[ semi-open ] and sometimes we sing to the dawn

[accordance]

Who: Lord Light, a couple of people (closed threads in toplevels within), and you.
When: April 12-15, thereabouts
Where: Around Capablanca
What: A useless old man ponders the meaning of his existence. And also builds some things on the side.
Rating: PG+ for Adra's mouth

one;

[ Contrary to first impressions, there is indeed peace and quiet to be found in Capablanca. As one walks along the beaches further and away from the town center, the number of establishments dwindle one by one - until the last ice-cream parlour marks the end of built shoreline. The stretch of untouched sand may be quite small compared to the rest of the beach, but it's still sizeable. Sizeable enough to provide a place of relative silence for Heroes to meditate properly.

It is here, upon the sand, that he draws. Detailed, complex images are sketched into the beachside, a little away from the shoreline so that they would be untouched at low tide. It takes him hours to complete a single drawing, but he doesn't complain a single bit - merely one figure with white hair bent down close to the ground with a single branch in his hand.

At night, high tide washes them away, but he returns for at least an hour every day to add one or two. At other times he builds perfectly regular rings out of shells and other materials lying around, all without a single word. A few locals come to watch, but even then their curiosity wears out as he continues, focused on his task.

If anything, the art is pretty. But what could they mean? ]

two;

[ On an afternoon when the sun is not as harsh, he climbs Ventoso Hill alone. Once he's reached the top, he elects to stand and watch the scenery - he's so still that he might have been mistaken for a statue, if not for the fact that his hair moves and flutters in an opportune breeze.

After a while, he shifts his stance to one more regal, and he begins to sing with a voice much younger than his speaking intonation. When he finishes, there's the slightest hint of a smile on his expression - but it will fade away as soon as he is approached, returning to his normal calmness.

His voice resumes its usual pitch, too. ]

Can I help you with anything?

three;

[ In the mornings, he can be found near the piers - or more specifically, where the seabirds frequent. He might be seated on the jetty or walking along the beach with a small bag of breadcrumbs, and after a while seagulls will start to flock to his location. He feeds them with a rather distant expression (more distant than usual, that is), letting them land on his shoulders and arms.

However, if you express interest in what he's doing, he'll look up with a much more focused countenance. ]

Hello. Would you like to feed them as well?

wildcard;

[ hit me with anything and I'll roll with it! or if you'd like a specific starter, feel free to pm me or contact me at eonflamewing, we'll work something out! ]

Comments

one

[meanballerina]

[Rumors about the mysterious art on the beach first drew Natasha to Lord Light's little refuge. It's taken her a while to actually catch him at it, though. When she finally manages to catch him mid-drawing she hangs back to let him finish, nibbling on an ice cream as she tries to decipher the meaning behind this latest masterpiece (it's so orderly and technical, it must mean something). While she isn't trying to be noticed, she doesn't try to be stealthy either.]

[accordance]

[ He recognizes her faintly - there's a slight impression of her existing in his mortal, current memory, but he can't place where. This isn't the first time this has happened, though, so he just takes it as it is.

He's quiet while he works, already noticing her presence but deigning not to do anything about it. It's a little difficult to keep the full image of what he wants to draw in his mind, so he elects to finish one of the more complex parts before he speaks. ]

Good morning. Can I assist you with anything?

[meanballerina]

[She also feels some faint recognition of him. Then again, he does stand out with his long white hair and strange art -- either one would be enough to intrigue her without worrying about her instincts.]

Just curious. You're a good artist.

[accordance]

[ Unlike some immortals, he's always had no problem with showing that he was different. It is no use to deny the truth, after all. ]

I try. These are blueprints, however. I am no literary artist.

[ He draws from plans, not for art itself. That's not something he's very good at. ]

[meanballerina]

Blueprints?

[Natasha gives the drawing another, more studious look.]

What for?

[accordance]

Devices. Instruments. Vessels for reaching the skies.

[ With that, he stands, dusting his clothes a little. ]

They are of little use now. I drew them as a mental exercise.

[meanballerina]

Messing around with something new?

[accordance]

I would not say, 'messing around'. It is a test of memory and precision.

[ She's probably noticed how slow yet deliberate he is, if it's anything to go by. ]

[meanballerina]

[Natasha studies the drawings again with renewed interest. Memory? Interesting.]

Were you an engineer?

[accordance]

Of sorts, yes.

[ He's not merely an engineer - he is an orchestrator, an organizer, a leader. ]

Perhaps I will one day be able to make these things into reality.