[Ai Shou's Scrapbook] I dunno how to do this...

[Ai Shou]

Alright, so...

I don't know what I'm doing at the moment. This is my first attempt at a scrap book and apparently I can put whatever I want in it. So, to start off, I'll just leave this here:



So yeah... I like Brian Regan. He's kinda funny :D

But Bill Burr is more so:



Uhh... yep. That's it!

[Ai Shou]

So, it's night... I'm tired... and feeling the need to ramble on about what I feel inside and apparently letting someone know how I feel is good for me. So, here goes.

I've been having a few dreams lately that have been increasingly disturbing... not as in like, oh my god that guy has six ears where he should have two eyes kinda thing... No, it's kinda hard to explain it, but I've been having dreams that my character should actually have in-character. I can barely remember most of them, but there are a few that stuck out.

It's quite odd how much my imagination wavers when I am awake and yet how vivid Zeltiva looks from the docks in my dreams. The water's a murky blue-green with floatsam upon the surface, the sails of a boat named "Dutchess" creaked in my ears and the salt from the sea made my eyes hurt after staring so long... I don't know what I was thinking of. It was something about food, hunger... or maybe it was about the chilly weather that made my skin prickle.

It didn't take long for me to realize I was in Mizahar, a vivid replication of what I thought Zeltiva would look like. The blackened steeples of the college arose in the background, several smaller shanty-like houses, like elder cottages built in renaissance. The orange stone easily reflected against the tan clay that held the bricks together. Small, oak shutters kept sight out of the insides of the buildings. Even the inn down the street was vividly placed in the setting of Zeltiva, a rickety, worn sign dangling from a brass post embedded above and beside the door, which was held open in the mid-light. The shaft of light reached out onto the cobblestone street like an arm grasping for attention. The two-story building was like a beacon, the windows giving off enough light to help anyone find the inn.

But then I got a bugging feeling. It was a wretching feeling in my gut, like a homesickness that was tethered to a mobile place, one that never rested. I could picture Ricky standing before Ariann, their last meeting quite sad to me, as it was to Ariann. They were practically a haze upon the horizon a few feet in front of me. I could feel the tension, smell the saltiness of Ariann's skin and see the wrinkles of Ricky's face as he smiled. It was sickeningly sweet.

And then it faded. And I awoke to someone yelling in my house about breakfast...

I don't know if I'm going insane or if I'm melding the fourth wall in a vice-versa way where I'm allowing my persona of a character become my own subconscious... ... ... I don't know.

But I hope I dream of Zeltiva again.