7th of Summer, 522 AV
Early morning and late afternoon were among Cleon’s favorite times to be out on the deck of the Protea Inn, looking out onto the water. He had a new blend in his pipe today thanks to his magical tobacco tin. This one was a strange collection of yellow petals blended with tobacco to give it a smooth, sweet finish that lingered on the tongue. He was taking his time with it, with slow drags and deep inhales that he tried to keep inside of him for as long as possible before breathing out a puff of smoke through his nose and mouth. It was something of a morning ritual for him now. Checking his tin and smoking its contents. He had last season partially to thank for this habit, but he knew that wasn’t the whole of it. His compulsions were missing, and he felt much better because of it, however in their absence he’d lost something of himself because he had become a different person over the course of last season.
With the absence of those compulsions, it left him with no choice but to face the hard choice of those feelings and thoughts that lingered. Smoking was his way of avoiding those hard choices. For now anyways, so long as it worked to occupy his mind on during these idle periods and supplementing his evenings with drink.
Another puff of his pipe, and the cherry went out as he cashed the bowl into his palm and then dusted his hands off. He almost brushed his hands onto his brand new cream isuas breeches, but managed to resist the urge at the last moment. On this fine afternoon to better enjoy any stray breezes he was dressed simply in a pair of breeches and a set of sandals, and his mark of Laviku as currently swirling across his upper chest where he could just barely see it out of the corner of his eye. He yearned to go out to the sea just then but wasn’t sure if he would have time. He'd promised to meet with Uta late, and that woman had been far too kind to him for him to miss out on conferring with her.
So instead he turned his attention to the silvery bracelet on his wrist, and the small golden satchel intertwined within its links. He brought his mind to one of the books stored within, and a blink later it was in his hands. It was a rather large book, bound in thick leather that had been dyed a dark red but the most notable thing about it was the bright green eye fixed in the center of it, and just below that a toothy maw that gaped at him.
“What do you want?” It groused.
“Nothing really. Just to talk I guess.” Cleon mused, standing up and holding the book gingerly before him so it was facing him. “Are you willing to be a little less ornery if I show you around?”
“Would it matter how I answered?”
Cleon laughed, shook his head slightly and just started walking.
“Y’know. If you were less rude, maybe I wouldn’t keep you stored away for such long stretches of time so how about we start over. My name is Cleon, what is your name?” He asked, with a slight smirk quirking the corners of his lips.
If a single eye could eye roll, this one did an admirable impression. “Can’t you read dear boy.”
Cleon squinted at the book for a moment, then turned it over in his hands to have a look at the spine which read Silas Wordsmith’s journal on Morphing.
“I don’t understand. Which part of that is your name? Silas? Can a book have its own journal?” He mused aloud much to the disgruntlement of the book in his hands which huffed and puffed and did an excellent job of letting its displeasure be known.
“Of course not fool boy. I was created by Silas. I am merely a book and so do not have a name. I suppose though if you must call me something, Silas will do.”
“What’s morphing?” Cleon asked.
“Its something Silas spent a great time studying.”
It was Cleon’s turn to eye roll now as this had been a common refrain coming from the book since it had come into his possession early last season. The book was as stubborn as it was grouchy on this point which made Cleon think that it certainly had to have some secrets worth keeping if it was being this evasive. Of course that made him all the more interested in what it was possibly trying to keep from him, but so far he had been unlucky in his attempts to convince it in divulging any of its secrets.
Cleon sighed, and felt on the verge of putting back in his charm when on a whim he decided to keep it out for a little while longer. After all he still had some time to kill and it was amusing irritating the book. He decided to settle on one of the swings that lined the stretch of beach that shared the name, and was on the verge of taunting the book when he saw a woman that he did not recognize which was rather remarkable in a settlement this small. Cleon gave the woman a wave after setting the book down in his lap, and called out to her. “Hello there. My name is Cleon. Are you new here?”
WC - 919
.
Early morning and late afternoon were among Cleon’s favorite times to be out on the deck of the Protea Inn, looking out onto the water. He had a new blend in his pipe today thanks to his magical tobacco tin. This one was a strange collection of yellow petals blended with tobacco to give it a smooth, sweet finish that lingered on the tongue. He was taking his time with it, with slow drags and deep inhales that he tried to keep inside of him for as long as possible before breathing out a puff of smoke through his nose and mouth. It was something of a morning ritual for him now. Checking his tin and smoking its contents. He had last season partially to thank for this habit, but he knew that wasn’t the whole of it. His compulsions were missing, and he felt much better because of it, however in their absence he’d lost something of himself because he had become a different person over the course of last season.
With the absence of those compulsions, it left him with no choice but to face the hard choice of those feelings and thoughts that lingered. Smoking was his way of avoiding those hard choices. For now anyways, so long as it worked to occupy his mind on during these idle periods and supplementing his evenings with drink.
Another puff of his pipe, and the cherry went out as he cashed the bowl into his palm and then dusted his hands off. He almost brushed his hands onto his brand new cream isuas breeches, but managed to resist the urge at the last moment. On this fine afternoon to better enjoy any stray breezes he was dressed simply in a pair of breeches and a set of sandals, and his mark of Laviku as currently swirling across his upper chest where he could just barely see it out of the corner of his eye. He yearned to go out to the sea just then but wasn’t sure if he would have time. He'd promised to meet with Uta late, and that woman had been far too kind to him for him to miss out on conferring with her.
So instead he turned his attention to the silvery bracelet on his wrist, and the small golden satchel intertwined within its links. He brought his mind to one of the books stored within, and a blink later it was in his hands. It was a rather large book, bound in thick leather that had been dyed a dark red but the most notable thing about it was the bright green eye fixed in the center of it, and just below that a toothy maw that gaped at him.
“What do you want?” It groused.
“Nothing really. Just to talk I guess.” Cleon mused, standing up and holding the book gingerly before him so it was facing him. “Are you willing to be a little less ornery if I show you around?”
“Would it matter how I answered?”
Cleon laughed, shook his head slightly and just started walking.
“Y’know. If you were less rude, maybe I wouldn’t keep you stored away for such long stretches of time so how about we start over. My name is Cleon, what is your name?” He asked, with a slight smirk quirking the corners of his lips.
If a single eye could eye roll, this one did an admirable impression. “Can’t you read dear boy.”
Cleon squinted at the book for a moment, then turned it over in his hands to have a look at the spine which read Silas Wordsmith’s journal on Morphing.
“I don’t understand. Which part of that is your name? Silas? Can a book have its own journal?” He mused aloud much to the disgruntlement of the book in his hands which huffed and puffed and did an excellent job of letting its displeasure be known.
“Of course not fool boy. I was created by Silas. I am merely a book and so do not have a name. I suppose though if you must call me something, Silas will do.”
“What’s morphing?” Cleon asked.
“Its something Silas spent a great time studying.”
It was Cleon’s turn to eye roll now as this had been a common refrain coming from the book since it had come into his possession early last season. The book was as stubborn as it was grouchy on this point which made Cleon think that it certainly had to have some secrets worth keeping if it was being this evasive. Of course that made him all the more interested in what it was possibly trying to keep from him, but so far he had been unlucky in his attempts to convince it in divulging any of its secrets.
Cleon sighed, and felt on the verge of putting back in his charm when on a whim he decided to keep it out for a little while longer. After all he still had some time to kill and it was amusing irritating the book. He decided to settle on one of the swings that lined the stretch of beach that shared the name, and was on the verge of taunting the book when he saw a woman that he did not recognize which was rather remarkable in a settlement this small. Cleon gave the woman a wave after setting the book down in his lap, and called out to her. “Hello there. My name is Cleon. Are you new here?”
WC - 919
.
