the table for being slightly rickety, or to charge the quiet background music with the crime of being too distracting, but they knew it was really just them. Still though, Robin worked through it until they had a light sketch and had laid out darker base lines to guide future inking, then moved onto another page. It was there when the art began to flow somewhat easier, because for them, people were always easier than backgrounds. It wasn't long before the page was taken up with (sometimes overlapping) light sketches of various poses.

For the first time in who knows how long, their gaze strayed from the people within the cafe to those without, and their eyes were immediately drawn to a figure dressed in red sitting beneath a large tree across the way, holding what they assumed to be a violin.

Perfect, was their first thought. And she was. No matter how many people passed the windows, they could still see the violinist beneath the tree, a tranquil picture, an image that had their fingers itching to move, to draw, to create. In their heads, they laughed, even as they began to shape out the base sketch. How ironic it felt, to have been thinking of music and notes when a violinist sat not even a hundred feet from them, playing tunes they couldn't, but wanted to, hear. Robin would've liked a closer view to better capture it onto paper, but they didn't dare to do so; some people didn't take kindly to being stared at by a one-armed stranger, which they understood quite well, so they had to settle with where they were.

When they looked up once more, they found that they had been too late in the uptake; she was done playing. No matter. They had the form, if not the image, and they had the inspiration. So they set to carefully carving out the rest, laying out curves and corners and what-have-you, working quickly yet carefully to hang onto that likeness before it faded from their memory. They would ink it soon, they knew, just as soon as they felt it looked complete enough.

Art is music, and drawing music is hard.