ioduanlogs | [OPEN] just your eyes

Characters: The Fool + you?
Date: Throughout February
Location: Aifaran, the Dreaming Bridge, the Ban Om central Temple
Situation: Various.
Warnings/Rating: A bit of violence.

I. MISTAKEN IDENTITY (CRIME AFFINITY 4)

(OOC: this takes place at the very end of the month! and just one person respond to this one please, I don't want the Fool mugged more than once!)

Perhaps the Fool should count his blessings that this case of mistaken identity ends as abruptly as it does--with him, prostrate on the dirty ground of a backstreet alley, one shaking hand clutched to his face while the other is extended out almost desperately to fend off his would-be attacker. Before additional blows can rain down against him, though, his attacker promptly backs off, and takes off at a sprint down the alleyway.

Dazed and bloody, the Fool lays where he's left, coming back to his senses slowly... along with a horrifying awareness of the filth that now clings to his clothes and skin. ...He could probably use some help.

II. WOULD YOU LIKE SOME LITERATURE (FAITH AFFINITY 3)

Possibly proselytizing evangelists of any variety might have bothered someone else, but the Fool has always possessed a keen interest in divinity--and very little else in Konryu has captured and held his attention with the same unyielding fascination as the Great Turtles. When he is approached by a presentative of the Ban Om, therefore, it is only natural for him to become quite excited by the subject.

It is some days later when the Fool finds himself seated within the peaceful, sprawling gardens of the central Temple's grounds, absently toying with the small turtle charm that he had acquired at some point. What would it have been like, he can't help but wonder, if the folk of the Six Duchies, of Jhaampe, of Bingtown and Trehaug, had grown to venerate dragonkind with this same deep respect? "Perhaps nothing at all," he muses out loud to the little turtle in his grasp, his lips quirking into a most whimsical smirk. "I can scarcely imagine a dragon deigning to carry a human civilization upon its back."

Absently, he begins to work at threading the charm onto a bracelet already richly decorated with wooden baubles carved by his own hand.

III. GALLERY OPENING (ART AFFINITY 3)

Perhaps it is more Lord Golden who slips into this special exhibit than Fool, for he appears as at home here among the art connoisseurs and critics of Aifaran as he had days ago within the central Temple of Ban Om. A touch more artfully composed, of course, with more makeup to emphasize the dramatic amber of his eyes and high cheekbones, to better blend in with this society. But Lord Golden's histrionic mannerisms and vanity are absent; when he smiles at someone eager to hear the opinion of one of the Dreamfolk on the artwork, his commentary is candid, rather than inflammatory.

At some stage, perhaps he slips away from the crowd to consider a piece of artwork over a glass of wine, or steps outside to take in the air and allow himself a break from the pressures of this strange society he's ingratiating himself within. Perhaps that is where he catches your eye.

IV. WILDCARD!

(surprise me!)

Threaded | Flat

Eiji doesn't even think when he sees someone attacking some obviously helpless person lying on the ground. He dashes in, eyes glowing purple, ready to fight.

But it looks like something about the very inhuman eyes on the apparently human Dreamfolk scares off the attacker, since they go running off before Eiji can even hit them.

But a second later, he turns to the Fool, kneeling down, a little afraid to touch him.

"Are you okay? Can you answer me?"

Upon arrival here, one of Conan's immediate priorities had been to familiarize himself with the city. He knew Beika. He'd known Keeliai.

He did not know Alfaran.

After several long days of exploring among stranger, it comes as a surprise to see a familiar face. A moment of thought, and Conan recognizes him as one of the two people he'd met in the fun house. With a quick tap of the deceleration, Conan slows down his skateboard and hops off it as it comes to a halt.

"We met before, right? What was your name?"

While Pepper is by no means a religious person, she remembers the Ban Om from when it was founded in Keeliai. For her, that wasn't all that long ago, but a lot could have changed in the intervening centuries. Curiosity has her visiting the central Temple more than anything else, at which point she ends up telling one of their members that she was around when this all got started. A small flurry of excited activity begins, including an offer to help her deal with readjusting or prayer to help her through some great difficulty - neither of which she really needs.

Thankfully, she spots one of her newer friends and is able to pry herself away with the excuse to go talk to him. The smile she's sporting when she approaches the Fool is a little bit sheepish, but she's genuinely happy to see him. "Humans would probably have to be smaller to make that work," Pepper remarks, having caught the last part of his comments as she neared. She gestures to the charm. "How's it going? I see you've gone on the tour."

Chase has been trying to dodge evangelists, but eventually they manage to catch him, and that’s how he came to be here.

In other words, he seems to have lost his guide, and he happens to be close enough to overhear.

"Why wouldn’t it?" Dragon, enormous turtle...he can’t see the difference.

This is quite the beautiful place.

Fitz could well masquerade as someone of high society here. He has some experience with moving amongst diplomats as well as guardsmen, after all. With royalty, as well as farmfolk.

However, his heart is not in it, and so he has taken on the task of seeing to the gardens in this place, for a small additional stipend, for the next few days. He spends his time weeding, thinking with fondness of Patience and her dislike for marigolds in the wrong place. He avoids the patrons of the art gallery as best he can, until there is a strange... absence of presence behind him.

A person, yet with no scent.

He pivots from his kneeling position, dressed in his dusty but serviceable clothes. One long weed trailing from one hand, a garden fork in the other.

"Fool," he breathes.

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