[Theo's Farm] Working off a little steam. [Solo]

[Seodai]

Date: Fall, 511 AV (tbd) The whole damned world was falling apart, and Seodai did not know how to fix it. The nonsense with the gods and the gnosis and the magic was more than a little overwhelming; it felt as if the end of the world sat on their doorstep. What the hell were they supposed to be doing to prepare? Seo certainly wasn't sure. Beyond that, his personal life had gone from essentially non-existent to far too busy. There was his beautiful ethaefal, white now instead of golden. The overwhelming surge of emotion he felt with the slightest touch, the compelling desire to claim much more. And, of course, the awkward boy his beloved came with Syna's light. What to do with that? Of course, there was Syllke, too. Syllke was not a distraction in a negative sense, and he did not conflict Seodai the way that Lysander did. Syllke had become a constant figure in the farmer's life, a source of amusement and enjoyment and so much more. He was a distraction in a literal sense, though, dragging Seodai off on one adventure or another. The young blonde had learned the art of neglecting responsibility for the first time in his life, and the scrambling to make up for it that came after. Of course, he'd never really let anything important go. He loved his farm too much, and his Uncle too. He had just held himself to such high standards for the entirety of his life that the slightest lapse in timing or routine seemed something major to him. A whole other host of names and faces swirled in the frustrating confusion. The girl who, strangely enough, had become more active in pursuing him. The healer, Cian Noc, who had killed him in their dreams. Caelum, with the allure of an ethaefal, the scars of a man. There was Veldrys, with his unsettling appearance but the voice that soothed Seodai somehow. These, and a dozen others paraded through a mind that could not let go somehow. As if it was all clogged in his mind and he could no longer make sense of anything. Mentally overworked as he was, Seodai chose the earliest part of the morning to channel some of that blinding energy into the physical. His weapon of choice, of course, was his bow. But sometimes he needed a little more engagement with all of his muscle, and for those instances he preferred the rapier. As a man with hemophilia, brute sparring with heavier swords was hardly a good idea for him. One well placed slice could be the end of him. He preferred the thrusting of the rapier, with the ornate handle that protected his hand. And, since he only ever took on a bale of hay with it, it served him well. For the better part of an hour Seodai stood, in boots and trousers with no top, despite the fact that his breath became mist as soon as he expelled it, facing down such a pile of hay. It was packed firmly, wound together tightly so as to not fall apart simply. With every frustration on the tip of his tongue, the edge of his weapon, Seodai whirled and thrust and danced about the target he had created. He worked with the rapier, more rusty than he would have imagined, until his motions felt fluid again. Until his body was damp with sweat and he was breathing heavily in the quiet barn. His animals shuffled restlessly nearby, but otherwise paid him little mind. OOCOut of time. TBC.