Let's Go Down to the Riverfall to Pray (Open)

[Orin Fenix]

3rd of Summer, 516AV

Orin rose before dawn, as was his custom. Even in the midst of his depression, he’d been unable to break it, not that he’d wanted to. It had been the one familiar sea of calm in an otherwise stormy life for him. It seemed that habits learned as a farmer’s son and then a cook, compounded over the years, were impossible to change. Still, Orin enjoyed the early morning hours, the dawn especially. It felt like a rebirth, every time, a chance to change his course, even though recently he’d been sadly lacking in direction or motivation.

But still, at this time, Orin felt rejuvenated, just a little, as he walked the early morning streets of Riverfall. He wasn’t alone, of course. There were those who had partied just a bit too late the night before, and those who were just getting up for their days like him. Still, there was a hush over the city, that of a rainstorm before the droplets fall or a singer before they began their song. It was expectant, welcoming, and it drew Orin inexorably forward.

Orin, being new, still got lost easily. It was why he had the map he’d been provided at the beginning of his stay here on hand. Other than that, some coins, and the two blades he kept on him at all times, riding on either hip in their scabbards, Orin had nothing on him. He was content just to wander, dressed in his old brown clothes and the old comfortable pair of boots he’d worn for what seemed like forever.

Orin was content just to wander, to see where his feet led him. He took careful note of his surroundings, trying to memorize the signs and the stores as they passed, but without much of a reference, he didn’t have much faith that he’d be able to find his way back.

Then again, he didn’t necessarily need to. He didn’t have anywhere particularly to be and for once, blessedly, the inner voice that chastised, belittled, and brought him down was silent. So Orin was content to smell the sea air and listen to the small sounds of a city as it came to life for its day. Each place had its own unique awakening, as Orin was coming to discover. Riverfall’s was beautiful, as the sound of water over stone was joined by the scent of baking bread and flowers.

Eventually Orin’s meandering path took him to a bridge overlooking the waterfall. There he paused, and simply took in the sight before him. The harbor stretched out to sea, and Orin could just see the first rays of sunlight poking over the horizon. He bowed his head and gave his traditional prayer. “Thank you, Leth for guiding us through another night, and Syna for guiding us through another day. And thank you, Priskil, for giving me the strength to banish the darkness within for one more day.”

Today, though, Orin wasn’t finished. While most people probably thought he was insane, as they walked past and he spoke to himself, none of them were quite audacious enough to say so. Instead, they gave him a wide berth, not really sure what to make of him. “Priskil, I know that I haven’t always been as strong as I should. I haven’t always clung to hope as much as I could. I’ve had days where I’ve given up, laid in bed all day instead of pulling myself together and facing the world.” Orin swallowed a lump in his throat, trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. “But I’m trying, I promise. I’m trying to have faith in you. I’m trying to make each day better than the last.” As Syna’s light started to reach Orin, he closed his eyes, whispering this last part. “I’d like to think that I’m succeeding, at least a little. And for that I thank you.”

Regardless of whether Priskil was listening to the chef’s simple words, which Orin seriously doubted, the simple act of prayer made him feel better. Because there was the chance that she did care, and she was there. That was enough to keep Orin going when he wasn’t strong enough to stand on his own.

Orin let hope glimmer within him. He was happy enough for now, and simply wait for what the world would throw his way.

[Trisa Miroy]

Trisa had tricked herself into thinking that living alone would be better for her. When her family gave her the option of staying behind in Riverfall or following them to live with her sister in Nyka, Trisa welcomed the idea of living alone. Her parents had warned her of the difficulties that would come with her newfound independence, but Trisa refused to admit that her parents would know any better than her. So her family moved away and Trisa moved into her own place in Windswept Condos.

They were right: living alone sucked. Originally, she thought that living by herself would keep others unburdened. Which, so far, was true. What hadn't occurred to her, however, was the fact that living alone would increase her anxiety levels. When things went bump in the night before, she knew that she had her parents there. If a murderer had snuck into the house, at the very least it would kill one of her parents first (as their room was right off of the front door in their old home) and give the rest of the family time to mobilize. This is not the case with her condo. It has one room with two doors and only one person, which is a goldmine for murderers.

Now, every little noise and unexpected happening sent Trisa reeling. Early that day (or, really, that night, taking her nocturnal behavior into account), she had been sketching in her garden after just waking up. Inside her room, one of the pillows fell off of her bed with a uncharacteristic thud. Without thinking about it much at all, Trisa got up, hurriedly gathered her charcoals, and booked it out the front door. The 3rd of Summer was not the day she was going to die.

When her heartbeat came back down to an even pace and her brain was able to process things once again, Trisa had found herself down the road at the waterfall. Moonlight glinted off of the flowing water as Trisa leaned against the rock wall and traced the lines on her arms in order to calm herself fully. Even calm, she still refused to be alone in her home at night.

"This is as good a place as any." She shrugged, noting that the area wasn't too poorly lit. Trisa paced the bridge, attempting to finding the perfect spot. Finally, she tucked herself into some small greenery just off to the side of the bridge and got to work. Inspiration wasn't really striking, so Trisa just began sketching what was right in front of her: a stone resting in the path before her. It was curvy, which was a concept Trisa had trouble with. Unlike many artists, straight lines were her favorite. They weren't complicated. They went from point A to point B, no distractions, no fanciness. Curves did not, and it was much hard to reproduce the exact curvature of an object.

By the time the sun began to rise, Trisa's hands were black from smudging away at her drawing. Her face was also slightly grayed, because, as usual, she forgot what she was doing and wiped the charcoal onto her face. It was a struggle. Initially, she paid very little attention to the man. There were men everywhere in Riverfall, and Trisa didn't have the mental fortitude to pay attention to what they all were doing and saying and thinking and whatnot. So she smudged on.

Her attention was snagged, however, when Leth's name was said. Trisa had recently picked up an interest in the God, and was eager to know more about him. Though she didn't find such knowledge in the rest of the man's words, she did find a sort of brief kinship with the man. She knew all too well what the hopelessness and gloom this man spoke of felt like. Trisa was often consumed with fear, too afraid to even open her eyes some days. She understood how hard trying was, and how easy giving up was.

She leaned forward, hoping to hear more from this stranger. Sometimes, hearing a stranger talk about her own problems was relieving. It made her feel less alone. What also made her feel less alone was headbutting a passerby as she tried to get a better look at the bridge man. Naturally, the person didn't let this minor headbutting incident go without shouting at her. They shouted at her briefly in Tukant (though, with Tukant, nothing is really that "brief" sounding).

"Sorry! I'm sorry sir, really. That's my fault, sorry!" She shouted back quickly while simultaneously thinking But you know I wasn't aiming for you, so, really, come on. Trisa shot a look back at the bridge man before shrinking into the bush. She sent up fifty prayers to whatever divinity would listen that this man hadn't seen her, or the headbutting.


Tukant Common

[Orin Fenix]

Orin was startled out of the peace he was feeling by shouting behind him. It bothered him more than it usually would, probably because it had been the first time he’d felt that inner serenity in a long while. Actually, Orin couldn’t remember the last time that calm had stolen over him. It must have been back in Syliras, perhaps on a day when Rondo hadn’t been too overbearing or Remi had been more motherly than usual, and Orin had gotten the opportunity to bask in the warmth of a job well done at the end of the day. Nowadays, his days ended with him tossing and turning, unable to sleep as his thoughts circled round and round until exhaustion finally sole upon him.

So, it was with reluctance and a particularly uncharitable state of mind that he turned from his contemplation of sea and sky to examine what exactly was going on around him. Apparently some woman had offended a man somehow and the man was now shouting at her in a foreign language, one that Orin had never really heard before. Groaning, Orin shook his head. He really didn’t want to get involved, but when the woman’s response seemed to just induce more anger, he felt his own slow-burning rage start. He disliked bullies of any kind, and as the man started to walk away, Orin stepped up at tapped him politely on the shoulder.

Whirling around, the man snarled something at Orin. Again, it was in that foreign language and Orin frowned in confusion. Still, figuring that everyone here spoke at least some Common, Orin simply stated in that tongue, “Sir, I don’t know what happened but I don’t think that’s any way to treat a lady.”

The man stared at Orin, incredulously, before his face twisted up in a rictus of rage. Before Orin could react, the man spat at him, and while Orin dodged, he wasn’t fast enough to avoid it all. At least it missed his face and instead splashed onto his shirt. Backing up quickly Orin held up his hands in a placating gesture, but the man had already moved on, striding quickly and disappearing into the crowd. Crossing his arms across his chest, Orin shook his head, chuckling to himself. “Looks like I’m not the only one who might be in need of some divine intervention in my life. I hope that his actions bring him some joy, annoying as he is. He must not have much going for him.” At that thought, Orin sobered. He himself didn’t have much going for him, and the reminder hurt, deep inside.

Remembering the girl whose honor he’d foolishly tried to defend, Orin glanced around at her, but she seemed to have disappeared. That is, until Orin noticed some bushes rustling by the bridge. Figuring that, unless she’d dashed out of here, she probably had hid instead, Orin made his way over to the spot, keeping his hands in plain view in the hopes that it would convey he had no sinister intentions. Then again, Orin, as skinny as he was, with not many muscles to speak of, probably couldn’t look threatening if he tried. Orin could be dangerous if the situation called for it, but it wasn’t an air he usually carried around him.

Especially since this girl had fled so quickly, Orin didn’t want to spook her again. So, as he pulled aside the bushes to expose her hiding place, he was sure to keep his tone as soothing as he knew. “Hi there,” he said, still in Common, hoping she knew at least the basics of the language, “are you alright? Sorry about him.” Orin smiled his most friendly smile. “Men can be such jerks, sometimes, wouldn’t you agree.” While humor typically had mixed results for Orin in the past, at least his time away had taught him to control his tongue some. He was no longer the babbling youngster he’d been. The world had stripped that away from him, leaving a raw, but hopeful man in its place.

Looking her over, Orin carefully kept his pleasant face in place. She was too thin, with blonde hair and pale skin, light brown eyes standing out in stark contrast. More unusually, she had several piercings on her face, and what appeared to be tattoos poking out from under her white shirt on her arms and neck. She was wearing loose brown pants and boots, and she stood about a head shorter than Orin. Strangest of all, she had what appeared to be smudges on her face and hands. If Orin had to guess, they came from the charcoal that she was sketching with, a notebook before her.

The bushes screened the woman from the view of passerby, but Orin noted they didn’t do much to hide anything from her sight. Stepping around her, Orin leaned his back against the stones of the bridge. Orin realized too late that he’d basically just invaded this unknown woman’s privacy, and that she might not want to talk to him at all. Tension rode up in his shoulders, and his smile faltered. Hoping that she would be fine with Orin’s intrusion, sending up a silent prayer for her, Orin let the silence stretch for just a tick to long. Hesitantly, Orin gestured at the area around them. “Nice place you got here. Come here often?” Patting his right hand against his leg in a nervous tic, Orin nodded at her notebook. “Are you any good with that?”

[Trisa Miroy]

Trisa pulled her knees into a bundle beneath her as she tucked herself into the brush. She would have been content with hiding within the greenery for the rest of the day. Trisa hated being in the sun because they muddied up her tattoos. Her forearm piece had seen the sun for a few too many chimes and Trisa paid the price for that: it, like her charcoal artwork, looked fuzzy. Yes, her drawing vaguely looked like a pathway stone, but it wasn't crisp and clear-cut. In the same vein, her forearm tattoo still looked a lot like the ocean scene it was supposed to be, but it also looked a lot like a bunch of fuzzy insects crawling up her arm.

Not to mention the fact that sunlight in the summertime had the added bonus of skin-melting heat and an increased chance of shouting matches in the streets. Trisa slowly reached out for her sketchbook, but couldn't seem to find it. She weighed her options: remain in the shielded comfort of the bush or retrieve her brand new book. Normally, she'd leave it and stay hidden until the coast was clear. But this was her first sketchbook and first purchase made with her own money, so Trisa felt a special connection with it.

As she peered out of the bush, she witnessed two things: one, that the bridge man had heard the ruckus and approached (which distinctly remembered asking the gods to prevent). And, two, that bridge man had been spat on by the shouter. Trisa sighed, grabbed her book, and returned to her hiding spot. Should've stayed in the bush. Should've stayed in the bush the first time around, too. Really, I need to stop looking at things. She chastised herself up and down while she settled back into the bush. What would her mother have thought? How would that conversation even go? "Today I was eavesdropping on a man's prayers but then I headbutted another man's leg, and so the first man got spat on by the second man, but anyway how was your day, mom? Was business good today?" Trisa chuckled once before she let the growing sense of loneliness remind her that her mother was gone, and that business today was not good. She rubbed the charcoal on her hands around.

"Hi there." THE MAN IS BACK. Trisa's head jolted up from her hands to look at the man in front of her. "It's not really his fault." Trisa spoke, then shook her head."Sorry, wrong one. Said it was not his fault." Common wasn't her mother tongue, but she could manage. She had an aching want to speak Tukant whenever she spoke Common though, so she tended to avoid Common. Consequently, her Common was rough and patchy in parts.

The man backed away, which Trisa truly appreciated. Nothing was worse than people with personal space issues. "If you think it is good," She nodded back to the bush as she stood up, closing her book and tucking it away into her bag as she did so. "You should see the vacation house." Trisa knotted her hands together in front of her, shrugging in response to the man's question. She didn't know if she was good or not, in all truthfulness. She had never allowed anyone to look at her work out of fear that she wasn't good. She spent so much of her time drawing, though, that she felt that it was only fair that she was good at it by this point."I hope."

By now, the sun had risen farther than Trisa normally saw. She must've lost track of time, and she cursed herself for it as she squinted towards the sun. She shielded her eyes, leaving a smudge on her forehead. This time, she was keenly aware of the mistake. "Pfft." Trisa dropped her arm in exasperation. "I better be for all the trouble." Her hands rose to meet her neck; she hovered them over her neck, protecting her throat from Syna's affections.

"I am leaving." She motioned towards the shade of a nearby building. "Out of the sun. I'm never really out in it. Come?" Trisa hesitantly side shuffled a few times before striding the rest of the way to the shade. She leaned against the building and watched the thin man with what she hoped was a welcoming smile.


Tukant Common

[Orin Fenix]

’So far, so good,’ Orin thought. Whether Priskil was smiling on him or whether Orin was just getting better at being around other people, the woman hadn’t bolted. Sure, she looked like a skittish animal about to bolt. Or maybe she was more like a cat that hadn’t decided if it liked a person or not. At that, Orin immediately thought of Sylvette. His eyes grew mournful as he braced himself for the expected pain.

Sure enough, it came, but to Orin’s surprise, it wasn’t quite as raw as it used to be. Instead, it felt familiar, like an old companion. While Orin would probably never be whole, the way he was when he still held the Kelvic bond, maybe he could learn to live around the holes in his soul. Or maybe they’d grow scar tissue, like real wounds, and continue to fade with time. It was a bittersweet thought, one that brought the ghost of a smile to Orin’s face, while keeping the grief in his eyes. ’Sylvette would want me to be happy,’ he reminded himself, ’just as I hope she’s happy wherever she is.’

Orin didn’t want to fall apart in front of his new companion. Who at first spoke to him in that strange tongue, and this time, Orin couldn’t let it slide. “What is that you’re speaking?” Orin’s voice held a bit of his old eagerness, when his curiosity had been almost too strong to control. Nowadays, he could temper it a bit, which all of his old friends would probably be thankful for. It was too bad none of them were here to see Orin now.

The woman’s voice held the same accent as the man did, when she finally switched over to Common, much to Orin’s relief. He would’ve looked pretty awkward trying to make conversation with someone through pantomime and gestures, and Orin didn’t need anything extra to look awkward. His own natural charm, or lack thereof, usually ensured that just fine. The woman’s words finally reached Orin’s mind and he scrambled to reply. “Oh, there’s no need to apologize, I’m the foreigner here.” Of course Orin was assuming the woman was a native. She had the telltale tattoo of a Riverfall citizen on her wrist, which was something that Orin had discovered the meaning of even though he’d only spent a few days here.

Orin titled his head quizzically, brow furrowed, at the second part of her statement. “What do you mean it wasn’t his fault?” Meeting her eyes, Orin shrugged. “Regardless of blame, he acted intolerably. I don’t care if he was in a bad mood, it’s not really an excuse for rudeness.” Of course, that was unfair and a bit hypocritical of Orin, whose tongue grew sharper when he truly got angry or upset.

It was about this time that Orin realized he’d never properly introduced himself. Smacking his forehead, Orin shook his head ruefully. “I’m an idiot, that’s what I am.” Sticking out his hand, Orin said, “I’m Orin Fenix. I’m new around these parts, as evidenced by my complete lack of understanding about local customs and likely misguided chivalrous streak. And you are?” Then Orin remembered the charcoal on her hands and the rather careless way that she smeared on her face and he let his hand drop. “Ah, sorry, your hands. I’d forgotten.”

Orin started placing mental bets about how soon she’d tried to excuse herself from the bumbling fool in front of her. Of course, then she started joking back at him. Maybe his sense of humor had actually improved from nonexistent to only slightly terrible. Looking around at the space, Orin grinned. “Oh yeah? Let me guess, a slightly damp cave with no natural lighting and a slight unidentifiable smell. Am I close?” Orin wondered how far he could push this particular joke. Remembering that she didn’t seem to be entirely fluent in Common, Orin felt compelled to add, “by the way, if you don’t understand anything I say or if I start speaking too quickly, please, say something. Or just hit me. I have a tendency to babble on and on about nothing important, you see,” and realizing he was doing just that, Orin laughed and finished with, “kind of like that.”

The woman seemed very protective of her artwork if a bit exasperated with her own shyness about it, and while Orin could sort of understand the urge, it was a bit strange to him. After all, while he’d never call himself an artist, his work pleased the senses too and he tried to share it with the world. Or at least, he had, before the dark days had arrived. “I’m sure you’re good. But, really, what’s the good of art if no one sees it?” Thinking of his past, of the trouble he’d face and the obstacles he’d had to overcome just to be allowed to practice his life’s work, Orin smiled sadly. “Especially if you know, in your heart, that you’re doing it for yourself. Then their opinion really doesn’t matter. It just matters that you’ve bared your soul to the world.”

Orin came to himself and closed his eyes briefly, trying to bring himself back to the present moment. “Sorry, I got a bit morbid there. Dark emotions seem to be contagious around these parts.” Orin added, “I’ll have you know I usually am not this open around strangers,” but then he remembered that, actually he typically said the first thought that popped into his head. “Well, maybe I am, but I’m working on being better at it.”

However, the woman was already on the move, seeking the shelter of a nearby building. Orin followed, knowing how quickly it got hot in the summer, and he was pleased to see her hesitant but open smile. He leaned against the wall next to her and just watched the passerby for a moment. “So, what makes you avoid sunlight? Natural aversion to it?” Orin had met a few people in his time that simply preferred the night hours, and while it was unusual, he didn’t necessarily have a problem with it.

Orin’s eyes kept returning to the notebook and the secrets he felt were locked away inside. He’d found that someone’s work or hobbies said a lot about them as a person. “So, what sorts of things do you like to sketch,” he asked, genuinely curious.

[Trisa Miroy]

Trisa laughed lightly at his mention of rudeness being inexcusable. She wondered if abruptly headbutting someone in the shins was the same kind of rude he was talking about. Perhaps if it's an accident then it isn't rudeness, just stupidity. Either way, she was either constantly rude or consistently stupid. "It is Tukant, we speak it here." She briefly gestured around her, not sure what else to say. Did he know who "we" was...the Akalak? Obviously he had seen the abundance of colorful men everywhere. As the man smacked his own forehead, she came to the same realization he had. Speaking of idiots...

"You are not the only idiot. I am Trisa." She wasn't really in the habit of giving out her last name. It wasn't a secret, it just felt bizarre. How many Trisa's could one guy know? She had never met another Trisa before, and she certainly had never met another Trisa with as much art on their body as her; if he needed to find her again, he could probably more easily track her down as "Trisa with the tattoos" than "Trisa Miroy." She waved his apology away. It was her apology to give. She was the mess here.

"Close enough." She grinned briefly in place of a laugh. Her apartment had the charisma of a poorly lit cave. When it was actually dark, she couldn't stand being there. It felt like creatures were crawling in the dark, just waiting for her to reach for something on the floor or come out from under the covers. "It is actually a bigger bush." Also true, considering the state of her garden at the moment.

Trisa took in his words a processed them slowly, chewing them slowly before swallowing their ideas. Art was art. Hidden art was the same as any other art. "It is mine. Trees are trees anywhere. They do not stop being trees when not seen." She nodded as she spoke, thinking aloud more than anything else. "It is mine, I do not need their opinion. I hear it, it matters. Cannot unhear a bad opinion." Aside from the made up word, she thought her point was made well enough. She didn't need others opinions, because as soon as she heard them then they become relevant. She'd worry about them, she'd accommodate them, she'd change her art so that others thought it was "better." If her art was truly for herself, then others didn't need to see it.

And with that, she smacked his arm with an open palm. This not only decisively ended that conversation, but also signaled him. "Getting 'more bed'?" Trisa shook her head. Perhaps it was a phrase from wherever the foreigner was from. "A saying where you are from?" Wherever that is. Trisa wondered if it was worth asking, considering she knew nothing beyond the city of Riverfall. He could say anything and it would all be the same to her.

"These." She had no idea what the word for "tattoo" was in Common. Then again she didn't search very hard for it as she leaned against the wall. She pulled up her left shirt sleeve to reveal her tattoo. It was crisp and dark. The lines hadn't blurred; they still looked as straight as the day she'd gotten them done. There were no blotches or uneven shading. It was still beautiful. "No sun." Trisa switched arms, bringing her fuzzy little underwater scene to Orin's attention. The colors bled into each other and were no longer vibrant. The lines mushed together and made the image hard to immediately recognize. The tattoo itself was still good enough to recognize up close, but from far away...forget it. "Sun."

What did she like to sketch? Trisa didn't really have a favorite theme or domain as of yet; she considered herself too young to be nailed down to one area. Not to mention she was far from being an expert in any one area. She shrugged. "Patterns, I guess. Straight lines, boxes, buildings. Definitely not people." She'd have to be around a person for a long time to draw them, which is a double no-go.

"You?" Trisa nodded towards him. Weaving her tongue through the piercings in her mouth, she tried to come up with the words she was looking for as she organized her sentences. Common was so . . . brief. It felt incomplete when compared to Tukant. It threw her for a loop every time. "Do you drew?"

Tukant Common

[Orin Fenix]

The language was called Tukant and Trisa indicated that the locals here spoke it. It was a pretty enough language, although it seemed a bit long-winded. With absolutely no way of knowing what they were saying, though, Orin was basically just guessing. For all he knew, they’d gotten through an entire epic story in the few chimes they’d been speaking. “By we do you mean everyone, or mostly everyone?” Biting his lip Orin thought for a chime. “Is it the language of the Akalaks?” Realizing they might have a different name in their native home, Orin put a hand way above his head as an indication of height, while explaining, “you know, big, tall, blue blokes, faces like storm clouds because they seem incapable of smiling?” Orin glanced around to make sure there weren’t any Akalaks nearby, but it seemed he was in the clear.

The woman’s name was Trisa, an unusual name, but pretty. Orin noted that she didn’t give him her last name, but then again, he probably shouldn’t be introducing himself to complete strangers in an unfamiliar city. Still, Orin didn’t do well in isolation. Maybe this woman couldn’t be a close friend and confidant, but at least he’d know someone here, finally. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Trisa.”

Orin grinned back at her. Her whole face lit up when she grin, although maybe Orin was reading too much into the expression. It was just such an improvement over the slight look of fear and uncertainty from before that she’d been wearing that Orin couldn’t help but feel a little happy about it. He punched his fist in mock frustration at his slightly off guess. “So close! Maybe I’ll do better next time.” Orin crossed his arms against his chest again, to keep them from fidgeting but he couldn’t keep his foot from tapping in slight anxiety that, even though she seemed more relaxed and comfortable, he would still mess this up. “So, is your vacation home around these parts too?”

Her response to his comments on art surprised him. Orin thought for a moment, just trying to process how he felt about her beliefs. “Well, you bring up an interesting philosophical point there. Is a tree still a tree if there’s no one there to see it?” Orin didn’t necessarily have an answer, it was just a question that he’d heard asked and argued by scholars who were too deep in their cups at The Rearing Stallion, one he’d not paid much attention to at the time because it had seemed like a completely useless discussion. Now, though it suddenly became relevant. “After all, what do we really know about the secret life of trees?”

However, he’d gotten slightly off track of the conversation, and he returned to the topic of her art with keen interest. “You’re right that you don’t need their opinion. You don’t. It’s your art and they shouldn’t influence how you feel about it.” But Orin wasn’t done yet, and he shrugged slightly before continuing. “That being said, I don’t know if I necessarily agree with you. I think it’s your own unique contribution to this world, and why shouldn’t you share that piece of your soul, and make the world a better place by doing so.”

At that point, though, she slapped his arm, and Orin held out his hands in surrender. Chuckling, he said, “fine, fine, you win. I’ll drop it.” Rubbing his arm, he frowned in fake pain. “I know I said you could hit me, but ow!” Hopefully she’d see the slight twinkle in his eye and know he was fine. However, at her question, he was really perplexed. “More bed? What do I mean by…oh! You mean, morbid?” He rubbed between his eyebrows, trying to come up with a definition he thought she’d understand. “It means depressing. You know, dark, dreary, the whole death, doom and gloom thing.” Maybe that would get the meaning across. “Not a saying, just a word.” It just so happened to be a word that could be used to describe Orin’s life neatly right now.

Orin backed away as Trisa started pulling her sleeves up, not sure what she was doing, but he stopped as soon as he realized she was just showing off her tattoos. The one on her left arm showed strong, clean, mostly straight lines, bold and unapologetic. Orin couldn’t quite make out the design in the still poor early morning lighting, but when she showed him the tattoo on her right, that one was recognizable. It was an ocean scene, although it took Orin a moment to put it together since, unlike her left arm, the lines were not at all crisp. Looking back at forth at both arms, Orin tried to piece together what she was saying. “So, wait, let me see if I understand. You stay out of the sun because of your tattoos.” Thinking of the ocean scene, Orin finally put two and two together. “Because the sun damages tattoos! Took me long enough.” He’d never heard of that before, but then again, he didn’t have tattoos of his own. “What about those?” he inquired, pointing at her piercings. “What prompted you to get those, and the tattoos?” He’d never seen someone with quite this many changes made to their body.

It seemed like Trisa didn’t really have a specialty when it came to her art, or maybe she was just willing to draw anything. . Except people, that is. Although buildings, boxes and patterns seemed like she had an affinity for simpler designs, which made sense if Orin considered her tattoos “Why not people?” Orin asked, puzzled. “I don’t know, it seems to me that a person would be the greatest challenge to draw of all.” He waved his hands as he tried to find the words that would describe what he meant. “To try and capture all that person is in a single moment of time.”

At her question about his own artistic abilities Orin barked out a laugh. “Me? Draw? Nothing so fancy, I’m afraid. I’m just an admirer of the arts.” The idea was, indeed laughable. Orin didn’t have many artistic inclinations. “No, I’m just a simple cook.” Although Orin wasn't sure he could still refer to himself as that. He was talented, and while he was humble, he knew he was better than most of the chefs out there.

[Trisa Miroy]

Trisa squinted as she thought about Riverfall and her people. Her parents had spoken both Tukant and Common, but she was sure that that was just out of necessity. Many of the customers that had wandered into her parents' inn spoke Common as their first language, and a language barrier meant a loss in revenue. Trisa's family couldn't afford to turn away customers. Outside of her parents, though, the Trisa almost solely spoke Tukant. That would lead her to think that everyone that lived here spoke Tukant. It would only make sense. "Yes it is," Trisa answered his second question first. "And everyone living here. Common is...common, too."

Trisa nodded in agreement; it was nice to meet a new person. When her family moved away, she realized she was essentially friendless. Making friends was always hard for Trisa, so she just socialized mostly with her siblings. They were stuck with her, they had to listen. She did, in theory, love meeting new people. But things always went sideways when she tried to talk to a stranger. Trisa could out-talk anyone in her family, but her words tripped over each other when she was talking with a new person. Sometimes, her mouth would get dry or her hands would start to shake uncontrollably for no real reason. Fortunately, this wasn't one of those times. True, her heartbeat was elevated, but that was almost always the case. Her body went into fight-or-flight mode as soon as she left her house. For now, though, she was relatively calm.

"Yes,"Since she had promised herself that she'd try to get better at these sorts of things, Trisa pushed herself to offer Orin more than just one-word responses. "I live in Riverfall. I was born here, too." She kept it vague, figuring that her exact address probably wasn't the safest information to give out.

"Mooorrbeeed," Trisa rolled the word around in her mouth, trying to nail down the pronunciation. "Morbed. Morbead." Close enough. His explanation was satisfactory, and a little awe-inspiring. Not in the sense that it was a particularly well-worded explanation, but more that it amazed Trisa that words could be so nuanced. She wasn't great with words and she often preferred the straightforward approach to talking. For her, dark was dark, never morbid.

Watching Orin piece together what she was saying, Trisa smiled. His excitement was a nice change of pace. Most of the time, her parents just brushed off the topic of tattoos. It wasn't so much that they didn't like or appreciate them, but more that they just didn't find them as interesting as Trisa did. She loved tattoos, and she could talk about them for bells and bells. "Yes, I do not know why though. They just look clean without the sun."

"I think they are pretty." Trisa pulled one of her bottom lip piercings in gentle with her tongue, creating just enough space for her to bite the post of the piercing. "But also tough." She smiled as she ran her hand over her neck piece. It was her biggest tattoo by a landslide, and it was the only one that she got solely for the purpose of not looking weak. At times, the tattoo helped her feel less weak as well. If others thought she looked tough with the chest piece, then it was a lot easier for Trisa to act confident. She found it was usually easier to act how people expected her to than to be her normal, skittish self. Trisa looked at the open skin on Orin's body, but she couldn't see any tattoos on his body. "Do you have any?"

"People are scary!" Trisa laughed while giving exaggerated expression of uneasiness. "You have to be around that person for a long time. That is scary." Trisa shook her head, thinking of all the time it would take just to draw a person. What if they wanted to talk? What then? Trisa couldn't imagine having to force conversation with someone while also trying to focus. "And it is a big challenge. How do you fit all the personality in a picture? You would have to know the person very well." In that regard, Trisa would only be able to sketch her family. When they were around, they never sat still anyway. Their sketches would just be blurs rushing around.

"That is okay because I cannot cook at all." Trisa had never had to cook for herself. Being the youngest in her family, Trisa always had others to make food for her. Now that she was on her own, however, this was becoming a problem. "Can you show me?" Trisa bit down on the posts inside her mouth. She wasn't sure how exactly this was going to work, seeing as she had absolutely no way of cooking in her home. Had she just inadvertently invited herself to this stranger's home? Did he even have a home here? Quickly realizing the mistake she had made, Trisa backpedaled. "Or just give me advice. I have never cooked for myself before, so anything is good."

Tukant Common

[Orin Fenix]

Orin ran his hand through his hair. “Huh. Well, I’ve been getting along alright with my Common.” It was true that sometimes people muttered in that language when Orin wasn’t watching them, but seeing as he knew nothing about Tukant he might just be reading too much into the situation. “It’s a pretty language, I suppose.” It was still odd to Orin, that other places each had their own unique language. Sure, most folks spoke at least a smattering of Common, but in Syliras everyone spoke it fluency so understanding one another was never a problem.

Orin perked up at her mentioning that she grew up in Riverfall. “Oh, really? That’s great then!” Smiling wildly, he gestured at the increasing bustle of the city around them. “You can tell me about it, maybe show me the sights.” It would be nice to know more than where his apartment was and where he worked. Granted, those two places were really the only two places he needed to know about, but it still would do him some good to get out more. Maybe if he channeled his efforts into exploring the city he now called home it would keep the depression at bay a little while longer. “Where is your favorite place in Riverfall?” Orin didn’t know enough about Riverfall to have a favorite place just yet, but he had a sneaking suspicion it would be the Azurite Watchtower.

He’d visited it last night, and that visit still stuck with him. It had been incredible, finally meeting someone who was as fervent in his or her belief in Priskil as Orin was. It was refreshing, and Kimbri had really helped him through what otherwise might have been a difficult patch in Orin’s life. He was still depressed, but at least now he felt there was something he could do about it, some place that he could visit if he absolutely needed to. She’d been absolutely right about occasionally needing someone to rely on. No one could go it alone in this world.

Trisa was cute while she was trying out the word, although Orin would never say so to someone who seemed that shy. She’d probably bolt. Or, if his luck held, she’d punch him or stab him. So he remained silent, reigning in the chuckle that tried to bubble up. “Perfect,” he said instead. While her pronunciation was a bit off, she basically had it.

Regarding her tattoos, Orin didn’t know why the sun might make them fade and run. “Your guess is as good as mine,” he admitted, since he wasn’t a tattoo artist and therefore had no way of knowing what they were and weren’t supposed to do. “Can you get them fixed?” he asked. It would probably be very sad if all that work on her got damaged and was lost forever.

Trisa explained that she felt her piercings and tattoos were pretty and tough. Orin had known quite a few people, women mostly and some men, who that description felt perfectly. “Like you perhaps?” Orin hadn’t meant to pry and he immediately rushed to add, “I’m sorry, you don’t need to answer that if you don’t want to.” Orin bit his lower lip before continuing. “It’s a bad habit of mine, speaking before thinking. It’s mostly cleared but it slips out every now and again.” He smiled, hoping to lessen the rudeness he felt he’d just committed. When she asked after his own body, Orin indicated himself in an overdone theatrical gesture. “What do you think?” Shaking his head, Orin gave her an actual response. “No, with me what you see is what you get.” That wasn’t exactly what he’d meant to say but it seemed to answer her question well enough.

At her uneasiness, Orin put as much space between them while still remaining in conversational range as he could, suddenly conscious again of the fact that he had invaded her space. Still, she’d invited him over to the wall, when she could’ve excused herself, so Orin forced himself to relax somewhat. “Well, I hope you don’t find me scary,” he offered, in an inane hope that she might realize not all people had to intimidate her. “What do you find so terrifying about being around another person?” Orin could come up with more than a few answers to that particular question, but he wanted to here was Trisa had to say on the matter.

At the word challenge, though, his excitement got the better of him. “But that’s the thing,” he said, gesticulating wildly. “Wouldn’t you want to challenge yourself? How do we get better at our art, in our lives, without a challenge.” Remembering that he was in public, with a near stranger who he was trying not to frighten, Orin settled down. “Sorry. I can get a bit to passionate sometimes.” But still, he wasn’t willing to let the subject drop just yet. This was something that was fundamental to Orin’s personality, and he didn’t want to see Trisa, someone who might have talent and drive, let herself stagnate. “I don’t think we should ever shy away from something that scares us or is challenging. That’s letting the darkness inside us win. And if we let that happen, we start letting it happen in others.” Orin smiled, softening his words, or so he hoped. “Besides, I think it would be remarkable to be able to capture something so beautiful about a person.”

Trisa’s willingness to learn caught Orin off guard. For a moment, he was transported back to Syliras and The Rearing Stallion. Her request was so like many of the others that Orin had fulfilled during his time working at the tavern, and yet, it had been the first one in a long while. His first instinct was to say no, but he curbed that. Why shouldn’t Orin share his love for cooking with someone else? Perhaps it would inspire Trisa to pursue her own passion.

As Orin saw it, he had two options. He could go back to Cora Apartments, and try and convince his landlady to let him cook. Or, he could go to The Almond Blossom and either hope that his employers were not there or attempt to convince them to allow Trisa to stay. Glancing at the sky, Orin saw that the day was approaching rapidly, which meant that there would probably be customers arriving at the teahouse soon, which meant that Orin should probably get to work. Taking a chance, but one that felt right, Orin nodded slowly. “You don’t need to have any knowledge. We all start as beginners. I be happy to show you a few things.” Orin held up a hand to show that she shouldn't get too excited yet. "I have a few conditions. First, you listen to me and follow my lead. Second, if I teach you to cook, you sketch me." With that Orin extended his hand, waiting for her to take it. If she did, he’d start taking her to The Almond Blossom.

[Trisa Miroy]

Trisa had never really thought about what her favorite place within the city was. As she thought about it now, though, she realized that home was her favorite place. Not her place at Windswept Condos--that was just a house--but her family's home. It was a place filled with love, with people who understood her. It was accommodating, comforting. Outside that house, Trisa had to pretend everything was alright. "I would love to. And Semele Park, probably. It is calming there." She grinned lightly as she lied.

Trisa had considered getting her tattoos touched up before, but decided against it due to the cost. She needed to be frugal for a while and her tattoos weren't going anywhere. "Yes, but that is money I do not have right now." Trisa waved the thought away nonchalantly. "I hope to be able to fix them myself someday, anyway."

Did he just call me pretty? Trisa felt a air ball up inside her chest. She had no idea how to respond to that. Was he flirting with her? Trisa didn't know how to flirt. Shyke, she barely knew how to carry a conversation properly without freaking out. She hoped that if she didn't acknowledge it then it wouldn't happen again. "I think you will need tattoo eventually," Trisa motioned towards her left wrist. "If you plan to stay."

Orin didn't scare Trisa. Maybe "scary" had been the wrong word. Uneasy would probably have been a better bet. "I do not know. But when I am around strangers," Trisa raised her hand and rhythmically beat it against her chest, mimicking a rapid heart beat. "I feel like something bad is going to happen." Trisa noticed that he had backed away and felt a bit guilty. Feeling as though she had made him uncomfortable, she took a step back towards Orin and nudged him lightly with her elbow. "You are not too bad, though."

Trisa agreed with him about having to challenge oneself in order to become better. After all, that was the only reason she was still here. She could have never trained for her Kuvan test and she could have left with her family. But if she let her fears dictate her life, then, as Orin said, it could infest those she loved, too. "Challenge is good, yes. Disappointment is not, however." Trisa nodded energetically. "I want to know someone well before I try to draw them. It is easy to take the life out or put the wrong life in a sketch. I want their personality in the drawing." Her brow furrowed and a frown abruptly stretched across her face. "And do not apologize about having passion. Only dead people should not be passionate."

It saddened Trisa that he had apologized for being passionate. In her mind that meant that, at one point, Orin had opened up to someone about his loves and they had shut him down. That meant that someone had taught him to hide what made him unique. That meant that, on some level, Orin thought it was wrong to be open and passionate.

Trisa was about to gladly accept his offer to show her a few things when he raised his hands. Conditions? Ugh. There were rules to this offer? Her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Trisa wasn't a fan of other people's rules. She had strict rules for herself and those calmed her. She often found that rules from others conflicted with her own, though. Orin's first rule: listening. That wasn't too bad. That is, unless he had nefarious goals in mind... Trisa squinted. She hoped this man knew who he was dealing with; Trisa had let someone stab through her face five times with a needle. She was no pushover. At his second condition, Trisa sighed. There it was: the condition that directly conflicted with her own. She didn't know him well enough to sketch him yet! Was he not listening? "Okay, but you better do much talking through this. I do not know you enough to draw you." It was a trick Trisa had learned young: tacking on rules to other people's rules so that they were technically her own rules.

Trisa paused for a moment, glancing around her. She had faith in her own training, but she wanted to be sure that there were others around just in case Orin attacked her. She looked back at Orin. She shifted her weight back and forth. She did not want to take his hand. "Where are we going, exactly?" Trisa remembered his words about letting the darkness win. If she didn't challenge herself--no, her anxieties--then she wouldn't ever get better. Shyke, I'm an idiot. After tossing another glance over her shoulder, Trisa took a deep breath and hesitantly grabbed Orin's hand. "No fish. Fish make me sick."

Tukant Common