El Taco Taco

Blue Moon

ooc

Your post was fine! I gave you like, nothing to work with. Got caught up in the ANGST. Here’s something a little more useful

Whenever Carys had gotten maudlin, she had gone exploring. She’d throw her things into a bag, pick a train at random, and let her feet carry her somewhere new. There was something soothing about finding new little wonders, about one foot in front of the other without a destination. Carys let herself quiet, focusing on only the sand between her toes, the bite of salt in the wind, the back and forth between breaths and heartbeats.

She lost track of time, walking what seemed to be endless miles of coastline, out past the bustle of bodies to rockier shores. She found a small cove where the world seemed to fall away, until there was simply the dim roar of the sea and the chattering of gulls. For the first time in a year, Carys found peace in the quiet.

The sun had sunk well past noon by the time she finally picked up her things and turned back. She left with a lingering glance, memorizing the little curve of rocks and ocean, lips curving into a quiet smile.

With a destination in mind, Carys walked much more briskly, abandoning soft sand for an established path. Her shoulders had started to smart in the afternoon sun, aching where her bag dug into the flesh. The exhaustion she’d ignored reminded her how very little she’d rested and eaten in the past few days. She’d been so determined to keep moving, losing herself in action and distraction alike. Now that she’d taken a moment to breathe, her body protested its treatment quite vocally. This hadn’t been her most well-though out excursion.

Her phone got signal in fits and spurts, and though she knew the way home (straight), she found herself antsy at not knowing when she’d make it back. She’d walked for, apparently, two hours. It had been fine on the going—but the coming back was significantly less pleasant. Her phone helpfully informed her that she had at least another forty minutes yet. Wonderful.

She’d begun passing people again, smiling politely and continuing on. The thought of the house (not hers, not yet, maybe not truly ever) still churned her stomach, but she knew she couldn’t avoid it forever. Eventually she’d have to unpack and settle in. It was such a foolish thing to resent, a house, especially as lovely at this one. Yet she had done nothing to earn it—at least she had paid for her apartment with her own money, even if it had been in a shit neighborhood.

Arms tucked beneath her chest, Carys kept her head down and lengthened her stride, as if she were back home. Not that she could have ever confused the two worlds—this path lacked the familiar aroma of piss and car exhaust. Focused on getting home she very nearly managed to run into someone. Instinct had her opening her mouth to bark back an insult, but she’d looked up and caught the words before they spilled off her tongue.

Oh—shit, she recognized those faces. Carys scoured her hazy memories from the previous night (really need to quit drinking, she reminded herself). Right! The beer incident. And s’mores? She was pretty sure that had happened.

“I’ve got to stop running you over,” Carys quipped apologetically, grey eyes crinkling as she scrunched her nose in a wince. “It’s Chase, right? And um—oh god, I swear I know your names—“ she directed to Mason and Ryan, cheeks flushing more with embarrassment than sunburn at this point. No, seriously, you drank way too much her brain reminded her ever so helpfully.

“I’m drawing a blank,” she admitted with a self-deprecating laugh, scuffing a sandaled shoe against the pavement. “Anyways—super sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I’ll get out of your way.”

Good job, Carys, forgetting the names of literally the only people you even sort of know. That’s really going to do you wonders.

"Okay, This Looks Bad."

I will definitely check it out!

I'll hopefully get a post up tonight--doing some think thinking about what I want to write, but I should finally break through this little brain fart soon.

"Okay, This Looks Bad."

I'm sorry, Cappy, please don't be disappointed in meeeeeeeee ;A;

Such butt. Bleh.

Ahhhh I wish to read both of these soon! I'll have to get my grubby hands on them

"Okay, This Looks Bad."

Clint, u lil shit <3

Like, 90% of my friends are in other states haha! I was Navy, hubs is, so all our friends get stationed elsewhere. It's so obnoxious!

Fair enough!

HMMM. Attempt to camp out--espionage is a lot of waiting around haha-- but force their hand p soon? And I'm thinking Caps shows up with his disapproving look after the compound is raided, si!

Character picture - At what point do you find one?

Almost always the beginning. I usually have a decent sense of one important facial feature, hair colour, body type and will search for that.

If I'm in a fantasy or sci fi game, I'll usually character build as I'm painting, since I rarely play humans in those settings.

Blue Moon

ooc

Long and angsty post is long and angsty. MY B

For the umpteenth time, Carys remembered why she kept swearing off drinking. Head pressed into her pillow, she tried to ignore the way her skull pounded. She was half afraid that her skull might fracture with the pressure, and squeezed her eyes tight. She promptly regretted that. Blearily opening an eye in the dark, box filled room, she fumbled for her phone. Finding it beneath another pillow, she checked the time. Seven thirty a.m. That was…she spent embarrassingly long calculating the amount of sleep that equated. Three hours and eighteen minutes.

Of course, it felt like nearly noon, courtesy of truly awful jet lag and time zone shifts. Carys groaned, slowly rising to a careful sit. She’d always been a morning person, and her body protested the (perceived) late hour. Stumbling out of her bed, she navigated the boxes mostly successfully, stubbing her toe at the door. Swearing beneath her breath, she somehow managed to find the kitchen. A container of aspirin and a glass of water sat on the marbled counter. Carys dutifully took them before finding a note, held in place by a key, and grudgingly turning on a light to read it.

Carys

Take some aspirin for your hangover. We’ll have a rematch soon.

I’m at Uni until four—I’ll help you unpack when I get home. Help yourself to anything in the fridge

Audrey xx

Carys managed a small grin, which transformed into a wince as her head throbbed. Running a hand through her tangled hair, Carys heaved a sigh. Right then. Down a liter of water, shower, and then get started on her laundry list of things to do.

--


By the time she had started her list, the morning shadows had receded and the small town had come to life. Things were at the upper limits of reasonable walking distance. She might actually have to get a car, she mused, and then corrected that thought. She’d have to get a license. It wasn’t as though she’d ever had need of one—she’d come of age in Manhattan. Even if she had had a car, it wasn’t as though there would have been anywhere to park it. Subways, busses, and cabs had been more than sufficient.

At least her hangover had finally abated, and the sunshine was surprisingly rejuvenating. Carys was all too happy to wander. There was an actual market, with people calling out to each other by name, idling and chatting. She drew a few curious looks, but smiled and ducked her head, continuing on. The lack of traffic and sirens was almost disconcerting.

She’d gotten a key made at a hardware shop, which had taken nearly forty minutes, as the gentleman helping her had decided to introduce her to his staff. Carys smiled through it all, trying not to feel uncomfortable. She hadn’t expected this level of interest, was used to the bare minimum of pleasantries and being on her way. She wasn’t sure if this belonged in the plus or minus column.

The general store was more of the same, and she found herself running well behind on her (self-imposed) schedule by the time she’d reached the marina.

Things did not go quite so smoothly there.


--


“I have the paperwork,” she’d insisted to the harbor master, who eyed her suspiciously. “The Heartstring is mine.”

“That boat is the Rees family’s,” he’d insisted, for what felt like the hundredth time. Carys bit her tongue to keep from shouting. Somehow, she didn’t think that would be particularly effective.

“It belonged to Seren Rees, and if you’ll just read the paperwork, you’ll see that it now belongs to me. I know my lawyer sent it to you, and I have it here.”

He eyed her suspiciously, finally accepting the folder she was presenting, looking through it.

“I don’t know this notary,” he’d pointed out, and Carys nearly screamed. Why was this, the thing she had dreaded most, so difficult? Hadn’t she done all the leg work back in New York, in that sprawling office, numb as titles and deeds were changed to her name?

“I can call her right now,” Carys already had her phone out, only—no signal. Of course. What was the point of an international sim card if there was no cell reception? She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes stinging and fists clenched. “I’ll get her credentials. My mother left this boat—“

“You’re Seren’s kid?” He said suddenly, interrupting her, sounding both astonished and suspicious.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Carys couldn’t help her frustration from spilling out. “I just want to see my boat.”

He made a show of flipping through the paperwork for a few more minutes, before finally getting to his feet and nodding for her to follow. “She’s this way,” he’d grumbled, and Carys nearly burst into tears of relief. This was awful enough as it was.

He led her to one of the furthest moorings, chattering something about how he’d known Seren as a girl, had rented to her parents before her, gone to school with the father—Carys was only half listening, heart drumming in her ears.

The Heartstring was larger than she had anticipated. She had grown up on sleek, modern yngling’s, laughing into the sea spray as they carved through water. But Heartstring…she was older, wooden, not fiber glass, and Carys wasn’t sure what she was feeling. She reached out to brush a hand against the hull, fingers gliding along smooth wood.

“I’ve minded her for thirty years, taken her out when she needed it,” he remarked with pride, looking at the Heartstring fondly. “You’ll never forget her, in all your years.”

Carys nodded, throat tight and pulse skipping. Heartstring. Aptly named.


--


The walk home was less than pleasant. Drained and tired, she hadn’t exactly accounted for the whole ‘near equatorial’ part of Port Byrne. She’d slipped into skinny jeans and a longer shirt without thinking, and found precisely zero hair ties in neither her bag nor pockets. For the first time in years, she strongly considered chopping it off for relief from the humid day.

“I’m home,” she’d called to the empty house automatically, slipping her shoes off at the door. Beyond the scattered boxes (and the nightmare that was her own room), the house was wide and open, sunlight streaming through bay windows and bouncing off crisp white walls and tasteful décor. Purportedly her grandparents had built the place and passed it on to her own mother, maintaining and upgrading it with rent and alimony alike. Her mother had always spoken fondly of the place, had sworn to move back after she finished competing. It felt strange, living her mother’s dream in her stead.

The house didn’t even feel like hers. She felt like an intruder in someone else’s life, out of sorts. Carys tried to shake the maudlin thoughts from her head as she wandered into her room. Two cellos sat in their stands—and the rest of her belongings lay in boxes. Setting her bags atop her bed, she peeled out of sweat and frustration, digging for something more suitable. Shorts, a loose shirt, a hair tie and another liter of water later, Carys found herself pacing the only empty swath through her room.

I can’t do this, she finally decided, throwing her newly made key and useless phone into a bag, practically fleeing from the house.

She’d found herself on crisp white sand without even thinking. It was nothing like her own youth, scrambling over rocks and leaning over cliffs to grey, choppy seas and bitter winter winds. Only the air, salty sweet and catching wind was the same. Carys dropped her bag at her feet, looking out at the endless expanse, curving at the horizon. She’d never felt so small in her life, so utterly lost. What was she supposed to do here? She’d given up her career, her friends and the shreds of family remaining to move to a completely different world—and for what? She searched the sea, as if it had any answers. It simply came and went, indifferent to her.

Carys ran a hand through windswept bangs, and walked. Wind and sunlight chilled and warmed her skin in equal measure. Eventually, she kicked her shoes off and let them dangle through slim fingers, wandering at the water’s edge, bag jostling her side.

There were smatterings of people as she wandered further from her swath of beach, although she couldn’t determine if they were tourists or locals. She wasn’t even either of those—Carys had barely finished the thought before berating herself. She hadn’t even been here three days yet, and she was already moping amidst all her good fortune.

Please Stay

I am equally boring. I spend my time cleaning. Ugggh.

When It Rains, It Pours

She'd be spooked, for suresies! Prolly panic a lil bit, poor thing.

"Okay, This Looks Bad."

Best Friend Dean (as he is always introduced and referred to as) pretty much has the best geek taste ever. He's cosplaying as Blackwall in my Dragon Age group and even got my husband into Patrick Rothfuss. Husbandito like, never read books before meeting my bestie haha!
We've been best bros for 6 years now! He's already been assigned as the Godfather to mine and husbanditos eventual spawn, and with any luck we can get him to move back to Washington. He's like...the ultimate Hufflepuff. Good people.
/extolling his greatness

Considering that the most I know about Black Canary is 'leather and fishnet and really nice cosplayers' I'm sure I can just be "ooh, shiny art!" and give zero fucks haha

yeeee buddy -thumbs up-

blackbird claw, raven wing [ closed for El Taco Taco && Nemaisare ]

I'm p sure I'd be cooing over his cuteness even as he disemboweled me. DAWWW THE LIL EAR TUFTS -proceeds to choke on blood- daaaaawwwwwwww