08-02-2016, 02:07 PM
ROMEK
Why, if he were thirty years younger perhaps he would also share their dilemma: his mother, once upon an age, had been so obsessed with just laying around and moping it had driven him to despair. And while she was mostly indifferent towards her little son, she had moments of almost guilty love, where she would draw him close (too close) and tell him how much she loved him, and how sorry she was and so on and so on until his ears were tired of hearing it.
So he’d turned to the dunes instead, and they filled his ears with sifting whispers of distant lands, and for quite a time he was happy, or, at least, he thought he was happy enough.
But that is all an age ago, and it is long gone, and now he is a man grown, with spots upon his back, and a face that is a good deal more handsome than his younger self’s. And he’s grown inside, too – his self loathing has developed into a pretty shade of sarcasm, and, well – these days? He finds himself singing to himself. Singing birdsong, or a babbling brook, or the rustle of leaves in a tree – whatever the music, he is fucking singing it because apparently all he needed to do was get out of the Deserts, out of those comforting heavy chains. Or perhaps it was Mari (although he still feels very hesitant about admitting to himself just how much he enjoys her company – its still a scary thing, opening yourself up). Warmer than the Desert sun, but with none of its scorch. Like she held a box of pleasant spring sunshine within herself, which shone through her skin, her golden hair.
The Forest, he realises, is a pretty place and very nice to be in. A fair bit nicer than the Meadow, he would say. And he had yet to meet someone here who had rubbed him the wrong way, which was rather unusual.
He is distracted from this (rather dull) train of thought by two waif-like children, one younger, one older, but both equally dirty and neglected-looking. He frowns, looking for their parents, but there is no-one around them, and Romek would judge that they are both far too young to be out on their own. Out on their own in the common lands, anyway, if this was the Playground it would be an entirely different matter. And perhaps its his own miserable upbringing, but he can’t help it, his heart goes out to both of them. The lost, the strange-looking, the unwanted. Because he knew that drill all too well.
So he does not hesitate in approaching them, catching the tail end of the older one’s words, which cause his dark lips to curve into a gentle smile.
”Are both of you alright?” And where the fuck are your parents? Do they not give a shit about you? –Although that last part remained unspoken. It’s to the young girl he goes to first, as she is still covered in the remains of her birth into this world. It’s… somewhat gross, but Romek dutifully attempts to lick the filly clean. Whether she will stand still is another matter. He turns to the boy, too, tilts his head, extends his nose (taking a short break from cleaning the gunk off the baby) to exchange breaths in greeting. And while he would very much like to lick the boy clean too (OOC: IF THIS SENTENCE WAS TAKEN OUT OF CONTEXT, IT WOULD SOUND AWFUL), he does not want to embarrass him.
”I am Romek. What do you two call yourselves?” he frowns again, and looks around. For now, at least, he can offer his protection. Not everyone has the best intentions, after all.
So he’d turned to the dunes instead, and they filled his ears with sifting whispers of distant lands, and for quite a time he was happy, or, at least, he thought he was happy enough.
But that is all an age ago, and it is long gone, and now he is a man grown, with spots upon his back, and a face that is a good deal more handsome than his younger self’s. And he’s grown inside, too – his self loathing has developed into a pretty shade of sarcasm, and, well – these days? He finds himself singing to himself. Singing birdsong, or a babbling brook, or the rustle of leaves in a tree – whatever the music, he is fucking singing it because apparently all he needed to do was get out of the Deserts, out of those comforting heavy chains. Or perhaps it was Mari (although he still feels very hesitant about admitting to himself just how much he enjoys her company – its still a scary thing, opening yourself up). Warmer than the Desert sun, but with none of its scorch. Like she held a box of pleasant spring sunshine within herself, which shone through her skin, her golden hair.
The Forest, he realises, is a pretty place and very nice to be in. A fair bit nicer than the Meadow, he would say. And he had yet to meet someone here who had rubbed him the wrong way, which was rather unusual.
He is distracted from this (rather dull) train of thought by two waif-like children, one younger, one older, but both equally dirty and neglected-looking. He frowns, looking for their parents, but there is no-one around them, and Romek would judge that they are both far too young to be out on their own. Out on their own in the common lands, anyway, if this was the Playground it would be an entirely different matter. And perhaps its his own miserable upbringing, but he can’t help it, his heart goes out to both of them. The lost, the strange-looking, the unwanted. Because he knew that drill all too well.
So he does not hesitate in approaching them, catching the tail end of the older one’s words, which cause his dark lips to curve into a gentle smile.
”Are both of you alright?” And where the fuck are your parents? Do they not give a shit about you? –Although that last part remained unspoken. It’s to the young girl he goes to first, as she is still covered in the remains of her birth into this world. It’s… somewhat gross, but Romek dutifully attempts to lick the filly clean. Whether she will stand still is another matter. He turns to the boy, too, tilts his head, extends his nose (taking a short break from cleaning the gunk off the baby) to exchange breaths in greeting. And while he would very much like to lick the boy clean too (OOC: IF THIS SENTENCE WAS TAKEN OUT OF CONTEXT, IT WOULD SOUND AWFUL), he does not want to embarrass him.
”I am Romek. What do you two call yourselves?” he frowns again, and looks around. For now, at least, he can offer his protection. Not everyone has the best intentions, after all.
fuck all your dreams, they’re not all they seem