鏑木・T・虎徹 ᴋᴏᴛᴇᴛsᴜ ᴛ. ᴋᴀʙᴜʀᴀɢɪ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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thechanged2013-09-04 10:27 pm
earnedmystripes) wrote in thechanged2013-09-04 10:27 pm
Entry tags:
Looks like we've got ourselves a Good Samaritan--whatever that is | Day 4 [ Open ]
As it turned out, he didn't have any more idea what to do with himself on the fourth day since that strange dream-memory than he had had on the first. He wanted to know more about himself, about that woman in his dream...but most of all, what was meant by that promise. But none of those he'd spoken to yet recognized the word 'hero' from their own dreams--even the silver-haired Fairest that had been with him upon awakening, whose dream had also involved protection as a theme, had not heard of such a concept.
Attempting to ask every single inhabitant of the house what their dream had been about seemed like an impossible task, however, and short of that he was a bit at a loss of how to chase after his answers. But he wouldn't just sit around and do nothing, either, so he found himself just...wandering from area to area. One thing he'd found over the course of his first days aware that he could remember was that there was a certain...fulfillment, in helping others, easing the sharpest edges of the uncertainty that came with trying to sort through the murky haze that was his own mind. It was simple and natural, something that made sense when very little else did: helping people was important...and it made him happy.
Until he could figure out his dream, find just who he was...he could content himself with this much, perhaps.
[ooc: Feel free to run into him anywhere! He's just sort of wandering aimlessly, attempting to be helpful, though he's certainly not averse to casual chit-chat. :'D Only thing of note is that the palm of his left hand is burned, shoddily wrapped in a torn strip of a sheet from the master bedroom.]
Attempting to ask every single inhabitant of the house what their dream had been about seemed like an impossible task, however, and short of that he was a bit at a loss of how to chase after his answers. But he wouldn't just sit around and do nothing, either, so he found himself just...wandering from area to area. One thing he'd found over the course of his first days aware that he could remember was that there was a certain...fulfillment, in helping others, easing the sharpest edges of the uncertainty that came with trying to sort through the murky haze that was his own mind. It was simple and natural, something that made sense when very little else did: helping people was important...and it made him happy.
Until he could figure out his dream, find just who he was...he could content himself with this much, perhaps.
[ooc: Feel free to run into him anywhere! He's just sort of wandering aimlessly, attempting to be helpful, though he's certainly not averse to casual chit-chat. :'D Only thing of note is that the palm of his left hand is burned, shoddily wrapped in a torn strip of a sheet from the master bedroom.]
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He has a length of thick, red cloth pulled across his lap, which he is cutting at with a small knife he has in his hand. He seems frustrated and a bit uncertain about what he's doing - he seems to be trying to cut holes into the fabric along the edges, but it's difficult to do without causing more damage than is needed.
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"Heeeey, it's you!"
He raises his uninjured hand in a wave, quickly making his way over and grinning brightly at the hearth boy.
"You got out, that's great."
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"I was let out," he clarifies, not sounding nearly as enthusiastic about it as the tiger is.
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He settles down on the steps a few feet from the hearth, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
"Naa, that's even better, right? Guess Mason's in a better mood now, or something."
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"He didn't say why," he says after a moment. He brings the knife down to the cloth again, jabbing at it awkwardly. "I've been trying to stay out of sight, since then."
With limited success, obviously.
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Not that he knows why the hearth boy was imprisoned inside his own fireplace, but after all, Mason had shoved that dragon guy in a closet just for telling him to prove he was really in charge--which, admittedly, likely wasn't a good idea while you were inside the grumpy living house, but still not anything terrible.
He peers over at the blanket, tilting his head in curiosity as the boy stabs it over and over.
"Hey, what're you doing with that thing?"
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"I'm...trying to stitch the sides closed." He's hesitating over whether it's worth getting into it, but tiger man doesn't seem like he's leaving. "But there's no thread thin enough for the needles I have. So I need holes large enough for this."
He lifts a length of what seems like some kind of curtain chord, complete with tassels.
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When the hearth boy explains, he looks between the cord and the fabric, and offers a grin.
"I think I've got a more convenient way to do it." He doesn't move from his spot, but does raise up a clawed hand, the light of the candle reflecting off the pointy nails.
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But if he could just get on with wearing this like he wants to...
He holds it out, tentatively. And then he uses his own claw to point at the places he wants punctured, already marked with something dark on the fabric.
"These places. Be careful with it."
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"That work?"
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"I think so," he says, and starts trying to pull the chord through it like an oversized thread. He's quiet for a while, as he works. It takes him a bit to even acknowledge the tiger again.
"Thank you," he says, quietly.
Inner Gardens
If he was really a scientist, he should be good at doing research, right? That's what he had been doing in the first place, in that memory. But what was science, exactly? The beast had been doing important research, it had meant something to him, he was getting a lot of.... something or other for it. Well, whatever it was, he was going to find out. Perhaps he simply needed to start asking the others about it.
When he finally came across the other beast, he squinted, trying to decide if the two had met before. He certainly didn't look like one of the warriors what with his lack of scars, though there was that bandaged hand of his. "I don't think I've seen you before," he said, curious.
It was probably a good thing that he was a wolf and thus not prone to barking at cats.
apologies for the delay!
As a pet, he generally went where the keeper told him to, so he didn't have any particular area that could be deemed his "usual" haunts. Nonetheless, the other Beast does not register as familiar from the vague, hazy things he can recall of his time spent with the Keeper, so he simply shrugs and offers a smile.
"Don't think I have either. Yo."
No problem, sorry about mine, too!
He masks it after a moment. No, there's no point in being jealous. Master is gone. Who knows how long the Master had been gone. Making allies was the most important step at the moment for everyone, that much the wolf was certain of. "Have you found anything interesting?" he asked, curious. The gardens were his home when he hadn't been fighting, that much he remembered from the haze even though he didn't think he had been in the gardens for long at all at a time.
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He's sitting on a couch when he sees him. Judging by his appearance, he might be like him. Or he might be like that fiery boy, or he might be something else altogether. It's not good to make assumptions.
He frowns when he sees the cat man's hand, wrapped in cloth. He feels strangely guilty. He's pretty sure he's supposed to stop that kind of thing from happening. "Hey," He says, standing. "Are you okay?"
herpderp sorry for the late
The last of which he wanders into by chance, and he's almost tempted to shift into tiger form merely out of force of habit.
Someone else interrupts his train of thought, though, and he blinks in vague confusion at the question.
"Huh?"
It's different from that first morning, because he was clearly disoriented and out of sorts at the time, but he doesn't think he seems as such now. But then he happens to look down at his hand, and something clicks for him.
"Oh, this?" he asks, raising the hand in question. "It's nothing. Just kinda touched something a bit hot the other day."
Which is to say, the hand of a boy who was literally fire, in the attempt to reassure him. Oops.
inner gardens
He's working when the other man passes by, kneeling by some of the plants that glow upon nightfall. The sound of footsteps catches the Darkling's attention, and he lifts his head to give his attention briefly to the source of the sound. The man has a beastly sort of look about him. The gardener has to wonder exactly what he's doing out here. He looks a bit lost, even.
"Oi," calls the grumpy Servant, his tone wary (and understandably, given the damage the gardens have suffered since the first day). "Do you need something over there?"
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"Haa?"
He turns his head toward the voice, seeking out the source of it. The Servant isn't one he's met in the last couple days, and his memory before then is too hazy to recall if they'd crossed paths in the time before.
"No? I was just wandering around." A vague shrug, and he changes form to tiger, as if to show he does have some familiarity with the gardens rather than just traipsing in out of nowhere for no reason.
"Don't worry, I wasn't gonna hurt the plants or anything." He lays down in the grass at that, as if to accentuate his point.
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But, ah, no such luck! He is lost to his own frustrations, then, until he hears the soft pad of footsteps and pivots upon his heel to better face their owner.
"Oh!" Silvered eyes widen first in surprise, then soften in a certain measure of fondness for the Beast which he'd woken next to. Where the Fairest had been fruitless in his search, had the tiger succeeded in his own? "I'd thought that, surely, I'd never be able to find you again."
It is a tease, for the most part. Admittedly, it is a trifle difficult to locate comrades within the great expanse of the grounds.