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[Darcy Silverwood]

WINTER 72ND, 512 AV

Darcy was walking down the silent, lonely valleys - his head in a trance. He placed his fingers gently upon the left side of his temple and rubbed it casually, taking in the cold air as he did so through his nostrils, the wind swirling through his nasal cavity.

He carried on walking until he reached his beloved hometown and then continued to walk slightly further until he reached the docks, a happy smile now arriving upon his face as he spotted one of his locals. THE KELPPP BAR! Just what I fancy and kelp beer... my goodness. I could so do with one of those, the more you have, the better those things JUST seem to taste. He strode right in, fully aware that the place was a mess as he surveyed the dismal settings, his arms stretching wide, fingers ajar and he laughed, it was almost as if he was about to dance. A few dodgy looks and a slight cough (some of the locals realising it was Darcy Silverwood upon entrance) later, Darcy placed himself down on a nearby stool, the fabric loosened from the wear of too many bottoms, the friction of the fidgeting drunkards obviously too much to bear. Darcy was now perched highly above his stool - the wood creaking, causing paranoia in Darcy's eyes as he felt himself try to balance out his weight, adjusting his bowtie nervously in which he had purchased earlier from Reginald Cunningham from The Saville.

His dark eyes stared across the bar, which looked rundown and dishevelled. He felt his fingers tap against the old wooden surfaces, a quick rhythm forming, the smell of beer suddenly apparent now. "Excuse me, may I have one of your kelp beers, please?" he proclaimed, his eyebrows pointing upwards in his impatience as he stared at the old, dreary clock in front of him, flicking his head slightly to see if anyone was around. A tired looking woman strode over from out of nowhere upon hearing Darcy's plea and gave Darcy a tired, cold smile, before bending over to make a grab for one of the dusty, old mugs. Darcy nodded, making a hand gesture to signify that the mug size was more than enough for him, although slightly concerned by the state of the mug.

Five mugs of kelp beer later - as acquired a taste as it was, Darcy was starting to feel the room spin a little. "Hm, maybe I should slow down on my beer intake... I'm not as young as I used to be," he moaned. A flash mob of people arrived, catching the corner of his eye and in his excitement, he felt his whole body turn around, almost falling off of his stool in his sudden, abrupt movement. Alas, it was a group of merry people, dancing about and clapping their hands to form a ruthless beat which Darcy's ears could not resist no more! Darcy felt his lips curve upwards in his approval, his soft skin luminous in the dim but gracious light that was provided by the surrounding oil lamps. He reached out for his mug, moving the gleaming (although some would say vile) liquid to his mouth, necking back more alcohol in his contentment before rising from his stool. Simple pleasues, eh? He rolled his eyes, laughing loudly before spluttering, his arms flapping against his sides.

The dancing and heavy beat which the people were creating continued as the night grew on. Darcy decided to get 'his swag' on, pacing against the rough, lacquered floors like some rampant lunatic, exchanging looks with the people who went in and out of the bar before smiling in his mesmerised state. Determined not to have another beer until the night progressed a little more, he hung on to the rest of his fifth mug of atrocity and looked casually around, letting out a few more of his moves, his free hand extended, fingers pointing to the ceiling.

Slightly weary and dizzy from his new, profoundly used up energy, he found the same old stool in which he had graced earlier but only this time, he had plonked himself back down upon it, his hair nestled across his forehead from all of the sweat. The stool groaned, actually throwing Darcy slightly to the side, although the reaction from Darcy was now sustained compared to earlier.

"I'll have another one of these in a moment, sweetheart," he murmured to the barmaid, talking to her as if she was the best thing since sliced bread, still able to make conversation, unlike his head which was slightly boggled.

[Valo]

It there was anything that could be considered a profound truth of life; it was that Valo drank too much. A man so content with the pickling of his own liver. A man who, despite having promised himself to stop this foolishness, or perhaps cut back just a little, had failed to do so. A man who's very principle existed on a shallow level, giving into his more basic instincts on regular occasions. So much for the gentleman he pretended to be with such meticulous intention. Valo was a drunk, a young drunk and all the more pitiful for that reason.

The whole day was dedicated to painting, for Valo had decided that come spring, he would develop his art into something he truly enjoyed. No commission would prevent him from doing so. No dreary painting of Zeltiva's dreary architecture would halt him from becoming the artist he truly desired to be. Sure, a man must eat. But the man must enjoy his food.

He felt bold, as of late. Perhaps it was the late renaissance of his paintings, an epiphany and a complete re-establishment of his persona. For it wasn't only his dearest who had pulled the artist from his darkness, it was also his art. The enjoyment of painting, once again manifesting in the emerald surface of his eyes. A sparkle of life, previously muted by Wrenmae, alas returning into his essence. And with that boldness came the self-assurance that he could yet become something bigger and greater than he was. Perhaps an establishment of an artist movement, or over glorified life of a proper, saturated to the bone by inspiration in the madness of paint and brush. A juxtaposition beside the disillusionment of the unworthiness of certain subjects which bought him his life. There, in the magnificent depths of human mind was a torch of greatness, awaiting exploration on the behalf of the artistic.

Truth it was that a new found inspiration had been breathed into him and consequently Valo became consubstantial with it. And as if he had been releasing a part of himself, much like a reimancy or art, he let it flow onto the canvases in an array of colour and form. A profound joy into the theory of colour, yet not the grey toned hues which he was so used to in everything else he created. For the portraits he had painted that day, were alive with vibrancy as profound as the curtains of red which sprouted from his crown. Some perhaps a little hap hazard, straying away from his usual way, others painted with obsessively meticulous photorealism.

There were three portraits in total. One of a woman with flamboyant hair of crimson, that streaked down the canvas in the mannerism of fresh blood, which was achieved by the thinning out of the oil with linseed medium. A handy trick which allowed the artist to paint in washes, much like one would do with water based mediums. And thus he used others means but the brush to lay the paint on the canvas, straying from clothing and sponge, to scrap pieced of turgid paper. The goal was to achieve an interesting texture within the nudes of the skin, the blood of the hair, before touching up the detail with brushes. But instead of detailing the woman's face, he thinned out yet more turquoise paint, a complimentary clash between it and the crimson, before splattering it on the canvas in two, violent explosions. Suffice to say, the artistic madness overwhelmed him.

The next portrait which he painted, during the early hours of the afternoon, was one to spend a much greater amount of time upon. For though the protorealistically boring brown hair of the girl who sprouted in his imagination, only to take shape on canvas by means of led and shading, peeked a face of the strangest colouring. A vast barrage of lavenders and oranges and blues, all muted by the grey of the led below as it the youth rubbed her face in exotic makeup. And though the hues, peeked the most flamboyant use of form he had ever achieved in his paintings. A profound curvature, receding low lights and protruding highlights as if the canvas itself was in three dimensions. Of course the painting was far from perfect, as was all his work, but it brought him pride that he indeed did not recede in his skill.

The very last painting was a woman of luscious teal hair and till this day the thing that possessed him to use such a plainly weird hue would remain unknown. None the less he surrounded her by pastel colouring, again working in thinned out washed of oil paint to allow the pencil marks of the form peek though the colour just ever so subtly. A whimsical creature. A pliantly strange painting.

It was only as the day drew to the abrupt conclusion, that Valo finally decided to dress himself and venture into the world beyond his walls. A chest tight with satisfaction, the liberty of painting for himself and himself only. His head already planned the next paintings, planned the forthcoming completions of the works he had been working on now. And with these pleasant - for a change - thoughts on his mind, the Inarta artists strolled in all his elegance into the Kelp bar, ready to calibrate the little victory of the day. And little time did he take to down tree cups of the salty alcohol, one after another, halting not even to breathe.

He took no notice of the drunken fool who had planted himself on a stool that was clearly not fond of him - if the furniture within the Kelp Bar could even be fond of anyone, for it anything then the furniture screamed to be replaced - begging for yet another beer. Hair plastered with sweat as if some great exertion had befallen him. For soon enough, the exotic man of cadmium red hair would join the fool in intoxication, having clearly little more sense than the stranger.

"A toast to the bliss of artistic freedom." he murmured under his breath, gulping down yet another mug.

[Darcy Silverwood]

Darcy found himself humming to himself, his dark brown eyes glistening from the afterglow of the oil lamps. He was completely oblivious to most of the people around him, his eyes not being able to fixate on anything much but his beers. His head was in a whirl, as if some sort of sonic boom had hit it, unable to focus properly on most of the colours around him. He quickly ordered another kelp beer, handing over his half-nilo in exchange for more liquid to intoxicate himself with, bringing the mug up to his face, the glass now pressed against his soft lips. The stool was still wobbly and begun to shriek even more so from the drunker Darcy got, unable to cope after years of neglect and misuse.

Darcy turned his head, a swirl of colours around him, trying to pick out anything that was of any interest. He noticed a flash of pink, although in fact it was actually the red hair of Valo. Convinced it was his good friend Nai'a, he left his squeaking stool and strode over to the figure and colour of the human being, letting out a howl of laughter. "I bet you'd never have thought you'd see me like this, did you?" he roared, convinced it was his friend Nai'a and not that of Valo, totally amused by the fact that they had met again... here. He found himself lurching closer towards the figure, careful not to spill any of his beer upon Valo as he did so, his dark features examining him more. Beautiful... just as I remember her. It was clear Darcy was not in a good way now, thinking males were now females.

Darcy couldn't quite realise that he was in a state. He never usually drank a lot, (well... not so much now as when he did as a young teen, unable to cope with the comparisons made against him and his father and the taunts) much preferring to remember his thoughts and feelings and incorporate them into intellectual and valuing meanings. Already on his sixth beer, Darcy knew he was going to have to slow down, thus casually drinking the mug unlike the other ones in which he had practically downed.

Darcy continued to look at Valo, his eyes glazed over with a merry and cheery vibe as he contined to sip at his beer, gently placing it down upon the bar as he pushed himself nearer to Valo, his arm wrapped around him. "You know, the first time you saw me... I was singing next to some ol' mountains and you thought that it was amazing. I couldn't quite believe it, me... just standing there, all lost and lonely AND then you came along and gave me the strength to carry on from your words of wisdom." Darcy gripped tighter onto Valo now, squeezing his right arm gently, his hair still damp from his dancing earlier. He was happy to see his friend, in the bar, hopefully this would give them the time needed to have a decent chin-wag. Darcy smiled softly, his eyes were obviously in another world.

[Valo]

Intoxication has it's mysterious ways of rendering even the best of men, nothing but blubbering fools who knew not right from left. Up from down. Fools who lived in a spherical world that tumbled down the hill and consequently left their heads as void of wit as Riverfall may be void of the Zith. And with yet another mug, Valo was soon to join that world.

"I bet you'd never have thought you'd see me like this, did you?" came a voice as the drunk lifted him self from the chair which gave out a painful moan, and stumbled over to Valo. And of course the only thought on the young artist's mind was "Have we met before?" Lips however did not speak this.

With a moment to observe the man and his utmost pitiful of manners, Valo brought yet another mug of kelp beer to his lips, indulging for a moment in the foul yet distinct taste of the beverage. Thus he spent just a moment wondering why on earth did he insist on drinking it? Was the allure in the distinction of the taste? The strangeness and subtle disgust to it. Was that the reason? Or was it simply the kick that fallowed? The kick that now manifested so distinctly in the wondering of Valo's thought. The inability to focus which was in fact the reason he wanted his time pondering why one earth he drank. Whenever sober, he had no questions as to this reason. Alcohol brought bliss which, much like the supple skin of a young lady, he could not possibly refuse.

With a smile and a blush that broke out across his pale feature, Valo turned to the stranger, only to have that smile crushed by the sudden awkward contact. An embrace that was not invited, nor wanted and with the most enraged of expressions he jumped to his feet, wrestling him self free from the crazy drunkard. "I resent that.For whoever it is that you have mistaken me fore, dear sir, I assure you I am not him or her." he spoke, the voice calm but cold and sharp.

It was so incredibly strange a notion, for there didn't seem to be another Inarta in the whole city of Zeltiva. Or perhaps Valo had never met one. Valo seemed the very person that was never mistaken or misplaced, never has anyone confused his appearance with anyone else, for he was quite unique a character. A man with so much grace and elegance. A man, yet so very feminine that in his earlier years, some had thought him a woman. Though perhaps now his feature had formed and matured into that of a strikingly beautiful young gentleman.

[Darcy Silverwood]

Darcy smiled, completely within his own world as he clambered against the young gentleman. "Oh Nai'a," he exclaimed, his dark eyes fluttering rapidly, hands placed against the young gentleman's shoulders. "You are so beautiful," he declared, his widening smile now thoroughly apparent as he felt his fingers entwine around Valo's hair, the smell of beer so strong, so easily to pick up upon Darcy's breath. "I always had a thing for you, from the moment in which we first met..." Darcy trailed, as if in full thought within his drunken state, pondering on which words would be exquisite or decent enough to expose on such a night, gently reaching out for his drink. "Yes, your beauty... is enough to make any man crave your attention," he added, beer slipping casually from his hand to balance idly upon his hip.

Darcy didn't often quite indulge like this, only when the realisation hit him that he was known for his father's work and his father's work alone. He was quite an idle or lonely character as some would say, destined to somehow discover his trade within his empty, translucent shell. Well... this was a fun night. He felt his lips purse together in content, oblivious to Valo's words or actions, as if the man who wasn't Nai'a was actually trying to lie to Darcy, that this was like some form of explicit dream that had somehow come to life. Darcy was innocent, completely innocent, for never had his lips touched another human being. He was twenty-five years old but in some kind of naive way, he felt seventeen, as if his whole like had passed by him in the heat of this very moment, being trapped to Zeltiva's very core. He dreaded to think what Nai'a thought of him, whether she'd be ashamed, whether she'd turn away from this man - from the beer which had inflicted Darcy. The vile taste had become thoroughly acquainted to his tongue, as if it depended upon it, calling out to Darcy in ravaging fashion.

"You say you are not Nai'a, do not lie upon me... oh, beautiful creature," declared Darcy, his hand rubbing some more against Valo's shoulders, drinking his drink some more before placing it back upon the bar, so handy was its state - being there to seize drinks upon the whim.

"I know you probably wouldn't have liked to see me in such a state, but oh... the night is young, as are we both. This week has been hard, now I feel like I can properly come out of my shell and tell you anything, not just the tales of my father but of much more," he declared, flapping his arms around in his self-proclaimed manner, oblivious to everyone and everything apart from himself and Valo.

Drinking gave Darcy a confidence in which he craved, for his whole life had been spent so eagerly trying to please people, to prove that he wasn't such a nobody. He stared at Valo, his eyes like sparkling saucers, their dark hues alternating within the dim lighting which lit up the atmosphere. "Please forgive me if I say anything in which offends you, for I do try to be myself... despite my state," he concluded, a hint of a blush bashfully appearing against his slightly tinted, moist skin. He loosened his grip against Valo's shoulders, keen not to scare, as he knew only too well that he was in quite a state. As to whether Darcy liked or enjoyed this perplexing, confusing world in which he was in right now, he wasn't too sure.

OOCI do feel very sorry for Valo... for being thought to be that of Nai'a, although it does make for quite an amusing few posts.

Typed this up whilst round my friend's house and I've had a few beers myself, so I can kind of relate to Darcy's slightly drunken state right now, haha! Much love~! <3

[Valo]

Perhaps if the drunk was to keep the identity of his secret lover hidden, then he wouldn't have met the wrath of Valo. If such could have been an appropriate name for the abruptly displeased look on his face and the eyes that pierced straight though the drunk with their intensity. It was that name which inflated him. Nai'a. A woman who was by far one of Valo's most favourite persons, a beloved and precious friend. Perhaps a little more than that. Such undignified profession of love was indeed insufficient, for in Valo's eyes ' a thing' was not enough. She deserved to be loved wholly and passionately. And she deserved a good man. A better man than this drunken fool. In fact it seemed that no man but himself would be good enough in the eyes of the artist.

"Yes, your beauty... is enough to make any man crave your attention." came the words, but for once they were not aimed at him. For valo was indeed a beautiful lad, so feminine in his masculinity and so dignified... usually. Often did he hear those words from women and sometimes even men, for he had his fair share of both. Alas it seemed perhaps refreshing that such attention was not trust upon his person, but another whom he was mistaken for.

Mistaken for Nai'a, he thought. Well has there ever been a more entertaining scenario? And perhaps if his mind was void of the alcoholic mist that slowly rolled over him, he'd have been thoroughly displeased with such a notion. But he had drunk admirably and yet another mug of kelp beer had already made it's way to his lip as he was embraced by this stranger. Thus, without much wit of his own, Valo began giggling quietly beneath his breath. A funny nothing indeed, an amusing one. So humorous and odd and comical and any other word that could possibly be used to describe such a scenario.

"You say you are not Nai'a, do not lie upon me... oh, beautiful creature. I know you probably wouldn't have liked to see me in such a state, but oh... the night is young, as are we both. This week has been hard, now I feel like I can properly come out of my shell and tell you anything, not just the tales of my father but of much more," the words spilled like fire from his lips. Uncontrollable and abundant and each sentence began amusing Valo more and more. It must have been the hard hit of alcohol that finally submerged him beneath the waves of intoxication, but alas his face glowed with light of amusement and what fallowed was the very mannerism of drunk Valo. The man with no inhibition. The man who could both laugh and cry at once."Please forgive me if I say anything in which offends you, for I do try to be myself... despite my state,"

With a single motion he attempted to shush the drunken stranger. Ceasing his chin in his finger, Valo moved his face closer to his, too close for comfort, sparkling emerald eyes locked with the man's. A serpent smile of ridicule, playing upon his pale lips as with such abundant ridicule he spoke. "Sir you are so very drunk you have me mistaken with, who seems like a good friend for the both of us. I am not, never was and never will be Nai'a."

[Darcy Silverwood]

He felt Valo's emerald hues grasp against his own dark orbed eyes, a sharp intake of breath escaping Darcy as he felt the young man zoom in closer to his face. His words hit him hardly and he found himself gasping, his lower lip quivering from being told yet again that this was not his friend, Nai'a. He suddenly found himself stunned, by the fact that it had taken him this long to realise due to the effects from the cruel alcohol which had overtaken his brain. Those are not Nai'a's eyes and hang on... the hair. It isn't quite right. Why do I realise this now and why... why is my brain suddenly able to realise that I made a major misjudgement? Darcy felt his head try to calculate and process the thoughts in which tabooed his mind, as if being told so firmly and abruptly now had made him realise. He attempted to move his back upright, feeling the warm breath of Valo's gently caressing his skin.

"Forgive me, dear..." Darcy paused, his eyes widening as he tried to work out whether the person who stood before him was indeed a male or female. "Dear being."

He found himself chuckling, as if laughing at himself and how his brain had completely turned itself inside out, the nerves unsure of what thoughts in which Darcy should trigger. He found himself longing for a touch, a kiss... as if something in which could soothe his heavy mind, which was so confused right now. Darcy had never been kissed, never been touched... never been loved. Part of him wanted to hold the person in front of him, the worry of it being someone of the opposite sex or someone whom he would not normally associate with now firmly out of his mind due to his mass and major mis-consumption.

He did not yet feel pity upon himself, although he was wary that he could may have well offended the young gentleman who so calmly tried to explain that he was in fact, wrong. Incorrect, something in which he loathed at being. Darcy turned his head back to glance at the liquid which had polluted his mind, a look of distraught, inevitable guilt and shame upon his face. Thank goodness it wasn't Nai'a. She probably would have slapped me by now, turned away. Darcy shook his head, his eyes staring some more into Valo's own eyes before his gaze dropped amongst the floor.

The fear of being pitied by Valo hit him hard and he felt himself swallow back only air, in his shocked, dazed state. Darcy Silverwood... the clown. The fool. The person who obviously could not control himself whilst under the influence of alcohol. Thoughts flooded his mind like a raging storm, the emotional side to his brain still intact. Still, Darcy was grateful about the fact that despite his inaccurate guessing up until now, that he was still able to slightly redeem himself, still able to realise that this wasn't him at all. Darcy happened to also vaguely realise that he might come to regret ever becoming this drunk again.

[Valo]

"Forgive me, dear..." said the man, stumbling over his own words in astonishment. His eyes widening moment by moment. "Dear being."

At that Valo burst out with a wave of merry laughter. Ah how it amused him every time he met a stranger who could not tell him apart from a woman. of course this was somewhat a problem in his youth, when the round feature of a child had added so much femininity to his face. When his lip had been so gentle and his body so slender that often he'd be picked on and bullied. So very much alike his mother he was. Of course since this his jaw had shaped, his feature developed into chiselled alabaster, pale and beautiful and beneath the long hair there was a certain masculinity within the femininity. For Valo, it seemed, had the ability for both, male and female qualities.

With a great gulp of yet another beer, he spoke. "I assure you, if I was Nai'a you wouldn't hear the end of it. A great lecture would be upon you sir." Valo was truly amused at the prospects of what the woman would say to this stranger before him if she was so have been here instead of Valo. Even now he could imagine her words of wisdom, the smooth yet decisive commanding to withdraw from the occupation and sober up in the safety of his own home. The caring creature which she was would probably walk the man home. So soft was hear heart yet so grand was her spirit.

After downing yet another beer with satisfaction and a merriness to him, Valo held out his hand to the man, deciding in more less a tipsy state now - the kind of tipsiness that hovered on the axis of drunkenness - that perhaps it wouldn't hurt to become acquainted with one of Nai'a's friend. Anyhow, if he was at all as fond of the wretched liquid as the artist,than they would no doubt be running into one another more often. Perhaps even become drinking partners. The kind that has each other's back whilst strolling home beneath the starlit shrouds of knight, shrieking out some disjointed songs known only to those under influence.

"Valo, sir. And who may you be?"

[Darcy Silverwood]

Darcy watched in amazement as hordes of red hair shook before him whilst the young man laughed, feeling slightly more at ease now that he had apologised and made his false discrepancies now known. He couldn't help but feel himself try to stifle a few giggles himself.

Darcy was beginning to feel the great, longing feeling of needing someone there, someone whom he could possibly turn to when the moon and stars themselves had seemed to have fallen down upon him, the alcohol penetrating the deeper and more sensitive parts to his brain. In any case, it was truly now becoming more apparent to Darcy that he needed that guidance, that understanding and kind face of wisdom, yet delicate beauty. Nai'a had given him a sense of relief, a friendship which had helped him accept the fact that the opinions of others did not matter, although it was something he was still learning how to deal with. Now there was no Nai'a. Only alcohol. It was if his mind had delved into another dimension, the once chirpy Darcy striking another level, only a much darker and closed off one.

He watched the person in front of him with a sense of true fascination, slightly in awe of the array of colours and prominent, wild features which poked against his eyes like sizzling firecrackers.

Valo's words hit him softly, as he gently swept his dark brown hair back, coyly reaching for his drink which sat atop of the bar still, pressing the liquid to his lips as he slurped the liquid slowly, taking his time unlike any of the other glasses in which he had drunk so rapidly, so unaware of the effects - the constant mind battle which could sometimes pursue with oneself should the unlucky victim (and tonight, that victim was himself!) ever succumb to the effects of these stages.

"You are right... lectured I'd certainly and assuredly be, for she is a walking flower - who constantly roams and grows, feeding her experiences and wisdom into us all, with such indefinable delicacy." Darcy felt a pained expression against his face, memories of a cold, chilling night flickering before his eyes. He smiled as he watched Valo's hand rise to greet him, swiftly moving his drink back down towards the bar again, before shaking it firmly. "Darcy Silverwood, dear being," he proclaimed, still unable to work out Valo's gender. "Pleased to meet you," and with that, he smiled.

[Valo]

"A pleasure to meet you Darcy." he smiled merrily before his, now somewhat sluggish mind took notice of a certain element of that man's speech which perplexed him so. Being? What was the mean of this? This he waisted no time to voice is concern. "Why do you refer to be as a being. Am I not human like you? Of Inarta blood, perhaps, but that is no reason for such otherworldly politeness. Just Valo is good enough."

He was more and more intoxicated as the residual alcohol, along with that freshly ingested began making it self known, both physically and mentally. resulting in the scarlet blush across his face that was so very hard to hide. A colourful juxtaposition against his alabaster skin. and the more drunk he was the more handsomeness he saw in Darcy and the more he smiled, each smile of twinkling emeralds, manifesting greatly in his eyes. Suffice to say that Valo was indeed beautiful when smiling. Not yet quite drunk enough - for it took a river of alcohol to do so - to completely loose his mannerism, thus with a gentle nod to the empty mugs, he spoke softly. " Have not yet had enough dear sir?" A great hypocrisy on his behalf, yes. But his own drinking would not stop this rather altruistic gentleman from worrying about the others, even if he was the one pickling his own gut far more profoundly.