Kusuriuri (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
justamedicineseller) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fluxscape2021-06-03 02:21 am
justamedicineseller) wrote in fluxscape2021-06-03 02:21 am
Entry tags:
Closed - Itsuka hikari ni mukau....
What: Kusuriuri and Mera
Where: Honeywell Arms North - 4th floor
When: 6/3 - Midafternoon
Warnings: None right now, will update if necessary
When nothing is ever "normal" or the same, being thrown into another world unceremoniously is just business as usual. Still, there are ever things to learn, aren't there? Each new dimension or time or place has different flora and fauna, different beds to sleep in, different monsters to learn and find. Sure, it feels strange to be stuck in one place like this...but the unfamiliar is familiar, in the end, and he just means to make the best of it.
Having an apartment to himself is new, too. He's lived as a wanderer for so long that it feels almost wrong to return to the same bed twice; that said, having a place to store his supplies and cook down medicines is nice. But to do that, he needs to get raw materials. The desert is unforgiving and the market isn't much better, but he's used to making do. And so since his arrival, he has spent much of his time (besides the time he has spent learning to barista) coming and going, bartering and scrounging and returning.
It's after a trip out to forage that he's returning now, strolling up from the stairs onto the fourth floor of the Honeywell Arms. Floor four, apartment four. A cursed number. He thinks it's hilarious, really. Whatever powers that be here clearly have a sense of humor.
Even with the way this place simplified his garb, there are still echoes of his kimono there. Perhaps the colors are a little dimmer than he would prefer, but still the butterfly motifs pattern the sleeves, like great eyes staring out at the world around him. A lavender-clawed hand - not the one clutching a bag filled with roots and strong-smelling matter wrapped in rags and paper, mind - reaches into a pocket, retrieving a key and fumbling with it a bit to orient it towards the lock.
Colors dimmed or no, he is still a sight, yes. Not every day you see a paper-white elf in vibrant kabuki makeup, is it?
Where: Honeywell Arms North - 4th floor
When: 6/3 - Midafternoon
Warnings: None right now, will update if necessary
When nothing is ever "normal" or the same, being thrown into another world unceremoniously is just business as usual. Still, there are ever things to learn, aren't there? Each new dimension or time or place has different flora and fauna, different beds to sleep in, different monsters to learn and find. Sure, it feels strange to be stuck in one place like this...but the unfamiliar is familiar, in the end, and he just means to make the best of it.
Having an apartment to himself is new, too. He's lived as a wanderer for so long that it feels almost wrong to return to the same bed twice; that said, having a place to store his supplies and cook down medicines is nice. But to do that, he needs to get raw materials. The desert is unforgiving and the market isn't much better, but he's used to making do. And so since his arrival, he has spent much of his time (besides the time he has spent learning to barista) coming and going, bartering and scrounging and returning.
It's after a trip out to forage that he's returning now, strolling up from the stairs onto the fourth floor of the Honeywell Arms. Floor four, apartment four. A cursed number. He thinks it's hilarious, really. Whatever powers that be here clearly have a sense of humor.
Even with the way this place simplified his garb, there are still echoes of his kimono there. Perhaps the colors are a little dimmer than he would prefer, but still the butterfly motifs pattern the sleeves, like great eyes staring out at the world around him. A lavender-clawed hand - not the one clutching a bag filled with roots and strong-smelling matter wrapped in rags and paper, mind - reaches into a pocket, retrieving a key and fumbling with it a bit to orient it towards the lock.
Colors dimmed or no, he is still a sight, yes. Not every day you see a paper-white elf in vibrant kabuki makeup, is it?
no subject
And now there’s nothing but surface. No ocean depths. Nothing like home. She lives in something called an apartment, high above ground. It’s nice enough, and she likes it. But it’s still strange.
(So was finding a chest full of items she thought left behind. Including the dress she’d worn when Arthur fought Orm that first time.)
She’s leaving to get a little fresh air, to wander this town she’s found herself in, when she sees a familiar (and strange) face. “I guess we’re neighbours.” It’ll make it easier, to exchange information.