Verjil
AThousandCurses
Kero
High Moon
Phase
Rabidporcupine
Citrus
Candelabra
TheMushroomLord
“Shamak.”
And with that, Yuuki found himself sitting on a chair.
Or, at least, that may have been the intention of that busy, vicious god, if not for the fact that the pack he wore had ‘pushed’ the seat away from his bottom when the young boy had manifested upon this strange reality. Instead of a dusty seat, he found himself plopping suddenly upon the dusty ground, the weight of his heavy pack swinging him backwards until he found himself in a position similar to that of a misfortunate tortoise. He blinked, chuckled slightly, before pulling himself upwards, grasping on the edge of the dusty table as dust motes danced upwards.
Shlop shlop went the wet snow as it slid from his coat and splattered onto the ground.
This was a warm, warm place. So much warmer than what he was used to. It was almost pleasant, to feel that warmth, more natural that flame and gas, seeping into his flesh. It was not the wind that caused ruckus outside, but that of men and women encouraged by the gentle weather, calling out all manner of stuff. Knighthood. What a romantic, outdated term. What a curious world in general, even within this ancient, stuffy building, made of such wasteful materials. Blue eyes swept through the other five within the room, curiosity and easy kindness displayed on his face.
No concern at the alien landscape he had been found in, the anachronistic appearance of those before him.
A waif of pink and white, the transient innocence of her features marking her as a child despite her budding body. Her attire were unreasonable, eye-catching, dangerous in all the wrong ways.
A plainer woman, a harder woman, dressed in muted fabrics. Simple clothing, if not for the flash of gold on her wrist, the fine sewing of her attire. Her bag betrayed little of what was within, but he saw how the strap pressed against the fabric.
A youth that may have been a mirror of Yuuki if he had taken a different path. Green eyes instead of blue, with hair that jutted out in unruly spikes more than even Yuuki’s worst bedhead days. A sketchbook was held in his hands, its value clear in how it was grasped.
Another boy? No, a man, blessed with a body that would turn gazes whether male or female, whilst holding the countenance of a prince or a killer. Those robes were naught but a distant fantasy, his night-sky hair more fiction than fact, his very existence more at odds with Yuuki’s preconceptions than the influence of shadowed gods.
And then, there was the last member of the motley troupe, brash and arrogant like the lions that Yuuki had read about in faded textbooks. Another beauty, cut of different cloth from the antiquated fiction but still just as much of an art piece.
What a weird bunch. How many of them were sheep? How many of them were wolves? Yuuki pursed his lips slightly, before he hefted his pack up into a more comfortable position and beamed a simple smile at them. “Well,” he began, a gloved hand raised to wave, “I’m Yuuki Kimura. It's a real pleasure to meetcha all, cause I doubt I’d ever see you types normally. I guess the rest of you have been flopped here as well by that god-child? The whole dark void of emptiness deal?”
