鏑木・T・虎徹 ᴋᴏᴛᴇᴛsᴜ ᴛ. ᴋᴀʙᴜʀᴀɢɪ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
earnedmystripes) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
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.]
no subject
"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.