: This is your thread for logging, whether spontaneous or plot-related, silly or serious. His normal haunts include shifts at the Blue Light, various city bars, cafes, random encounters, etc. Prose preferred, 
are fine too. ✉ TO SET UP:
Just drop me a line at aeloriax[at]gmail.com
or Y!M/AIM (listed in the post below)
to give me a heads-up. I'm open to anything as long as it fits ICly.TRACKING
Peter & Amory [ Blue Light ] ✯ this is a song lyric
[ in progress
Amory may be an original character, but that doesn't mean he's pardoned from critique. So if you have any problems concerning how I play him, please drop by with a message! Anonymous is allowed, and if you wish to contact me by other means, then go right ahead. ♥Player's Journal
: of the night seaY!M
: potatosforpowerwrist Email
What determines when we're meant to leave? Would you call it something as fanciful as destiny? Logically speaking, it's apparently arbitrary. I've asked myself this question time and time again: why does someone enter the city, stay a month, and then leave on their 32nd day? Why can someone stay for three years and never seem to leave?
Everyone is leaving--
Maybe I'm the only who wants to know how it works. Or maybe I'm the only person here who doesn't want to leave.
[ Silence follows. Then there's an assortment of sundry sounds: a bottom of a glass clinked against a glass coffee table, the snap of a lighter. Papers are shuffled, footsteps tap against the ground---
The silence is intentional, awkward.]
If you wanted a cat, they're ready.
[ We're at the Blue Light after the guests have left: the doors shut, the music stopped, all the lights - save for the one above the bar - snapped off for the night. There's just the sound of clinking glass against the darkness. ]
It shouldn't be this quiet here.[ ooc: ;________; Am not sure if it's publicly known that they're gone yet, hence the vagueness -- regardless, Ams definitely feels/suspects that something is really off. ]( more oocCollapse )
[ Amory's network posts always seem full of stars and night, and this post is no exception: dark ink floods the screen, freckled with brilliant, white pinpoints. Shrouded in the darkness, the neighboring mountain hills seem arguably existent as they blend into the night.
A telescope points towards the sky, and besides the instrument, sits Amory, stretched out comfortably on the grass. The stack of paper beside him rustles as a chilly gust tries to carry them away, only to be deterred by the weight of the sextant perched on top of the pages. The chill is refreshing and invited, and Amory continues to lay there in peace.
That is, until a horses snout enters into the scene, pressing its wet, white nose against Amory's cheek. She snorts.Stop---[ Amory bats the horses nose away with a light tap, visibly laughing as he does so. ]You're not much for kissing, Aquilo.[ He props himself up onto his elbows, and reaches out to press the horses' neck against his chest, petting her mane fondly. ]
You like it here, don't you? [ He pauses. ] Maybe I'll ask
Charlotte to take care of you, when we get back.
Almost three years now. You think they'd kick us out by now. [ As he continues to stroke Aquilo's mane, he turns his gaze back to the sky, focusing his gaze on something distant and indeterminable. ]
Hopefully they won't.( oocCollapse )