[OPEN] I do not deserve to wait around forever when you were there first

[drydrown]

WHO: Alexander Cumore and whomever decides to join him (presumably you!)
WHERE: Various
WHEN: December 6-10
WHAT: Questionable cosmetic changes, goddamn bats, trying to parse memory regains, spending time in bars, and generally hating the holidays. Along with absolutely no guarantee that he will be useful in any way, shape, or form, but then I'm not sure why anyone would expect him to be.
WARNINGS: Moderate intoxication in the third prompt? Also the usual notion that Cumore is an unpleasant individual who doesn't know how to play nice half the time.


[I. THERE COMES A TIME, IN YOUR SHORT LIFE - ]

[Okay, so. Weekdays generally are an Experience, even without Retrospec's help, and Wednesday in particular is going to be something of a trainwreck just because Cumore woke up a little displeased. It's likely not terribly difficult to see why, either – his hair has gone from black and fairly short to a really bright shade of lavender, the ends of it hitting just below his shoulderblades; his eyes have undergone a shift as well, from the look of it, from dark brown to a striking shade of red. As such, today has been the physical embodiment of "thanks, I hate it!" but he's...plainly trying to make the best of it – namely, he's out in public, and his hair is done up in a way that's probably at least sorta girly but he seems to like it. He seems to be trending toward twisting it up and securing it with combs or sticks that he clearly borrowed from his sister, though it's hard to say that they don't precisely suit him, either.

...That said, because he has more reason to be active and in town during the week, he's also got a tendency to be followed by some of those Goddamned Bats; maybe there are a few nearby when you see him, maybe there aren't, either way god does he sort of look like he wants to die when they are.]


[II. TURN IT AROUND, GET A REWRITE]

[Weekends tend to be a little slower, as far as scheduled activities go; Cumore normally likes keeping his time to himself, time is a commodity just like everything is, but unfortunately at this time of year...well, saying he's lonely is a stretch, if he were truly lonely he would just seek someone out and be done with it, but the fact of the matter remains that he doesn't have nearly enough to do with himself and the holiday season is something that's going to grate on him particularly roughly this year, and man, does he not want to be inside with all the...Christmas...everywhere.

...That said, it's cold and he's not completely insane, either, so he can be found immediately outside one of the coffee shops, and he's got a drink from the place sitting beside him, and it's warm and steam's rising from it and oh my god why doesn't it taste like anything, there should be a goddamn law.

But perhaps more importantly than that, he's got a thin pad of paper and a pen with him, and when he isn't idly twirling the pen between his gloved fingers he's sketching some things down. They're not professional-quality but they aren't terrible, either, for what they are – they're sketchy but passable, focused more on places than people or animals; one's a very...aggressively fantasy-looking thing, a city on a hill with a castle at the peak and a massive ringed spire coming out of the top of it. It's very Mont Saint-Michel, very..."no Minas Tiriths were harmed in the making of this drawing," but he seems pretty enthralled with it anyway.

The other thing that's got his attention seems rather different in structure, just a lot of arches and a massive spiral...thing leading downward from on high; there's less detail here, and he doesn't really seem to know what he's doing with it, just getting a feel for the shapes of it.

He'll pause eventually in what he's doing, tipping his head a bit to the side while he considers what he's been working on, before just kind of sighing and leaning back.]

Well, this is an exercise in futility.


[III. CALL IT A DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL]

[And then there's the evenings, particularly over the weekend; Cumore usually makes a point of not drinking alone, but you know what, some weeks just...warrant it, and if all else fails he'll call his sister if he gets too thoroughly trashed, it'll be fine. Probably. (It will probably not be fine.)

That said, you're hardly drinking alone if someone else is getting trashed alongside you; whether you actually know that person from Adam is completely irrelevant, and you know what this is the exact sort of bullshit argument that landed this man in the legal profession to begin with but who the fuck is counting. And that's probably why, as someone approaches the bar, he'll just - ]

The next thing you order is on me. The sole catch is that you sit with me while you drink it.

[...It's been a weird couple of months.]


[IV. WILDCARD]

[If you want something else/feel like doing something that's not listed here, feel free to PM me or grab me on plurk at InstantEternity (assuming that plurk manages to keep its shit more or less together for the duration), and I will see what we can do! Either that or just throw a prompt at me and I'll roll, I am flexible. o/ ]

Comments

ii

[maidofmistakes]

[Kara is at the next table, huddled around her own tasteless coffee and the crumb remains of a plain cookie that she devoured like it was the first food after a famine. She looks up and cautiously glances over at Cumore's drawing from her own study notes on whatever the difference is between the pineal and parathymus glands.]

Drawing stairs is? I mean, they look fine to me.

[drydrown]

[Oh, hey, it's the girl with the fashion logo all over everything, how's it going - ]

Oh, the stairs themselves are entirely passable. I'm just not certain why this sort of thing is what my memories are choosing to spit out at me, as opposed to anything useful.

[...And, you know, doing shit to his hair and his eyes because fucking really, but he's. trying to move past that and just kind of ending up in "why the fuck are my memories this collectively useless" hell.]

[maidofmistakes]

I don't get it either. So that's just some place you remembered being in?

[drydrown]

Something like that. It used a city - it was called Caer Bocram, back when it was still standing. I believe an earthquake destroyed it? Either way, that was well before my time, I think; I only remember the ruins.

[...So yeah.]

[maidofmistakes]

Whoa. A whole city getting destroyed... Maybe you were studying it or something. That's why people go to ruins, right?

[drydrown]

Possibly? It seems familiar to me for some reason, so I assume I've been there at some point - I'm just not entirely certain why.

[maidofmistakes]

All I can think of is research or one of those tourist things like they do at Pompeii. I mean, you said it was gone before you were even alive, so it couldn't have been where you lived before.

ii

[feistytrader]

[Those are some really specific drawings coming from a man with entirely too much... lavender hair? Periwinkle? The point is that he really has to wonder if they're purely from the imagination or something else. He rests his forearms on the back of a chair, holding his drink gingerly, and peeks at his artwork a little longer, making sure to give him distance but appreciating the architecture.]

Can't get it down right?

[drydrown]

Well enough to suit my purposes, I'd think - I've never claimed to be an artist and all.

[So, you know, it doesn't suck and that's good enough for government work.]

I don't know, you'd think something would start making sense about it after a while.

[feistytrader]

With locations like those, I'm surprised you haven't gotten a spellbook yet.

[Cumore for elven mage 2018-]

Maybe that would tell you everything you need to know in a language you can't read.

[drydrown]

...I have every reason to believe that that would be my luck, really.

[feistytrader]

On the bright side, some people have been spontaneously picking up languages. You can wow everyone with your deep and intricate knowledge of some fancy runic text.

[...Isn't it great taking jabs at your fantasy life.]

[drydrown]

At this rate, I imagine it's either going to be that or a spontaneous urge to pick up archery.

ii

[onemillion]

[Rossiu nearly walks by Cumore without recognizing him, but he does notice the hair and that's ultimately what gets him to realize that it is Cumore. Ohhh man. That's unfortunate. He'll approach just in time to hear Cumore speak up.]

Good afternoon. What's an exercise in futility?

[drydrown]

[...Good afternoon to you too, Rossiu.]

Well - we really do keep running into one another lately, don't we.

[It's not like he minds, unbearable awkwardness aside. ...At least there are no bats, hopefully we will refrain from shouting tragic backstories like weirdos, let's pray for one sane in-person conversation.]

Trying to remember things, that's all.

[onemillion]

[Fingers crossed for a totally normal conversation...

And goddamn the red eyes with the lavender hair is all kinds of jarring now, damn.]

Have you been drawing something? May I see?

[He can kinda see the doodles from over here but he's not going to lean over and look.]

[drydrown]

[oh thank god

a teenager with decorum]

I can't say I'd mind it any, no - do as you like, really.

[Here, let him pass that over, and otherwise just...come sit down, child, he doesn't bite. Mild apparent demonic possession aside.]

[onemillion]

[He tries!! He'll take that and look through it as he takes a seat.]

Oh wow, this is really nice! These are places you've remembered?

[drydrown]

The city with the spire is the first thing I remembered - I've no idea where it is or what any of it is supposed to be, but it seems incredibly familiar to me, positively so as well... So someplace I'm fond of, for whatever reason. It's pretty, to its credit.

The other place is...well, it was another city called Caer Bocram. It was destroyed, however, it's just ruins now, and seeing the ruins are all I remember of it that likely happened some time ago.

iii

[concasse]

[...]

Deal.

[Says the blond man with no fucks to give tonight. A free drink? Shit, he'd sit with the devil if he got a good bourbon out of it.]

Pretty damn generous of you, stranger.

[drydrown]

[That just gets the most dismissive handwave out of him; he's seeming a little out of it but like he's still got his wits mostly about him, at least, and the drink in front of him is one of those things that's neon in color and sweet in taste, the sort with a name that ensures you don't order it in polite company.]

Sometimes company's worth the price of admission, as it were.

[concasse]

[Sanji's not the type to judge a man for his preferences in poison (unless it's beer, in which case Sanji would've just kept walking, he doesn't sit with men who don't love themselves), but his eyebrows arch slightly at the drink this guy is nursing. So it's one of those nights, eh?]

Alright. [Well then, he'll side into his seat, order himself a bourbon whiskey on ice]

Am I expected to woo you with shitty tales of my boring-ass day on top of it?

[drydrown]

[That... That just gets a light laugh, really. Lord.]

You really know how to sell yourself, don't you.

[It's not derisive, though; more amused than anything.]

[concasse]

[Sanji doesn't take offense, just shrugs and rests an elbow on the counter]

It ain't a lie. I'm a business student so you know I don't have shit to brag about.

[drydrown]

[Oh, wow. He can't say the guy is wrong, at least.]

Prosecuting attorney, personally. Which is moderately better in that only about ninety percent of it is paperwork, as opposed to ninety-five.