[CLOSED] Now I'm standing in a field of green, the colors burning far as I can see-What do you see?
Who: (swordofthenorth) and (i_love_squats)
When: After sundown tonight.
Where: A room Isley rents in Dismas.
Format: Action.
What: Dream interpretation.
Warnings: If necessary, they'll be added.
[ Very little has changed within the tiny, industrial space Isley has claimed for himself in the undercity. ]
[ It is dark, as always, and scarcely accommodating, but it possesses the essentials, and that is all that matters. A steel-framed bed lines one wall, a pedestal table with two chairs lines the other, and a throw rug of twisting green ivy patterns sits symmetrical in between giving the room a little touch of (much needed) warmth. Sconces on the walls provide light; there are no windows, and if there ever was, they've long since been covered up. ]
[ Several library-borrowed books rest upon the tabletop; every last one reads of dream interpretation, recounting, or a combination of the two. Also on the table is a small basket of fruit, a small wrapped package, and a tall jug of water, accompanied by two white ceramic cups. ]
[ Isley's fur collard cloak rests at the foot of the bed, draped across it. The blood that had splattered it earlier is now gone, all traces cleansed from the tiny, interwoven fibers. The man himself occupies a space at the side of the bed on the floor, his empty scabbard sitting next to him, his sword in his lap, a sharpening stone running the length of the blade in his his hand. He is bare foot, shirtless, donning form-fitting black trousers and a pair of thick leather belts that hug his slender waist. His silver hair, for once, is tied back behind him, bound by a length of black matte ribbon. ]
[ Soon Zack will arrive and they can pick up from where they left off, when last Angeal had been sitting in on their meetings. The thought causes the man from the North to smile, a cool and confident expression. ]
When: After sundown tonight.
Where: A room Isley rents in Dismas.
Format: Action.
What: Dream interpretation.
Warnings: If necessary, they'll be added.
[ Very little has changed within the tiny, industrial space Isley has claimed for himself in the undercity. ]
[ It is dark, as always, and scarcely accommodating, but it possesses the essentials, and that is all that matters. A steel-framed bed lines one wall, a pedestal table with two chairs lines the other, and a throw rug of twisting green ivy patterns sits symmetrical in between giving the room a little touch of (much needed) warmth. Sconces on the walls provide light; there are no windows, and if there ever was, they've long since been covered up. ]
[ Several library-borrowed books rest upon the tabletop; every last one reads of dream interpretation, recounting, or a combination of the two. Also on the table is a small basket of fruit, a small wrapped package, and a tall jug of water, accompanied by two white ceramic cups. ]
[ Isley's fur collard cloak rests at the foot of the bed, draped across it. The blood that had splattered it earlier is now gone, all traces cleansed from the tiny, interwoven fibers. The man himself occupies a space at the side of the bed on the floor, his empty scabbard sitting next to him, his sword in his lap, a sharpening stone running the length of the blade in his his hand. He is bare foot, shirtless, donning form-fitting black trousers and a pair of thick leather belts that hug his slender waist. His silver hair, for once, is tied back behind him, bound by a length of black matte ribbon. ]
[ Soon Zack will arrive and they can pick up from where they left off, when last Angeal had been sitting in on their meetings. The thought causes the man from the North to smile, a cool and confident expression. ]