Finding comfort in music // Open RP
The sun of late afternoon was weak as it rained down against the slight cloud cover. The sky was starting to turn soft shades of pink and orange, a gentle and warm breeze rolling though the trees. There at the edge of the small grove, not yet in the nearby town, stood a large and proud cathedral. A fountain stood before the doors, nestled in a small concrete courtyard. All around was soft and healthy grass, swaying gently in the breeze as if dancing. Barely visible from the courtyard was a small and healthy garden, nestled safely behind the beautiful structure. The flowers were slowly starting to wilt due to the coming of fall.
Craiah wandered the rooms of his home, called the Sanctuary. So very aptly named, he thought. This place had always been open to him in times of need. It was roomy and safe and welcoming. And recently, restored. Even the windows had been repaired, beautiful and new as they spilled multicolored puddles on the white marble of the floor. The pews had been moved away in favor of simply having the room open. Along the walls were bookshelves and the like, the books mixed in with odd things. A bucket of chalk. A basket of knitting things. A few glass bottles.
He found himself wandering towards the back rooms he used for storage. Found himself in front of the large case that held his cello. He softly ran his fingers across the case, his hands coming up dusty. After a long moment of thought, he took the cello, case and all, to the front room. He took the instrument from it’s case and took the time to tune it. Make sure it wasn’t broken. When it was all done, he got into position, and started to play.
A little stress relief //Open
The sky was darkening to a soft, dark blue, the chill settling onto the ground like a thick sheet of ice. There was no silence or peace on the chilled streets, however. People never slept. If it wasn’t the people that lived and worked in little boxes, it was the people that lived and breathed and prayed wild and reckless. Always, there were people.
Craiah watched them as he leaned against the wall on the bookshop. He got a few odd looks as he always did. A man with silvery-blue hair and dusty blue eyes? He stood out in this city of dark haired and dark souled beauties. He had been careful to clean the blood away from his hands and face before going back out. He also hoped nobody would notice the smell. Humans very rarely noticed the smell of blood.
Craiah let his head fall back, his eyes closed. He felt the chill of the cold night air wrap about his neck. He didn’t care. It felt nice…
A breather // Open RP
The sun shined, strong and warm against the low, grey cloud cover of later afternoon. A soft and warm breeze fluttered through the dying treetops. It was warm and beautiful.
Craiah had to stop for about the tenth time to catch him breath and collect himself. Every breath hurt, and the breeze against his blood and ink soaked clothing made him shiver. He looked behind him, cringing a bit at how much he was bleeding. It had let up some since he left the estate, but… It was still a lot.
The man shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He heard his lungs rattle in a less-than-pleasant way. He choked down the pain and opened his eyes to keep walking home. The doors were open to him as always, the soft echo of the marble and stone of his Sanctuary welcoming and familiar. He managed another few steps, then simply gave up, collapsing on the floor. The cold marble on his wounds felt nice on his back, especially. Almost his whole body was covered in hundreds of hundreds of tiny, stinging cuts, all of them built up on top of eachother into deep wounds. The ink on his arms and chest went into them, making them hurt more. He let his eyes close, let the oddly familiar feeling of bleeding out wash over him.
It was worth it, though.