Open Fabulously unproductive day

[Valo]

12th Winter 512AV Mid afternoon Laviku monument, centre of Zeltiva Even when work is scarce, and artist never rips away from his calling. The calling to create with his hands, to devote his very soul to this mystical power called art; more elusive than djed yet within every man's grasp. An ethereal calling within the ears of every self proclaimed artist. Covering his moth with his hand, Valo gave out a yawn. He hadn't slept particularly well last night and the sands of sleep seemed to have lingered within his features even after thoroughly splashing with cold water. Such was the curse of ivory skin. Though pale and beautiful, ghastly shadows seemed to have appeared beneath his eyes, every time he had not slept sufficiently. But there is only so much time a man can stay in bed. Tortured by an exceptional lack of inspiration all throughout the morning, he finally surrendered and left his home, first time in a long time. Without realising it, he had become somewhat a recluse; only venturing into the beautiful city beyond his door, when getting rid of his newest masterpiece. Winter wasn't yet at it's most cruel, so for a while he merely planted him self into a bench in city centre and watched. Gazed upon the people that passed him. A small sketchbook in his lap, for perhaps some unforgivable muse may once again grip her elusive fingers upon his neck and he may feel the need to draw. But no such need came and so the sketchbook remained closed. The artist particularly enjoyed this part of town centre, for just to his right a great monument to Laviku had been erected. The god of the sea in stone. His eyes of seaglass gazed imposingly upon the citizens of Zeltiva just like they had gazed upon him. Valo couldn't help but hold admiration for this master piece. Beauty in simplicity. Art with , much unlike his own. And so the red haired artist remained seating elegantly, his posture perfect. Just a moment more wouldn't hurt him. It wouldn't steel some kind of precious time from him incredibly unproductive day. Some passers by began staring at him too, for Valo wasn't known for his ability to fit into the crowd. His hair was much too luscious of a red for that to be possible. A red more intense than fire that contrasted against the grey granite of Zeltiva with utmost persistence. Dressed finely, he was as always and elegantly, much like the gentlemanly manner with which he carried him self. The red haired artist of Zeltiva.

[Keira Star]

12th Winter 512AV
Mid afternoon

Keira groaned as she woke up, beams of light piercing through the tent and shining on her face. She squinted, looking around her temporary lodging to find that it appeared to be much later than morning. Still a bit groggy, she was unable to place that fact, rubbing her eyes repeatedly.

She had been at the docks with Ricky the night before, and remembered conversing with him before making her way back to sleep for the night. Perhaps that was the reason why she had slumbered so much, but she'd never slept this late into the day in her life. She was finally wide awake, and shot up into a sitting position as she became aware that she had slept in and it was no longer morning. Eating a quick meal, she dressed and walked outside. She was in simple clothing, and her strawberry blonde hair had been brushed, the soft strands falling to her sides neatly.

She was still anticipating a reply to her job application, but was able to care for herself until then. However, she didn't have much to do; and discovering she still needed to become familiar with Zeltiva, she wandered into the city once again, curbing her boredom.

The place is even more crowded than yesterday, she speculated as she found herself lost in a sea of bodies once more. After failing at her attempt to just pass through the crowd, she felt like a fish swimming against the current, finding herself being jostled slightly by rushing pedestrians. Wondering when she would ever get used to so much activity, she managed to escape by heading into the direction of the centre for a moment, to find that there were even more people there.

Don't be fooled, it wasn't that the 14 year old had not seen such concentrated activity before, but she wasn't used to the patterns of Zeltiva the way she was with her home. To say it was unseen by her would be a huge misconception. However, Keira had never lived in the heart of any city, but rather on the edge. Consequently, that leads to the lack of city knowledge, and she was out of place compared to other citizens who had grown up and functioned in Zeltiva every day.

She carefully remained on the edge of the crowd instead of falling helplessly into the middle, assuming more control in which direction she wished to go. Not feeling so overwhelmed made her a bit more confident, and her mind began to wander as she strolled at a quick pace with the many others.

While her thoughts occupied her, the young teen began to slow down, feeling weighted with worries that kept sprouting from her mind. She was not conscious that this happened and as a result a careless, running man slammed into her from the left, shoving her forcefully out of the crowd. Pain jolted through her body as she plummeted in some grass. She felt the pain but remained silent, at the moment slightly subconscious and not fully aware of what just happened.

All she could think was, ouch.

[Valo]

Zeltiva was a big city indeed. And cities of such size are crowded cities. People rushing from A to B, going about their daily business. Everyone had some place to go, some place to be. It wasn't long before in his peritoneal vision Valo noticed a not so ordinary spark of movement. A girl, pushed over by some poorly mannered patron who did not even stop to look back and apologise. Indeed the manners of some people were appalling. So without a moment's hesitation, the red haired artist walked with haste over to her - the crowds parting before him, people minding not to bump into him in a similar way they did into her - and crouched down by the young creature. No older than 14 she was, with a head crowned by sun kissed strawberry hair. "Are you all right my dear?" he asked, gently helping her to a sitting position. A mask of concern painted into his alabaster features. "Are you hurt?" He must have been imposing. A man of nearly twice her age and no doubt twice her height at close proximity, but his manner was kind and gentle and soft, much like his nature.

[Keira Star]

She was in a daze from slamming into the ground abruptly. Had she been ready perhaps she could have braced herself and not have been temporarily shocked. For a moment Keira was lost in a wave of unconsciousness but her eyes remained open. The only concept comparable was a befuddling, jumbled dream, echoing and unfocused.

It was then that she had been pulled up by a altruistic,red haired man, surely concerned for the poor girl's welfare. Being in the temporary state she was in she most likely was a bit heavy, unable to use her own strength. He had been speaking to her, but she was oblivious to that fact also. Such nonsense could have been avoided if Keira only hadn't been so foolish. Walking in big crowds was not wise when you are new to a city, especially one as vast as Zeltiva.

Keira awoke from this nightmare seconds after being inquired of, like one who snapped out of a daydream. Absorbing her surroundings and the older male in front of her, she appeared to be slightly confused and disoriented. She felt the most logical thing to do at that point was to ask a question.

Blinking a couple times, Keira spoke softly in a sweet voice, a bit quieter than she normally did, "What happened?"

[Valo]

It seemed Valo had a natural gravitation towards children. Perhaps it was a manifestation of his deep storgē for his younger sisters, for whom he cared so relentlessly as a child, being the only male figure in his household; or perhaps the genuine love and friendship he shared with the children at the orphanage of Zeltiva. He used to visit that place several times a week. He used to play and look after the children until the name 'uncle Valo' had been bestowed upon him by the lovely little creatures. But he has not visited since the middle of fall. He had been meaning to, but seemed to find every reason possible to prevent himself from doing so. She seemed in a daze and a worry overtook him. Perhaps a concussion, in which case he would no doubt have to swiftly take her to a doctor. A gentle creature, like a butterfly with such a sweet, timid voice. Only a child, yet so quick to experience the unpleasantness which Mizahar had to offer. "I was about to ask the same question." he replied, also lowering his voice, suppressing the exotic accent which seemed perhaps too prominent within his tone. "Are you ok? It seemed someone has bumped into you with such a terrible result."

[Keira Star]

The first thing that came to mind was, Not really, I'm scared to death because I just woke up in the middle of grass on the floor. But seeing how they were in the middle of a busy area, she desired to get out of the way. The moment she leaned back on her arm was the moment the pain rushed back; so sharply she almost screamed. Great, I messed up my arm now too. Just... great... Keira tried not to panic and explain to the strangerwho might be able to help her.

"My arm hurts," she managed quickly, pain gripping her sweet voice. After leaning on her arm the shock must have worn off, and her face unfortunately could not be stopped from displaying her inner emotions of pain, fear, and slight confusion. During the fall she must have landed on her arm; resulting in some kind of injury. She pleaded silently that it wasn't too serious, but the pain was saying otherwise, and she felt guilty for causing the guy in front of her any concern.

Keira was normally a very happy and cheerful person, creating a feeling of attraction and warmth that surrounding her seemed to enjoy. These kinds of mishaps didn't happen to her everyday, and it seemed that the foreign area was testing her to determine if she could hold up and stay strong. However, this optimistic young teen was not one to give up easily, and a little fright along with an injury was not going to keep her from getting used to the city and being independent.

But at that moment, it hurt really badly, and she hoped someone could help her out; with this new life maybe she couldn't stay completely independent.

[Miles]

Today was a day for lament- Miles took to the streets, determined to salt his ale with tears for a good few hours. He hadn't cried since Abraham passed- but it was increasingly hard when the year turned to Winter- it always was.

Miles would not cry outright. It took him enough drink to send a man to the poorhouse, and a quiet corner to shed his emotion- a thing he did not relish, but just as traditions form, this had become a melancholy (and rather costly) practice.

He was unaware of his persona this day. Dressed in browns and tans, he took not a care in his appearance, appearing wild and hurt- an animal trudging onward, knowing predator has won- mechanically moving in a daze of losses gone and losses yet to come. His lips did not curl to smile- instead they set in a firm line beneath stubble growth around his mouth and cheeks- as stated, the man cared not for his appearance.

He did manage to bathe before stumbling from his abode, the cold house that now housed only one, and so passersby could consider him rough, down on his luck, but not a drunkard or a poverty stricken man. Whatever he was, the light in his eyes was gone, and all the color drained from the world in a sea of dull and endless gray.

It was at his most pathetic that he stumbled upon the scene. Red hair shocked him- it was vibrant color amongst the dull muted life Miles pushed to the background. He stood, wondering at the two as they spoke- jealous of their light tone. Death waited in the sadness of this world- how could they laugh? He remembered talking with the Old man, hearing him go on: "I was a fire haired youth, I tell you boy! Why, one look at me sent maidens afrenzy. They say it's passion that leaks from the soul, that stains a man's locks the color of fire and blood. That was I my boy, and I pity, that it is not you."

The woman he saw was on the ground, and perhaps in need of assistance. Miles approached, as it was his way to walk by, and stopped, gripped by the memory in front of them.

He stood a slight more than six feet tall, and his voice rumbled with tears yet to be shed. "Is she alright?" He said to Valo, not really looking at the girl, not really looking at Valo either- the red of his hair was enough to take Miles' attention.

[Valo]

The Inarta gave her a reassuring smile. A soft crescent that spoke of his pure and noble intent. Perhaps had he not been a man to pick up strays off the street, a man with not too soft a heart, no ill would befall him in the future. But that is a lesson he'd learn later on. A lesson he'd learn the hard way. A man with a sheltered life, who dedicated his entire life to art, knows not real pain or rat misery - he had not dipped his fingers in the goblet of death. For he knew not the world, but the world knew him well. Perhaps it was fate that brought him Miles on that very day. A gift from the gods, a warning for the future at hand. A warning which, much like to many other things in his life, he'd remain oblivious to till the very last moment. "Is she alright?" asked the voice of a stranger that approached them. A tan clad man, with the aura of death about him and misery painted across his face. Though his eyes gazed in their direction, he truly looked not at Valo nor the girl. He truly looked at nothing. What could put a man in such a state? What could render a handsome face grow cold in stubble and morose in expression? What, by the love of Laviku, hand the power to do so? The red haired artist looked up at the man, now towering over them, and for a moment his entire expression fell as he studied the epitome of mourning which was the stranger. A man,just about six foot in height, painted in all the shades of dreary grey, despite his clothing of brown and tan. It was that very condition of his that made it so. For perhaps if there was ever a physical representation of one of Valo's paintings in human form, it would be this man. Colourless and appearing, despite his beauty, as though he had no will to exist. Carefully regaining his composure, the Inarta nodded. "Yes, I assure you she'll be safe in my hands." he replied, voice as smooth as honey with a spice of gentle bass within it's liquid substance. "Though if it was your wish to stay and help, you are most welcome to do so. In fact that would be splendid, for you see, it appears the lady has hurt her arm." Valo always spoke like that, calm and dignified and elegant. Speech was at the very core of his flamboyant manner, after all and ever since he was a child he prided him self on the grace of his speech. The Inarta were far from stupid, but absorbed them selves with more physical occupations - such as archery of falconry. Yet there was nothing more beautiful to the young Valo than a carefully composed sentence, that sounded as though it belonged in some wild novel, rather than on the lips of a poor artist. Without much hesitation he walked around the lady, ceased her by the sides and effortlessly pulled her to her feet. Upon doing so he once again distanced him self a little, minding to not interfere in her personal space. Then another glance to the stranger, a question in those dark green eyes of his. Shall you stay sir?

[Keira Star]

Keira's mind had wandered. Pain takes people's minds and casts them into madness so to speak; and she could hear it shrieking like the highest whistle, causing everything to be a bit unfocused for a short moment, everything to fade. These things do not appear to show on the outside, they are concealed in the head of Pain's victim.

Surprise does not linger, and the pain introduced was adapted to slightly, causing her to be conscious of her surroundings, and then she noticed the other man. Tall and depressed, she saw something in him, a look, that she had seen before. The look of someone who witnessed a saddening event. She couldn't place it, she was too busy assessing her situation, reconfirming this had actually happened.

Keira was a bit scared to be around strangers she didn't know, but the first male she encountered seemed friendly enough. For some reason her whole life she was timid and quiet around strangers or people she encountered for the first time, like they worried her or she was afraid of being harmed. Perhaps it had to do with things she had witnessed in the past, or maybe it was just the way she was..

The red haired male smiled at her, pulling her up after having just conversed with the man. Keira was relieved to find her legs were not hurt, calming slightly and her face did not display the previous amount of pain. Her left arm was injured and to the degree she wasn't sure. She touched it gently, feeling a small bit of pain when she did and let go, concluding that it was best for the 14 year old to not touch it.

[Miles]

What language. The poetry was lost on Miles, as much as the artist and the girl, the poetry of two people meeting, the sweet coupling of pain and compassion all wasted on the depressed shell of a man. Miles swayed slightly and took in a deep breath, trying in vain to clear his head. "Nobody is safe. Not really. Not ever. But that's why we need help."

He bent to inspect the woman though he had absolutely no real knowledge of medicine. To his eyes, no bone poking through skin, no blood or major bruising, the woman would live- rather the woman would not die on account of her arm injury. "I'm Miles- though honestly this, is not me. I seemed to have misplaced my joy. I apologize for the clouds over my head outright, and apologize further that they will not be going away. I recognize that gloom is infectious, and so rather than bringing such a young and lovely couple down, I will take my leave of you. I wish we would have met yesterday or tomorrow."

Miles stepped backward from the two and made an excellent (if not spoiled by his grim face) flourishing bow, before turning to leave. Before he took his first step away from them however, he spoke to the young woman: "the type of pain you've experienced is a sign of life- pray you are never numb to it. There are types of pain in this world that make a body ache for sensation- numbness is a far worse fate than any bruise."

Numbness is what seized his heart this day: what befell him once a year since Abraham's death. He shook his head in the silence that echoed ominously around his words and forced a smile. "Again, forgive me. Sir, take care of her."