Open [Alheas Park] Blue Lagoon

[Akhtar]

Date: 5th Spring 513 AV
Time: 20th Bell

It was not often that Akhtar was plagued with the dull ache of a headache. He did not understand why it had come across him so suddenly and had hovered about since the beginning of the season change. Not that it stopped him too much from the festivities; he just retreated from events slightly earlier than everyone else. But it was today that it was at its worse. He had tried lying down, he had tried drinking fluids to make sure he was hydrated, and now the man had turned to taking himself out of the main path of the public to a more reclusive zone. His wandering had lead him to the Alheas Park and its more unusual nature – though, to most Lhavitians it seemed normal – and dragged himself to a space that had yet to be overrun by tourists who flocked there.

It was near the water’s edge that Akhtar had set himself down in the bells of Leth, wrapping himself in the calm that surrounded it. It was quiet, peaceful, away from the majority of the voices that filled the city, with only the trickle of water to answer him. If it could really be classed as answering. He currently had his head in a book, the white of the page mere inches away from his face, with only the mumble of a few words under his breath, his lips moving to the words upon the page. It was a book he had always had, and always read. It would be wrong for him to say he knew it word for word, or that the story itself – if it could be called so – always fascinated him. And perhaps to a degree, it served as a brief glimpse of the world beyond the walls of Lhavit, a snippet of information that would spark the fire of imagination. His eyes glazed over the page once more, the writing barely readable in the low light, before his steady fingers turned it. His eyes darted away as he adjusted himself where he sat, before returning his attention to what was at hand.

A low chuckle came out from his throat, as he played the scene through his head. Despite its more grim nature, and what was to come, the words spoken by the leading voice still managed to amuse him. It was the obvious question, followed by an obvious answer.
It’s cold because it is Taldera, why else? he shook his head and turned his eyes to the next page. His eyes drifted up from the page for a while, and to the nature that surrounded. It was barely the beginning of spring, but already the cold hand of winter had lost its grasp. To describe the place to an outsider would be impossible, they would have accused him of taking something or having it be a vivid dream and little else. Then again, when he first laid eyes on the park he too thought it to be little more than a hallucination. He quickly adjusted to the city afterwards, and consequently fell in love with it. In the glowing light he returned to his book, his face dipping into shadow, a dark hollow growing on where his eyes should have been. It would have been safe to say he was engrossed in his reading, for whatever was going on around him was beyond his awareness and even the most clumsiness of people would have been able to sneak up behind him.

[Johanne]

Gathered in Johanne's palm were a pile of the pretty jasao flowers. The night had woven its way into the thread of the city, the dark steeping in over the fadeong trees of the fabled Alhaes Park just behind the Surya Plaza where she lived. Such a moment of tranquility even in the center of the city. Johanne looked down at the tiny blue flowers in her palm as she tripped along the paths of the park, wandering through the night, weaving through the throngs of tourists gathered to watch the djed play over the pool in the center of the park. She refused to call the jasao 'weeds', as they were. They may grow too abundantly for words, but their quantity did not detract from their beauty. Too often overlooked, Johanne felt an affinity for the little blue flowers. Smiling, she stooped to gather them from the path through the park whenever she saw unmarred blue petals.

Tucking one behind her ear, Johanne stood, looking around the darkness, illuminated by djed and the sparkling crystal skyglass of Zintila. The skyglass lamps that lined the path illuminated the way to the pool, where the colours tripped and danced across the surface of the water like ballerinas. Johanne had been here many times since the park had become a standard in the city of Lhavit: it was, after all, only a stone's throw away. Still, the fadeong dancing on the surface of the pond, with the blues and purples of the night in the air, and the fiery flickers of the prismflies was something she could not pretend she did not find beautiful.

Smiling, Johanne walked slowly around the edge of the pond. There were people there, by the edge of the water, but still there was a pervading sense of tranquility. Silence reigned, as if those who watched the colours knew that the beauty was too sacred to be disturbed. She had nowhere to be that night: Soraya and Inecino had given her the night off, telling her to unwrap the scarf from her neck and enjoy the warming weather of Spring, and indeed, all she wore now over her forest green dress was a cloak. No gloves and scarves for Johanne; her bones were given respite from the cold of Winter, slinking off for another year.

Johanne sat gingerly on the edge of a skyglass bench by the water. There was already someone occupying it, a young man with dark stubble across his cheeks, and coppery skin, but the Alhaes Park was nearly always crowded, and he had his nose tucked in a book, anyway. She sent him the barest of glances, an apologetic smile, before looking back down at the flowers in her palm. Small, blue, beautiful.

"There is a sweet, a lovely flower,
Tinged deep with faith’s unchanging hue,
Pure as the ether in its hour
Of loveliest and serenest blue."

The little ditty was hummed softly to herself underneath her breath. She was off key and not very good at sustaining the notes beneath her breath, her voice cracking at inopportune moments, but for once, Johanne did not mind failing at something. The song had a half-remembered quality. Perhaps something from her long-forgotten home...

OOCI know this isn't great writing, but I saw an open thread with you, and I couldn't pass it up!

[Akhtar]

His eyes traced the page, his sight tracing along the dark ink that marked it. For a while he was silent, absorbed in the words, the talk of sickness that grasped upon the skeleton of the ship, and those that surrendered to it. He did not notice the young woman who sat herself down next to him, who hovered so close. Who if he was to just turn his gaze slightly, would indeed look upon her. A broad finger reached to turn the page, to allow him to continue on with the piece of fiction before him. But he stopped, and let it rest there for a moment. Words were spoken, a quiet hum of noise reaching his ears. A brief and pleasant sound that broke the silence of it all.

His eyes turned slowly, his head tilting after them. The fell upon a pair of slender hands, ivory fingers tracing the blue petals that she held onto. His brow lifted for a moment, as his eyes continued to trace up to the wrists and arms. He looked slightly surprised as he turned his full view of the woman, his attention having now been torn from the book completely. He heard those words, sort of; his blue eyes were stuck almost intently on those lips that moved. And although it was only a brief moment, a chime or two at most, it had grasped his attention. He blinked, when it ended and looked away. He knew better than to stare, more so at a stranger. He scratched at the back of his head, his eyes shooting back and forth between the page and the woman.

It had indeed caught him off guard. This presence of another was not what he expected. He looked down at the flowers again, almost as if staring at them would bring out something to say. They would not of course, they were only flowers. Or where they weeds? He did not know. He would have called them weeds, there seemed to be enough of them in force in the area that they could have been considered so. His lips pursed before he forced himself to stare down once more at the book.

“That was… different?” he knew what he was trying to say, but he still questioned the words he used “Wait, that came out wrong. Nice. I meant nice. Not different. Well it was sort of different. Spontaneous. The good sort.”
He silenced himself with a sigh and shook his head. Yet words themselves still worked their way around his head, of what could have been said instead of what was said. He needed to get back into reading, somehow. If he read he had less chance of making a fool of himself with general chatter. Not that his attempts lasted long. Once something had caught his mind, notion that whispered in his ear and setting his thoughts alight, Akhtar could not help himself. And right now, the thing that grasped onto him was the woman who had placed herself down on the bench next to him.
“So,” he began as he wet his lips “You learn it from somewhere? Or did you make it up?”

[Johanne]

Johanne started, her eyes fluttering from the flowers to the young man beside her. A pretty red blush moved across her cheekbones like a flood, staining her pale freckled skin pink. Her shoulders stiffened, her body tense, and still her hands did not close on the flowers: they were misunderstood enough as it was, and Johanne was too much a connoisseur of beauty to crush the jasao in her palm.

Words streamed from his lips, but Johanne could only focus on the first: different. Looking at a spot just below his jaw, her heart burned with shame. To have disturbed a man's reading was bad enough, but to be called out on something she knew to be true from the beginning of her time on this world was purely disheartening. It did not matter what addendums he added; first impressions stung and stuck.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, I know you were reading..." The apology was dimnuitive, and her eyes glided to the book he held in his strong, calloused hands. She didn't recognise this title, and her heart sped up. A new book? What stories and adventures were hidden inside those pages? But still the embarrassment kept her from asking, until she knew that the man beside her was not entirely offended by her presence ... and her off key singing. She bit her tongue; saved the questions and curiosity for later, when she knew they would be welcomed. The blush did not stir from her cheeks.

Her eyes darted back up to see his tongue dart across his lips, and she flushed, looking away. Everything intimate intimidated Johanne. Her doe eyes stayed fixed on the flowers in her lap, too embarrassed to face him just yet: he would need to coax her from her shell, despite her willingly answering his question. "Yes. Maybe. I don't know." The words stuttered and stumbled, and she hastened to correct herself. "I think I learnt it sometime long ago. Maybe from my home, or perhaps overheard in the streets. But I'm not sure. It's not very good, I know... I am not the best at singing." If only this man could know how rare it was for her to speak this much and this willingly to strangers...

OOCI'm sorry this is short!

[Akhtar]

Akhtar forced himself to look at the cover of the book, his finger marking the page he was currently on. He would have looked once more, but he held himself back. He listened to the stutter of words, the sounds of nerves ringing in them. Such a timid creature she appeared to be, then again he could not say much about himself. Blunt and direct, and foolish with words. He shook his head at the apology, not denying it but more deeming it as unnecessary. It was a pleasant break in his day, though a surprising one to say the least. Still what was said, was done. He could not go back and change them. His fingers pressed against the cover of the book, tracing the title of it before letting his eyes drift to her hands.

Since when had conversation between him and women grown so awkward? Since when did he find hesitation in words and became a social recluse? He looked upon the blush upon her cheeks, a brief dart in movement. Since when did he become such a sneaky individual? Stealing glances at a woman who just happened to place herself next to him? His eyes averted and he shifted his weight so he hunched over, making him appear slightly smaller in size. He swallowed, and tried to summon out words that could instil a bit of confidence. If not in himself then to her. She may have been a stranger but…

Well he was not sure why exactly, but it made sense to him to try and communicate with her.
“You’re better than me,” he spoke quietly as his lips pursed together with thought “I mean, I sound dreadful. You, you…” he hesitated himself as he searched for the words “You do it justice, even if it is just something you picked up and overheard,” He forced his head to tilt and face her, those clear eyes meeting her jaw. He could not let himself look higher currently, not until he knew where he stood at least “I mean, I sound like a cat that’s being strangled. Apparently,” He cut his words short, his lips pursing together as he tried to choose the next part of his approach. He stretched a hand across himself and held it out to shake “Name is Akhtar by the way. Not that I think it would be of much importance to you.”

oocSay if you need more to work with.

[Johanne]

The man’s eyes drifted to her hands, and she was very careful to keep both palm-upwards: not only to protect the beautiful jasao, but to spare herself the shame of having him see her scars that lined her palms and upwards, spreading like roots up into the flesh of her arms. He had already called her different; she doubted that him seeing her self-mutilation would convince him otherwise.

They were both two awkward souls, trapped in the wrong bodies, it seemed. The tall, broad tanned man was hunched over like an elder from a village, bent with weight. Johanne was tall, had the capacity to cross cities and dreams in long strides, but instead she spent her time half in dreams, half in embarrassment. It was only beginning to occur to her that she would not stay in Lhavit very longer, lest her spirit be crushed. But still; to think of that only when necessary, and not in the presence of rather handsome strangers...

He began to speak again, to the timid girl beside him. It was not only that which was a surprise to Johanne, but also that he was complimenting her in the same breath. For a girl who was rather pretty, not exquisite or beautiful, but ordinarily so, she was not in the least used to or comfortable with compliments. She was always waiting for the ‘but’ to fall. He began speaking, still looking away, and when he faced her he would find that pink blush had deepened to a blossom red, and spread onto her smooth neck. Whither went it then?

”Thank you. No matter what you say, I know I am terrible. But it was nice of you to say otherwise.” She chuckled softly at that image, imagining the grown man being so ashamed at his lack of singing ability. ”A strangled cat isn’t bad. It could be worse. You could sound like a dying Zith.” Johanne spoke with no extra inflection or tone, but hopefully he would pick up that she was teasing. It was so rare that she did that with someone. It would be a shame should it go unnoticed.

”Johanne,” she said quietly. ”Johanne Verkir.” And hesitating, with the most timid of gestures, she extended a hand (the left, without her jasao) for him to clasp and shake. Oh, if only Ahktar knew how rare it was for her to take a chance with a stranger! The last, Dariel, had ended in such disaster.

[Akhtar]

Akhtar shook hands, a small awkward smile on his face having formed itself there and become rooted. He gave a chuckle, “It could be worse indeed. Though, I’m still certain I could give them a healthy competition in the creation of terrible sounds.” He released the slender hand, his eyes rising to snatch a glance at the blush that had formed itself there. Talking had caused the meeting of two people, it had cause the slight chuckle of amusement from this fair lady who sat beside him. Who it seemed, through all her hesitation and worries, had bloomed into a flower, just like the one she held within her hand.

“Johanne…” he gave a nod and repeated it several times under his breath. He locked it into his memory along with this chance event. He looked away his fingers drumming gently on the cover of his book, his eyes reading the title once more as he tried to bring out words of even the simplest of conversations. The Circumnavigation of Mizahar may have given him a glimpse of the world outside of Lhavit, but it did not give him an understanding of the world within. Yet just as he managed to create a bridge, did he find himself falter. Put him behind a bar whilst he was working and he would have been fine. But the moment he was away from his comfort zone- his ‘castle’- did the man begin to stumble and fall. He rolled his shoulders back, a patter of noise coming from the cover of his book, a gentle rhythm that filled his momentary silence and thought.

He had to get out his process of thought and by doing so go onto the next step. Anything, that’s all he needed to say. Anything, as long as it was not too intrusive that is.
“So uh, Miss Verkir” he paused “You are a miss right? I mean…” There was a flicker of hesitation in his face before he continued “You like flowers?” It was an obvious question to him at least and perhaps also a silly one to use in his attempt to converse. She was a timid thing after all, and he could not help but feel that even asking the simplest thing was a bit of a difficulty. He gave a smile as he attempted to show good intentions, “Or are they just for show? Wait that came out wrong again. I mean are they for something? Like reference and that. Art or something?”

[Johanne]

"If you ever meet a dying Zith, then, don't forget to challenge it to a singing duel." Johanne's smile was soft and gentle, like the edges of a dying day bleeding into night. She was glad that he had not taken offence at her little joke, if a joke you could call it, not particularly funny nor clever, nor was she waiting for the laughter at the end of the punchline. Sometimes, though, Johanne wanted to feel light: and like words could weigh her down, so she used them to buoy her up.

His hand was calloused in hers, but not much bigger. It was another source of embarrassment for the girl: she was so tall, so lanky, so awkwardly placed and men seemed to want small petite girls, pale faced and red lips. She had the pale skin down, as did she have the essential parts to be labelled a woman, but she was nothing as alluring as the girls men seemed to fall head over heals for. Still, it was nice to feel the hand of a man on hers. Touch happened so rarely when she was scared to speak to others. She gripped his hand for a moment too long, before letting go.

Silence fell after he spoke her name. It had sounded nice on his lips, but she was afraid their interaction was at an end. Sadly, she looked down at the jasao: so plentiful, so unwanted. Beautiful on the outside, of little use inside. The moment of silence seemed to drag on forever, and Johanne was about to stand, excuse herself and apologise for interrupting his moment of peace when he spoke again. He would not imagine the relief she felt. It was nice to be noticed sometimes. (It would be even nicer to be wanted.)

She blushed hardly, picking at her fingernails. "Johanne, please. And yes, I am a miss. Unmarried and unspoken for." It was strange that he should mention this right as she was thinking of it. Were her thoughts so transparent, her longings so ridiculously clear? "Yes, I like flowers. I am not an artist, though I make my living by tattoos. I simply like them for their beauty. Especially the jasao. It's a weed and it's everywhere and so it gets overlooked, but sometimes I think just adding more beauty to the world and being kind is enough of a reason to exist." As she spoke, she looked down at the flower in her hand. The more and more she moved her lips, the more obvious it would ne that she wasn't talking about the flower at all. An awkward pause before she looked up into his eyes.

"And you, Ahktar? What do you do, if I can ask?"

[Brandon Blackwing]

JOHANNE

XP Award:

• Socialization +2
• Observation +2
• Singing +1
• rhetoric +2

Lore:

• Jasao weeds: undervalued beauty
• Akhtar: handsome stranger

Notes:
Akhtar: your grade has been withheld due to inactivity

This could have become a really nice social thread… but it was not meant to be

Please edit or delete your request in the request thread.
Comments, questions or concerns regarding your grade? Why not send me a PM?

credit goes to Adelaide Sitai