closed.
WHO: Rapunzel (sun_droplet) & Malik Al-Sayf (truncately).
WHAT: An unlikely meeting between two very different personalities in which words are shared and common kitchenware is utilized as a weapon to the likes of which is never expected.
WHERE: Promenade, near the coast.
WHEN: Day.
WARNINGS: FRYING PANS.
LOG:
The coast reminded him of the beaches of Lattakia, the city that was deemed ancient even for the standards of his own time period. The taste of the air was similar and the way it felt upon ones skin as the thickness of the salt drifted upon the air. The pricing blue of the sky, the stark white of the clouds that splayed themselves across overhead, it was like any other world with a coastal line and though the buildings were different and the style of the inhabitants, a line of water was a line of water no matter how you looked at it. So quietly, in passing, in a glance, the line of water seemed like home for that brief second before he forced realization upon himself. This was not a place to relate to, nor did he ever wish to find comfort so instead he focused on the differences as he walked along, over the wooden surface of the boardwalk by the docks as the ships set at port. There were differences to be had all around and he took them in, the aesthetics, the movements, the faces covered in masks that somehow, to him, resembled a sort of hell, demons covering faces, a lack of honesty in appearance. Still, to halt from any trouble being caused on his behalf, and being able to figure out the design of the city, he bares his own for the moment though it annoys him the way it seems to halt his vision from being completely aware of all it could see without the blocking of his peripheral.
Annoyance after annoyance and as he draws his singular hand into the leather satchel that he carries, pulling out a writing utensil and parchment, he thinks about the device that lays within the container and how all the faces, all the voices are at times interesting to bare witness too, but otherwise they bother him with the inane chatter, the seeming willingness to just give in asides a select few. It was as if the same words were being spoke by a different set of lips and thus far he had not inclination to join the fold in such actions.
With a murmur of his own breath, the dai pressed the parchment against the nearest surface, jotting down a few notes to himself before folding the parchment once more, the pitch black script hidden into item slung over his chest and onward his feet turned to continue their path.
WHAT: An unlikely meeting between two very different personalities in which words are shared and common kitchenware is utilized as a weapon to the likes of which is never expected.
WHERE: Promenade, near the coast.
WHEN: Day.
WARNINGS: FRYING PANS.
LOG:
The coast reminded him of the beaches of Lattakia, the city that was deemed ancient even for the standards of his own time period. The taste of the air was similar and the way it felt upon ones skin as the thickness of the salt drifted upon the air. The pricing blue of the sky, the stark white of the clouds that splayed themselves across overhead, it was like any other world with a coastal line and though the buildings were different and the style of the inhabitants, a line of water was a line of water no matter how you looked at it. So quietly, in passing, in a glance, the line of water seemed like home for that brief second before he forced realization upon himself. This was not a place to relate to, nor did he ever wish to find comfort so instead he focused on the differences as he walked along, over the wooden surface of the boardwalk by the docks as the ships set at port. There were differences to be had all around and he took them in, the aesthetics, the movements, the faces covered in masks that somehow, to him, resembled a sort of hell, demons covering faces, a lack of honesty in appearance. Still, to halt from any trouble being caused on his behalf, and being able to figure out the design of the city, he bares his own for the moment though it annoys him the way it seems to halt his vision from being completely aware of all it could see without the blocking of his peripheral.
Annoyance after annoyance and as he draws his singular hand into the leather satchel that he carries, pulling out a writing utensil and parchment, he thinks about the device that lays within the container and how all the faces, all the voices are at times interesting to bare witness too, but otherwise they bother him with the inane chatter, the seeming willingness to just give in asides a select few. It was as if the same words were being spoke by a different set of lips and thus far he had not inclination to join the fold in such actions.
With a murmur of his own breath, the dai pressed the parchment against the nearest surface, jotting down a few notes to himself before folding the parchment once more, the pitch black script hidden into item slung over his chest and onward his feet turned to continue their path.