ＥＮＧＬＡＮＤ♛ Arthur Kirkland (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
keepscalm) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thechanged2013-09-27 09:21 am
keepscalm) wrote in thechanged2013-09-27 09:21 am
Entry tags:
day 11-12; various❧ empty in the drowned field (01)
day 11; gardens, morning-afternoon❧ blue
He'd just been watering the gardens. It wasn't anything particularly unusual or challenging. The thing was, though, there were some new flowers about. He'd watered a patch of the blue ones, and then all of a sudden everything just felt so impossible. Nothing seemed bright or beautiful as it had only moments ago; the only thing he could ever imagine feeling at his situation was sadness. After all, he was stuck in this godawful house with no friends and nothing but a fragmented memory of belonging to chase after.
The melancholy overtook him easily. So now the groundskeeper sits near a flowerbed (not a new one, he knows this one, he had seen it yesterday and the day before, too), rain pouring down from the sizable cloud over top of the trees. His colour runs out rapidly, leaving only a dark, wispy grey in its wake.
He doesn't finish watering the gardens.
day 11; gardens, evening❧ black & blue
Something came along — some sort of bug, it appeared — and he swatted it away despondently, wishing to be left to his melancholy. But that simple action seemed to be the catalyst for a spark, some awful, ugly thing igniting within him that took to the sadness like fire to oil. How dare this place make him feel so weak? He's mournful, he's alone, he's trapped— and he's just sitting here like some great waste of space.
His hands tighten and ball up into fists, but there's no hope of containing the anger through any gesture of restraint. It's already raging, its fuel the heavy sadness that has plagued him since this morning. And the more it burns, the less he wants to stop it. The clouds that seem to be contained within his body are thick, dark — almost black in colouration, and the rain falls in torrents now, blinding sheets of raindrops like pins and needles as they descend.
With a frustrated shout, he closes his hands around the delicate stems of the flowers next to him and rips them up from the mud.
day 12; inside the house (various), morning-afternoon❧ orange & white
Whatever troubled his mind the day before had gone as quickly and mysteriously as it came. He slept once he had worn himself out on his fury, and the next morning he awoke feeling strangely...excited. He couldn't really explain it; there was just sort of a buzzing, like an itch that demanded to be scratched. He had to look around, he had to learn. And maybe he would find something useful! Something that would help him remember, or teach him a new skill.
Maybe he would find Ruby.
So he sets a course into the house, and he goes everywhere — the lounge, the bedroom, the dining hall, anywhere that he can really go, honestly. And he pokes and prods at pretty much everything he can, though his touch is gentle — never know what might be a person around here!
He'd just been watering the gardens. It wasn't anything particularly unusual or challenging. The thing was, though, there were some new flowers about. He'd watered a patch of the blue ones, and then all of a sudden everything just felt so impossible. Nothing seemed bright or beautiful as it had only moments ago; the only thing he could ever imagine feeling at his situation was sadness. After all, he was stuck in this godawful house with no friends and nothing but a fragmented memory of belonging to chase after.
The melancholy overtook him easily. So now the groundskeeper sits near a flowerbed (not a new one, he knows this one, he had seen it yesterday and the day before, too), rain pouring down from the sizable cloud over top of the trees. His colour runs out rapidly, leaving only a dark, wispy grey in its wake.
He doesn't finish watering the gardens.
day 11; gardens, evening❧ black & blue
Something came along — some sort of bug, it appeared — and he swatted it away despondently, wishing to be left to his melancholy. But that simple action seemed to be the catalyst for a spark, some awful, ugly thing igniting within him that took to the sadness like fire to oil. How dare this place make him feel so weak? He's mournful, he's alone, he's trapped— and he's just sitting here like some great waste of space.
His hands tighten and ball up into fists, but there's no hope of containing the anger through any gesture of restraint. It's already raging, its fuel the heavy sadness that has plagued him since this morning. And the more it burns, the less he wants to stop it. The clouds that seem to be contained within his body are thick, dark — almost black in colouration, and the rain falls in torrents now, blinding sheets of raindrops like pins and needles as they descend.
With a frustrated shout, he closes his hands around the delicate stems of the flowers next to him and rips them up from the mud.
day 12; inside the house (various), morning-afternoon❧ orange & white
Whatever troubled his mind the day before had gone as quickly and mysteriously as it came. He slept once he had worn himself out on his fury, and the next morning he awoke feeling strangely...excited. He couldn't really explain it; there was just sort of a buzzing, like an itch that demanded to be scratched. He had to look around, he had to learn. And maybe he would find something useful! Something that would help him remember, or teach him a new skill.
Maybe he would find Ruby.
So he sets a course into the house, and he goes everywhere — the lounge, the bedroom, the dining hall, anywhere that he can really go, honestly. And he pokes and prods at pretty much everything he can, though his touch is gentle — never know what might be a person around here!
day 11, evening
It doesn't take that long, though, because there's one person in particular he's looking for (though it does take a bit longer than it might otherwise, given how well his gloomy looks match the gloomy surroundings).
"Hey!" he says, and then decides to yell even louder. "Hey! What are you doing?"
no subject
"What does it look like I'm doing?!" he shouts back, gesturing with his arms to the floral destruction all around him.
you know when
Of course, all this sense of purpose without an outlet is potentially dangerous, so perhaps it's fortunate the Darkling's curiosity catches her eye, so to speak. Hands clasped politely behind her back, she approaches as he prods around the lounge, though there's no attempt to peer around him in order to get a look at what he's poking at.
"Looking for something?" she asks, a chipperness to her tone that is in stark contrast to the caution she displayed at their first meeting.