Prosaic

A Truly Gifted World (Perpetually Seeking!)

Niklaus Santora & Richmond Durmont

---

Spiders.
The tipsy-turning movement of an arachnid as it spins its web, the way it's legs cling to the fragile silvery threads. The way that thousands of tiny eyes are constantly watching, the knowing that you're being watched. The thrashing of a fly entangled in sticky silver nets, the way that it twists it's body in the pathetic and desperate hope of freeing itself.

Spinning, spinning, spinning. Spiraling, spiraling, spiraling. Intricate silver threads from one wall to another, crossing and curling. Glistening pathways from one end to another. So many links, so many things left to catch, so much to do.

It was easy to get tangled in webs. It was easy to become prey to his own desires. It was easy to become trapped. He was a very busy spider and he had a very big web, it was all just a small part of the bigger picture. Everything that became stuck to the web was just one piece of the overall image. Nothing was truly important unless it brought him closer to his goal. His childhood had been washed down too many water spouts. He had learned to be careful. He had learned to be watchful.

A good spider never catches anything unless he's prepared to wait.

This meeting was a cosmetic detail. A leaf snagged on the web. As soon as he snipped it free, it would be forgotten as it drifted back to the ground below. Appearances were important and it was important that the world saw him, it was important that he maintained what they expected of him. He had always been a very beautiful spider. He had touched up every detail before he'd left the house, one lean, long line of black.

None of it mattered.
Not really anyway.

What mattered was control.

Control.
That's what he wanted, wasn't it? Obsessive compulsive creature that he had become over the years. Every taste of control was tantalizing, every chance to capture that fly was delicious. Every moment-

“Richmond, hurry up! You are so infuriatingly slow sometimes.”

Niklaus Santora.
Try as he may, he had no control over Niklaus Santora. He has worked to tangle his limbs into the web, to wrestle him into submission but Niklaus was a fire that burned heedless of his efforts to contain him. Troublesome. In a way, he loved Niklaus despite how headstrong he had become. He had grown fond of the young lord, they had become family but it was hard to ignore his frustration. The man could function on his own, that was no good, it wouldn't do.

He could see him as he hurried forward. He was a flare of color, sunlight casting prismic rainbows off water droplets. He liked to be noticed and it was hard not to. He wore deep purple and blue today, stylistically, it bore some resemblance to the garb that might have been worn by an old English nobleman. His boots were soft, they had heels, he liked when he looked taller.

Details, details.
Niklaus was compensating. He was making up for what he was lacking by trying to paint himself brighter than the world around him. He was obsessive in his own way, obsessed with power and proving himself. He had to be noticed, he had to be respected, he had to have it all. He had taken to cosmetics, golden dust glimmered on his cheekbones. Nothing fantastic, just enough to draw eyes to his face.

Details, details.
Niklaus was desperate. Desperate to be something. Desperate to be someone. He poured over history. Leaders, dictators. He got this sort of envious glint in his eyes when he read about them. Some nights Richmond would hear him in his room, his voice drifting disembodied down the hallway. Speeches. Charismatic charm oozed from him when he spoke to his imaginary audiences. It unnerved him how easily Niklaus could take the persona of something he was not.

It unnerved him that he couldn't stop him from dreaming.
That was Niklaus’ speciality.

“You are so slow!”

“Sorry, I was thinking.” he responded idly, stepping into the room with the strange looking scientist. He was inclined to dip his head to them, a distant greeting.

Niklaus was not distant in the slightest. He took his seat, leaning it back on its legs and eying the scientist with a grand and never-failing grin. “Hello, I'm Lord Santora and this is Lord Durmont.

A Truly Gifted World (Perpetually Seeking!)

Dynamic Duo

Niklaus Santora.

Nicknames/Aliases:
Nik, Nikky, Klaus.

Age:
23.

Gender:
Male.

Gift:
Dream Manipulation.

Loyalty:
Erubesco Lord.

Description:
Niklaus is of average height, standing in around 5"10 and built very thin. He has a reedy sort of built but he is broad-shouldered in a way that is often familiar of Santora men. He is slightly handsome with a fairly proportional face and a hard jaw, though there is something very off about the creases in his skin. He seems to have been lined with stress very severely.

His eyes, green in shade, are hollow-looking and heavy-lidded. His skin is dappled in faint scarring, it marks his arms and hands mostly but there can be some found in his neck and face as well. He has dusty brown hair, very light in shade and a prominent aquiline nose. His lips are thin and sharp and often pulled into a grin that is far too pleased.

Often adorned in brightly colored noble clothing, he can certainly seem quite flashy at times. On his left hand in place of a missing pointer appears to be a silver claw encrusted in glittering jewels.

Personality:
Niklaus has reached a special point just beyond unhinged. He can be spoken to but he will often come off as threatening or defensive. His mood swings can be rapid and unplanned, they're extremely volatile and violent. He is bright and friendly but it's a friendliness that borders on creepy at times, he has an unnatural cheerfulness about him that shines through vibrantly. He is prone to making jokes and happy commentary.

He is an extreme sadist, relishing in the pain of others, especially those who are defenseless. He thrives on suffering and loves to be the cause of it, he tends to lash out violently in arguments, often going overboard. It can be extremely hard to convince him that he is wrong and at times it is best to just agree with him and stroke his ego. That ego is massive and he has a tendency to display it in grand displays of power or surrounding himself in large and beautiful things.

He can come off as childish at times, easily distracted or confused. He seems to have little to no sense of identity. When asked about himself, he will often have no answers. His memory is heavily faulty though it's only displayed in things relating to his identity.

Skills:

- He can create, shape, enter and manipulate the dreams of himself and others, including modifying, suppressing, fabricating, influencing, manifesting, sensing, and observing dreams as well as nightmares, daydreams, ect. He can produce and modify dreams, bestow nightmares or lucid dreaming, entrap people in REM, and promote spiritual/emotional healing within dreams.

- He has some prior training in battle.

Weaknesses:
- Should he use his abilities too often, he can succumb to a kind of narcolepsy. He loses control over when he's awake and when he's asleep, these sleeps will usually end in tremendous nightmares. When he's awake, he'll find himself hallucinating and groggy. For his own mental health, it's best that he uses his powers sparingly. These side effects pass in time.

People with psychic based powers will find it much easier to dissuade him without upfront attack, though they can also fight him easily in the dream realm if they need to.

Any injuries inflicted upon him in a dream will reflect upon his waking body, meaning that he can die in a dream and die in the waking world simultaneously.

- He is extremely easy to manipulate and seems to take everyone's words for automatic truth.

- His instability leads to extreme decisions.

Brief History:
It's speculated that Niklaus grew in a household with a senselessly cruel father that later died of a mysterious illness, he inherited the title of Lord and has been living out his days in luxury.

Another young lord had been adopted into their home when Niklaus was only six years old and it was seen as rather odd.
Many believe that this young man was brought into their home as a way of teaching Niklaus some propriety but it has yet to be disclosed.

Currently, Niklaus appears to be sharing his estate with that other lord.

Other:
His left pointer finger has been replaced with a jewel encrusted metal claw.

Richmond Durmont.

Nicknames/Aliases:
Rich, Richie.

Age:
26.

Gender:
Male.

Gift:
Shadow Manipulation.

Loyalty:
Erubesco Lord.

Description:

Image.

Richmond is a tall and devilishly handsome man, he stands in around six foot even, built lean and long. He has a headful of raven black hair that's kept very tidy. He has sharp eyes, such a dark brown that they often appear to be black. His skin is very pale and almost flawless.

He carries some muscle in his arms and chest, though he would not appear to be particularly powerful upon a glance. He has a natural elegance and grace about him, a hard jawline and a skulpted mouth. The only thing that offsets his natural beauty are the dark circles that can be found beneath his eyes.

His attire is traditional for one of his status, he doesn't bother with eye-catchy trinkets.

Personality:
To put it in one word, the man is snarky, driven by an urge to always get the last word in. He does not like being told what to do and he is fiercely independent. He is incredibly intelligent, able to work things out quickly and perceive immediate solutions to most problems.

He has little to no acknowledgement for the feelings of those around him and feels no drive to help those in need. He can be very serious at times, though there are other moments where it seems that he gets a kick out of messing with people. He likes strong reactions and has fun gauging them.

There is a cruelty about Richmond that may not be seen at his surface, an edge to the man that likes to cause harm and relishes in the pain of those he seems worthy. It's unlikely that part will be seen when speaking to him, often times his polite nature wins out.

Skills:
- The ability to create and manipulate shadows, he can void light from an area and plunge it into darkness. He can manipulate shadows to take the forms of creatures or people.

- He has a lot of will and doesn't give in very easily.

- He's a natural leader.

Weaknesses:
- Nothing he creates is sentient, they're basically shadow puppets and not particularly exciting ones.

- Plunging a room or area into darkness wears him down very quickly.

- He's not much of a fighter.

Brief History:
Strangely, little to nothing is known of Richmond Durmont except that his family is rather reclusive and seems to keep to themselves. At six he was sent to live with Niklaus and later inherited his title. He has yet to leave the Santora estate and appears content there.

Other:
One of his eyes appears to be forming a cataract.

A Truly Gifted World (Perpetually Seeking!)

Dynamic Duo

Niklaus Santora.

Nicknames/Aliases:
Nik, Nikky, Klaus.

Age:
23.

Gender:
Male.

Gift:
Dream Manipulation.

Loyalty:
Erubesco Lord.

Description:
Niklaus is of average height, standing in around 5"10 and built very thin. He has a reedy sort of built but he is broad-shouldered in a way that is often familiar of Santora men. He is slightly handsome with a fairly proportional face and a hard jaw, though there is something very off about the creases in his skin. He seems to have been lined with stress very severely.

His eyes, green in shade, are hollow-looking and heavy-lidded. His skin is dappled in faint scarring, it marks his arms and hands mostly but there can be some found in his neck and face as well. He has dusty brown hair, very light in shade and a prominent aquiline nose. His lips are thin and sharp and often pulled into a grin that is far too pleased.

Often adorned in brightly colored noble clothing, he can certainly seem quite flashy at times. On his left hand in place of a missing pointer appears to be a silver claw encrusted in glittering jewels.

Personality:
Niklaus has reached a special point just beyond unhinged. He can be spoken to but he will often come off as threatening or defensive. His mood swings can be rapid and unplanned, they're extremely volatile and violent. He is bright and friendly but it's a friendliness that borders on creepy at times, he has an unnatural cheerfulness about him that shines through vibrantly. He is prone to making jokes and happy commentary.

He is an extreme sadist, relishing in the pain of others, especially those who are defenseless. He thrives on suffering and loves to be the cause of it, he tends to lash out violently in arguments, often going overboard. It can be extremely hard to convince him that he is wrong and at times it is best to just agree with him and stroke his ego. That ego is massive and he has a tendency to display it in grand displays of power or surrounding himself in large and beautiful things.

He can come off as childish at times, easily distracted or confused. He seems to have little to no sense of identity. When asked about himself, he will often have no answers. His memory is heavily faulty though it's only displayed in things relating to his identity.

Skills:

- He can create, shape, enter and manipulate the dreams of himself and others, including modifying, suppressing, fabricating, influencing, manifesting, sensing, and observing dreams as well as nightmares, daydreams, ect. He can produce and modify dreams, bestow nightmares or lucid dreaming, entrap people in REM, and promote spiritual/emotional healing within dreams.

- He has some prior training in battle.

Weaknesses:
- Should he use his abilities too often, he can succumb to a kind of narcolepsy. He loses control over when he's awake and when he's asleep, these sleeps will usually end in tremendous nightmares. When he's awake, he'll find himself hallucinating and groggy. For his own mental health, it's best that he uses his powers sparingly. These side effects pass in time.

People with psychic based powers will find it much easier to dissuade him without upfront attack, though they can also fight him easily in the dream realm if they need to.

Any injuries inflicted upon him in a dream will reflect upon his waking body, meaning that he can die in a dream and die in the waking world simultaneously.

- He is extremely easy to manipulate and seems to take everyone's words for automatic truth.

- His instability leads to extreme decisions.

Brief History:
It's speculated that Niklaus grew in a household with a senselessly cruel father that later died of a mysterious illness, he inherited the title of Lord and has been living out his days in luxury.

Another young lord had been adopted into their home when Niklaus was only six years old and it was seen as rather odd.
Many believe that this young man was brought into their home as a way of teaching Niklaus some propriety but it has yet to be disclosed.

Currently, Niklaus appears to be sharing his estate with that other lord.

Other:
His left pointer finger has been replaced with a jewel encrusted metal claw.

Richmond Durmont.

Nicknames/Aliases:
Rich, Richie.

Age:
26.

Gender:
Male.

Gift:
Shadow Manipulation.

Loyalty:
Erubesco Lord.

Description:

Image.

Richmond is a tall and devilishly handsome man, he stands in around six foot even, built lean and long. He has a headful of raven black hair that's kept very tidy. He has sharp eyes, such a dark brown that they often appear to be black. His skin is very pale and almost flawless.

He carries some muscle in his arms and chest, though he would not appear to be particularly powerful upon a glance. He has a natural elegance and grace about him, a hard jawline and a skulpted mouth. The only thing that offsets his natural beauty are the dark circles that can be found beneath his eyes.

His attire is traditional for one of his status, he doesn't bother with eye-catchy trinkets.

Personality:
To put it in one word, the man is snarky, driven by an urge to always get the last word in. He does not like being told what to do and he is fiercely independent. He is incredibly intelligent, able to work things out quickly and perceive immediate solutions to most problems.

He has little to no acknowledgement for the feelings of those around him and feels no drive to help those in need. He can be very serious at times, though there are other moments where it seems that he gets a kick out of messing with people. He likes strong reactions and has fun gauging them.

There is a cruelty about Richmond that may not be seen at his surface, an edge to the man that likes to cause harm and relishes in the pain of those he seems worthy. It's unlikely that part will be seen when speaking to him, often times his polite nature wins out.

Skills:
- The ability to create and manipulate shadows, he can void light from an area and plunge it into darkness. He can manipulate shadows to take the forms of creatures or people.

- He has a lot of will and doesn't give in very easily.

- He's a natural leader.

Weaknesses:
- Nothing he creates is sentient, they're basically shadow puppets and not particularly exciting ones.

- Plunging a room or area into darkness wears him down very quickly.

- He's not much of a fighter.

Brief History:
Strangely, little to nothing is known of Richmond Durmont except that his family is rather reclusive and seems to keep to themselves. At six he was sent to live with Niklaus and later inherited his title. He has yet to leave the Santora estate and appears content there.

Other:
One of his eyes appears to be forming a cataract.

The Sands of Time

LOCATION — THE BRADY RESIDENCE.
INTERACTING WITH — EVANGELINE ZIMA @Altered Tundra

---

Exhausted.
Though the young insomniac had slept assuredly better under the influence of alcohol, he was still exhausted. It was an exhaustion that set deep into his bones. It was an exhaustion that made his every movement into a drag. He knew that he wasn't allowed to be slow today but he couldn't help it. His morning ritual was awfully dragging, he took everything one step at a time. He had been hoping to finish setting his moth today but he didn't see that happening, he'd already woken up far too late.

As he showered, he was given some time to think about the night before. All things considered, it hadn't been awful. He had been given enough alcohol that he'd been plastered and he had made a friend. He hadn't gotten to spend as much time with Colin as he'd been hoping for but he understood that business got in the way of frivolity at times. He wasn't going to over think it if he could help it.

As he lathered his hair in shampoo, he thought about the girl that he'd met. He'd greeted her through use of her coffee order and the alcohol had made him uncharacteristically confident. If she had been a man, he might have been bold enough to flirt with her. She'd been a peppery little thing with a sunshine-y personality and he had found it very refreshing.

He could be rather mopey at times but surrounding himself in people who weren't tended to make him feel better. As he rinsed the soap from his hair and cut the water, he couldn't help but think that maybe this was the start of something good. He hadn't really had any friends in an awfully long time, it was nice to think that he might have someone to hang out with now. It made him feel strangely happy.

Maybe that's why his mood was so good today despite the exhaustion that he couldn't shake. Maybe that's why he was so happy to see her name blink across the screen of his phone. He quickly dried himself off and dressed before checking the messages that awaited him. He couldn't help but smile because there was something endearing about getting triple texted by someone who just really wanted to talk to him.

He responded with flourish, qualming a smile in the still very steam-filled bathroom.

Zeke
Sorry, I slept in. I hope that's not too uncool, I was a little hammered last night. Lmao, that's obvious. I'd love to join you. It's not like I've got much else to do around here. Could you pick me up?

After he sent the message, he set about brushing his teeth, using his sleeve to wipe the fog from the mirror. He brushed avidly, filling his mouth with water, spitting the froth out. He smiled at his reflection and then went about combing the messy, damp brown hair that kept falling across his forehead. He could almost ignore the deep bags beneath his eyes if he focused on the smile.

After he finished applying deodorant and spraying himself down in cologne, he was ready to face the day. He was ready to be a functioning member of society again. He made his way downstairs to get a pot of coffee brewing. He needed to smother some of this exhaustion in caffeine and he needed to take some painkillers for the headache. He assumed he'd have time.

He found himself checking his phone frequently, eager to see Eva's reply.

What Happens In Vegas: Remastered

LOCATION — QUINN'S ROOM -
BALCONY
INTERACTING WITH — COLE SEARA - @Dirty Pretty Lies

---

Crashing.
If there was anything in this world that Quinn knew, it was the feeling of a crash. It was the feeling of burning right before the fall, the ups and the downs of truly enjoying something.

Cole had been a high, one that he hadn't bargained for but one that he'd experienced nonetheless. He hadn't expected everything that came with that one night, she had been a conquest. She had been something to win, something he’d wanted because nobody else had her and that was the first error. Maybe he’d been hungover and stupid that next day, his head had been aching and the world had been bleary but he couldn't stop thinking about her.

He couldn't focus, he couldn't stop wondering what would happen if he saw her again. She had been something out of a dream to his drunken mind, her dark hair framing a face that he couldn't stop thinking of and how they'd connected. Like puzzle pieces, like missing a part of himself that he hadn't even been aware of. He couldn't forget her, he didn't even try.

Fixation.
That was the problem with Quinn, he fixated, he became obsessed with things. One night always became three more, one cigarette became an addiction and suddenly he couldn't stop thinking of excuses to see her. Maybe it was wrong of him to think of her like an addiction, maybe it was wrong to compare her to cigarettes and alcohol, a vice that he couldn't get away from.

Maybe it was wrong but Quinn knew crashes and he had crashed hard when she had left. It had been that moment of indecision, that breath where he couldn't bring himself to say “No, don't go” where he had started to feel the crash settling in. It had been that look in her eyes when he didn't ask her to stay, it had been everything.

It had been an entire pack of cigarettes smoked in his car while he recklessly drove in circles around the block, it had been a bottle of whiskey drained while he sat on the floor of his apartment and stared at the wall, these had been the symptoms of a crash and Quinn had never regretted anything more.

After she'd left, he'd started craving her, wanting her back. He'd started sending her drunken messages, things where he'd poured his heart out in hopes that she'd see him for the pathetic mess that he was without her, and nothing had worked. After awhile, the messages had stopped coming in so quick, she had stopped seeming to care so much. After awhile, she had a Darien. The name had left a very bitter taste in his mouth as soon as he had seen it, it had been like eating cigarette ash and it had made him want to vomit.

He had dated a few other people himself, of course, tried to smother the feelings that he had left to her in anyone that would give him the time of day. It hadn't been successful, it had made him feel worse on more than one occasion. She had done it though, she'd thoroughly replaced him.
He didn't know how to feel about that.

Staring at her now with his mouth curved into a smirk, he couldn't decide what he should say to her, he couldn't decide how to say it. He was angry, very deeply angry and he was hurt, very deeply hurt. She was here and she was beautiful and she wasn't here for him. “I said-” the boy paused, taking a drag on his cigarette. “I said I'd RSVP, didn't I?”

His tone remained neutral, impassive, things went easier when he didn't let feelings show through. Things went easier when he didn't show that he cared, they went easier when he didn't show how miserable that this all was making him. “I was invited, wasn't I? I mean, unless that was a joke, in which case,” a crease in his brow, his smile spreading wider into a grin. “You sure blew a lot of fucking money to get a room for that joke.”

Vivid Recollections: Into the World Unknown (Season 1 COMPLETE)

I've been sort of lagging behind. I'll try to get something up soon, sorry about the wait. My muse for writing is all over the place.

Breaking the Sun

@Days I haven't been keeping up with anything but I'll get something up tomorrow. I have most of a reply started.

As a note to everyone, this isn't dead, just lots of life in the way of me getting things done. Very sorry for the wait!

What Happens In Vegas: Remastered

LOCATION — QUINN'S ROOM.
INTERACTING WITH — N/A.

---

(1) New Voice Message

The line was practically full of noises, between the television in the background and the insistent wailing of a car siren in the near distance. "Hey, Daphne. I was..." a pause, a shuffle, a bitter laugh. "I was.. I was thinking about it and um-"

His words are slurring, he's moving around a lot. He's obviously drunk, it's something she would be far too used to hearing. "You got me real fucked up about this and I'm- I'm not sure you know what kind of mistake that you're making. Fucking Darien-"

Another bitter laugh, the clink of a bottle. "Darien.
I have never met a Darien that I have ever liked. Like, I hate to be a downer but-" not only is he slurring now, he's kind of muffled, he has started smoking mid-sentence. There's a deep inhale, a deep exhale. "I think that's a bad omen, don't you? That I've never met a Darien that I liked, like some kind of fuckin' statistic or some shit. There's no good people with that name. It's just-"

A cough, a pause, liquid sloshing. "Okay, maybe you don't trust the word of a drunk loser but-" bitter laugh. "Of course, you fuckin' liked the opinion of a drunk loser when you were in Cali. Do you remember that? I remember that. I remember that a lot."

Another cough, more sloshing liquid, more coughing. "God, we were so fuckin' happy, Daphne. We were-" he sounds angry now, a bottle hitting the floor sharply. "I got your Goddamn intial tattooed on my fuckin' neck! You have my Goddamn initial-" more coughing, wheezing. "And you threw it all away. What did I do, Daphne?"

His voice breaks, there's a lot of noises for a moment. He's pacing even more, he's puffing aggressively on the unseen cigarette. "You-" the line becomes muffled. "Nevermind, Daphne, happy fuckin' wedding. I hope he's everything you ever fuckin' dreamed and more."

Liquid sloshing again, he's obviously picked his bottle back up. "I'll RSVP-" coughing, sputtering. "I'll-"
He sounds strangely miserable. "Seeya there, Daphne."

Las Vegas, Nevada.
The city was saturated in smoke and lights. His headlights, his cigarette.
The radio was going out on him again, the sound of Arcade Fire was fading into static and the car was filled with terrible silence. He hated silence, silence gave him time to think and if he was thinking then he had time to get angry about this all again. He punched the radio, cracked the glass on the front of it and it sputtered at him. He punched it again, it didn't seem to respond much after that. He heard his own frustrated exhale, smoke rose from between his lips and out of his nostrils. Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect.

Four hours. He had been driving for four hours. Plane tickets were expensive, it was cheaper to drive. He had been listening to the same Arcade Fire album for four hours. The radio had been his only solace in this trip and now it was down for the count. He was frustrated, he wanted to punch it until it coughed up music again but now he was stuck in silence. The only sounds around him were the sounds of the road, and the sounds of the road just made him feel muted and miserable. Inhale smoke, exhale smoke. Drop the ash into the styrofoam cup beside him.

The coffee in the cup holder beside him was cold and full of cigarette ash. He had taken two sips of that coffee before his stomach had become violently ill and he'd had to wretch up all of it's contents onto the side of the road. The cigarette clutched between his fingers was trembling, a thin tail of smoke was curling up towards the tattered ceiling of his car. He could see a steady trail of ants marching across his dashboard to a half eaten snack-cake from an hour ago.
He was a wreck.

He dropped his cigarette into the cold coffee, let it sizzle out there and he fumbled for another one. He stuffed the next cigarette between his lips, brandished his lighter and lit the tip. He inhaled smoke, he exhaled smoke. There was a bad feeling settling over him again, he had been hoping to drown it out in cigarettes and music. There was no more music and he was running out of cigarettes.

Why was he coming here?
Simple answer, she had invited him. Complicated answer, he had some ridiculous hope that he could change the course of events as they happened. After draining a bottle of vodka the night before, he had come to the brilliant idea that he could win her back. It had seemed like a great plan at the time, now it was starting to seem like a split second decision made by alcohol. It was funny how that happened, it was funny how he thought he was responsible enough to make grown-up decisions when he was still doing shit like that.

Marriage.
It was a word that tasted like blood in his mouth, marriage didn't work. The pieces never fit together like they ought to. You couldn't just tie two people together forever and expect it to work, people had urges, people cheated, people- It was just so unexpected. She had always talked marriage with that same disdain that he did, she hadn't ever seemed like she'd wanted a husband. Maybe that meant something, maybe this invitation was her hint to him that it was only with him that she couldn't picture forever.

Maybe he was only coming here to drive himself insane. He didn't know any of these people, he had never met any of them. He knew their names and he knew little snippets of things that she had told him. He was a stranger amongst strangers, just Daphne's estranged college friend. They didn't know him, he didn't know them. That should have made him more hesitant. It should have put his nerves on end, it should have made this alcohol-fueled decision seem even crazier.
Luckily, Quinn was not a guy that was easily deterred.

Anyway, despite all his anger, despite all his misery, Daphne was home. Home, in the sense that wherever she was, that was home for him. He had watched her walk away once, he wasn't about to watch her walk away again, not without a fight. No, this time wasn't going to be that easy, this time he was going to convince her to stay. That was the plan, at least, he was still working out the kinks.

The rest of the drive was like that, nothing but silence and the turmoil of his own thoughts. A cigarette between his fingers, cold coffee swiring with ash, the rest of the ride was silent but Quinn's mind was very loud.

---

He could see the hotel as it came into view, as grand and as beautiful as he would expect of her. She had been born into money, she was used to fine things. He wasn't so used to fine things, the sight of it was a little bit intimidating to him. He took a moment to watch the people that were entering and exiting the hotel. He needed a moment to size them up, a moment to see what he was dealing with. The car was safe, he was anonymous in the car.

Once he stepped out of the car, he had to put on his game face. He fumbled a new cigarette out of his emptying case, placed it in his mouth and lit the end. He smoked like that for a good few minutes, just watching people as they passed. He had rode the last hour out in silence, he was content to spend a few more moments in that silence. People entered, people exited. Some watched him suspiciously, locked their cars up noticeably at the sight of him, others didn't even notice him. He liked the ones who didn't notice him.

He waited, he waited, he waited.
Finally, he drew himself up, dropped the cigarette into the cold coffee and opened the car door. He said a mute goodbye to the car that had been keeping him safe and he made his walk into the hotel. He checked in, didn't stick around to talk at the front desk, though he did crack a joke or two about the prices and then he walked to his room. It went like clock work, it went smooth.

He checked his pack of cigarettes, counted three and dismissed the frustrated urge to groan in the middle of the hotel hallway. He unlocked the bedroom door, he stepped inside and he counted his cigarettes again. He counted three. There were still three, that was still frustrating. He paced for a moment, checked his phone, ignored the urge to respond to Daphne. He paced again, he freed a new cigarette from the pack.

He walked out to the balcony, lit up and-
He saw her.
Beautiful, with dark hair and brown eyes. A face that he had remembered down to the curve of her nose. She looked the same, seeing her now was different than a photo or a memory. It twisted something inside of his chest, it made him remember why he'd come here all along. It made it hard to keep his mouth from curving into a smile.

Soundlessly, he raised his hand in greeting.

Vivid Recollections: Into the World Unknown (Season 1 COMPLETE)

I'll be working on a post, expect it tomorrow or monday.

LOOKING FOR [ MALE ] ROOMMATES! SLICE-of-LIFE ROLEPLAY!

Osmond Wright

Osmond Wright

"You can just call me Mister Wright."

Birth of Serpents
_{See that young man, who dwells inside his body like an uninvited guest.}

| Full Name |

Osmond Andrew Wright.

| Nickname/Alias/Callsign |

Ozzie, Oz.

| Age |

24.

| Gender |

Male.

| Sexuality |

Heterosexual.

| In-Depth Appearance |

Osmond is the kind of guy that's affectionately referred to as stylishly messy, with a headful of rumpled, dark blond curls and a pair of intense brown eyes. With a hard chin and high cheekbones, the boy is considerably handsome in an almost ordinary way. A small birthmark stands stark at the right corner of his jaw and is usually made more apparent by deep dimples when he's smiling.

Standing at around five-eleven, the boy is built lean and gangly with long limbs. He dresses in very expressive attire, seeming to like wearing colorful button up shirts and dark jeans the most. Shirts like this monstrosity and this monstrosity are very commonly found in his closet. He likes to accent these with black combat boots.

| Personality |

Osmond is very friendly individual who has an honest love of life and a tendency to take everything with a grain of sand. There's rarely ever a time where he's angry, he seems to keep himself chill in just about every situation. He's not without his frustrations however and whenever those present themselves, he can become somewhat snappy with any surrounding people.

He can come off as overtly flirty at times, though his flirting is absolutely cheesy and unimpressive in just about every way. His favorite is to use his name as a pun on "Mister Right", he's used this line so much that it's become incredibly stale and unamusing. Not only does he flirt with women, he tends to jokingly flirt with men as well.

At times, he can be very lazy. It can make it hard to get him to do tasks, even if he's made a commitment to complete those tasks. He doesn't seem to like to lend an extra hand unless it directly benefits him, this can lead to him going to drastic lengths to avoid doing certain tasks. He's very much an underachiever.

Every so often, he seems to swing into a mood where he comes off as very irritated and sarcastic. This dash of sarcasm is a vast difference from his usual demeanor and makes it very clear that he's feeling tense or upset. This can be easily remedied by talking about his issues but he'll never make the first step to do that. It can lead to a lot of miscommunication.

| Place Of Origin |

Brooklyn, NY.

| History |

WIP.

| Extra |

N/A

_{Face Claim: Max Barczak}

Here's Ozzie!