Dusk

the eye of the beholder
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  1. One post per day
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  3. 1-3 posts per week
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  5. Slow As Molasses
Online Availability
Most days, most hours
Writing Levels
  1. Elementary
  2. Intermediate
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  5. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Female
  3. Nonbinary
  4. Agender
  5. Primarily Prefer Male
  6. No Preferences
Genres
Adventure. Angels and demons. Apocalyptic. Arthurian. Comedy. Dystopian. Fantasy. Historical. Horror. Post-apocalyptic. Romance. Science fiction. Supernatural.

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A thin layer of clouds turned the golden day into silvery grey and a particularly fickle wind left a cold bite in the air. Morning slipped toward noon, and the bustle of daily life overcame the city. The docks, however, had been alight with activity since the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon.

Each morning, Iriena Cauthrik woke before daylight. She spent the following hours consumed by her work until the day dipped into evening. She enjoyed her work, whether that was on the sea or in the harbour, but the hours were long and she was grateful for the natural respites offered in waiting.

Rien leaned against one of the dock posts with her old pipe in hand, a faint smoulder of smoke trailed out of the barrel. Carnelian bobbed on the waves in her periphery. If the indecisive wind favoured her sails it would be a successful voyage. For Carnelian and her crew, at least. Fair sailing meant little for the success of the ship’s passengers. And it was those passengers Rien waited for as she smoked. That day Carnelian’s voyage was to ferry a sea-bound party far offshore.

The woman pondered the future of her day as she inhaled another puff of smoke. Barely in earshot, two of her crewmen discussed the recent happenings in their lives. Young Marco enthusiastically spoke about his expectant child while Merrell teased him affectionately. Nobody was late, but Rien was restless. It was a familiar itch that grew stronger whenever she was set to sail. The woman never was quite sure if it was because she was leaving Lua or if it was because she yearned for the sea.

•·················•·················•​

The Crooked Paw Tavern and Lodge, called the Crooked Paw by everyone, was a popular haunt for a variety of people. It was a three-floored rusty-red building with three additional houses stacked atop it, each in its own colour. The Crooked Paw was an old building and its aged showed in the chipped paint and scuffed wood. It was a place of little rest, as even when the residents and guests slept, there was always someone in the common room tending a mug or singing an old song. And at that moment, it was full of life, with laughter and chatter and the clink of activity.

Lukan was a familiar face among those who frequented the establishment. Despite his notable standing as the grandson of a Councillor, he was well known as someone who placed no importance on the fact. He was also a known reveller, and at that moment he was engaged in a game with two other patrons. It was going well for him. He tapped his middle finger to his stack and the designated dealer for that round flipped down another card — a three — atop his hex and seven. Twenty. Lukan grinned, his win was imminent. Luck usually found him in games of chance and if he took this hand it'd be his fourth win of six that day. The dealer held at eighteen which left only a slim possibility for the third player to match or win. Lukan would take the hand.

•·················•·················•​

Despite the vibrancy of his coat, most of the patrons did not notice the arrival of the stranger as he entered the Crooked Paw, lost as they were in their revelry. He was an unassuming older man with thick brows and a subtle limp. The only thing remarkable about him was his thick blue coat, and even that was obviously old having faded in colour and frayed around the edges. The man took a seat pressed against the wall where he could easily watch the activity while remaining out of the way. And watch he did as dark grey eyes scanned the room with purpose.
 
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ONYA


lf the bite of the morning wind's chill didn't wake you up, the noise about the docks was sure to rouse any poor sucker still half asleep. Hustle and bustle became the dock workers; from sunrise to sundown, they worked, flitting to and free across the wooden slats buoyed upon the sea with the natural prowess given to them. The banter, the laughter, the slapping of waves beneath the cries of seagulls and the steady thrum of footsteps--these were the songs of the sea.

The only thing Onya could contribute was the clink of her diving equipment slapping against her hip. The salt winds tickled at her face and hair; naught else was exposed, layered so she was in her own folds of wool. Braving the depths of the sea meant embracing the elements, and one had to be careful not to catch hypothermia once they came out of the water.

"Another dive, Onya?"

"Aye."

The stout sailor nodded, his name at the moment escaping her. "Stay warm out there."

Onya only grunted in reply, hefting her heavy baggage into a more secure position upon her shoulder. She fancied a bag now to carry out all her equipment; the diving suit weighed a good fifty pounds dry, and while the woman was certainly no slouch, it tended to weigh on her carrying that bulky thing to and fro across Lua, day in and day out...

She would be more than happy to dump it all by a bench once she boarded the Carnelian.

"Morning."

Rien was overlooking the boat, her favorite pipe in hand. Onya glanced away from her to the boat, where the woman's crew was hard at work getting their accommodations ready. Her eyes squinted.

"How many today?"

While she couldn't control who came along, it was still nice to know just how many people would be along...and how many had a chance of edging her out of potential coins.



 
The air had a bit of a chill to it. Val shivered despite himself. Maybe it was just him being in a whiny mood that he just needed something to be bitter about today and the weather had gotten the short end of the stick. Or maybe the weather really was at a low and he was grumpy with due cause. He was pretty sure it was leaning closer to the former. Why oh why he had thought being outside was anywhere remotely close to a good idea was beyond him.

Nah. Today was a day to be inside like any other. He always felt so much cozier holed up in the Crooked Paw. Whether it was sitting in the corner getting quietly plastered on ale or having the courage and mood to holler out for folks to gather 'round so he could tell a story, he liked this place the same. There was always something interesting going on, someone interesting to talk to or listen to, and fine enough food and drink to fill his stomach.

The day's entertainment here seemed to be quite the exciting card game. Some of the faces of players and audience alike he recognized, others were a little harder to place, but he enjoyed himself nonetheless. Keeping a bit at a distance, but close enough to watch, he took a sip from his mug. Moving a bit closer, he tried to at least be somewhat social... even if he was genuinely pretty terrible at it. "Good luck today, huh?" he said, hoping he didn't sound intrusive or annoying with just that one comment. He still knew how to talk to other folk even if he was much better at talking at them lately.

While most in the tavern had their minds either on the game, their drinks, or their own loud conversations, Val's attention every so briefly faltered. Though he had been making an attempt at striking up a conversation, he always enjoyed watching people. Watching people enough he did to spot a stranger with a low limp crossing through the tavern to find a seat in a quiet corner. Another one that Val didn't recognize. It wasn't unusual to not know someone. He couldn't know everyone (especially since he tended to avoid trying to make friends), but it was interesting enough to catch his eye. Staring for a moment too long, he tried to focus back on the more interesting event that was the game... or perhaps he could just get himself drunk and pass out somewhere.
 
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Suvi

Suvi pulled her shawl snuggly around her arms, walking briskly up the piers away from her merchant shop and towards the Crooked Paw. She’d just finished closing up the shop for the night and was in a hurry to get back indoors and out of the cold. The Crooked Paw was a popular gathering place with warm food and good drinks, and a wonderful opportunity to socialize and enjoy shared stories.

She shuffled through the door and carefully moved through the building, greeting a few people as she moved through towards the bar. She placed a few coins on the counter and smiled warmly to the bar tender. “Surprise me!” She chirped, leaning her willowy body against the counter as she slid into a barstool.
「 」
Code by Jenamos
 
MADLOCK

It was a bit of a stretch, betting on Captain Rein's good will and reputation. It was a gnarly one, to be sure, but one that was founded on blunt honesty and honesty, even of the harsh variety, was a fine trait in his eyes. Especially in a sailor. Madlock the Wysper, Madlock the Fool, came strutting down the docks as Mister Fontaine— a middle aged gentleman known for a gimpy leg, deep pockets, and an eccentric taste in goods. Most noticeably, however, was the wisp of a girl at his side— the opposite side that desperately clutched a brass-gilded cane. She was nearly as tall as him, but thin and slender and gangly, nothing but thin edges and hard lines. No matter how much food he had her delight in, she simply refused to put on weight.

The girl was strong though and older than she appeared.

The faded, salt-and-pepper mustache he wore tickled his nose as he glanced down to his left, where Lella Lyness lugged along a heavy rucksack. "Is it too heavy?" Mister Fontaine asked softly, voice barely audible over the fickle, bone-chilling wind.

"No, uncle, I can manage. We're almost there anyways."

"That we are," Mister Fontaine said with his typically chirp.

He exaggerated the gimp in his leg just slightly and picked up his pace— better to actually be out of breath than to pretend. By the time they made it to the end of the docks where the Carnelian was moored, he was truly out of breath and struggling to stay steady. The broad, cheeky smile on his weathered face was genuine too, once he noticed the diver standing in wait.

Oh good, the coin-hungry diver's here too. Two birds with one stone it seems.

"Captain!" Mister Fontaine chirped, waving enthusiastically, "Oh I'm so glad I didn't miss seeing you off!"

Unfortunately for Onya, the enthusiastic wave had Mister Fontaine teetering off balance and he reached without thinking, latching on to her dive equipment to steady himself. His apology was one of genuine embarrassment, the apples of his cheeks flushing. Only Onya would notice the tiny coin pouch slipped within— her payment for another job well done.

"Oh dear, I'm am so sorry, and here I thought I'd make a good impression." He turned from Onya to the Captain with a small, gracious bow to each before speaking once more, "Captain, I've two requests for you— but first!"

Mister Fontaine, as was usual, tossed up a small leather coin pouch, filled to the brim. "Word is your out for another dive. How wonderful it must be to set sail on the great ocean blue... ahhh! If at all possible, I would love to peek at the treasures you return with. Not to worry though, anything I purchase will be paid for in full! That is simply a down payment of my good will.

"My second request... well, you see my dearest niece here, she's been begging me to charter her out to sea, but in my condition, well... as you can see ...won't be very easy. Miss Lella here is an excellent hand and an excellent cook! Anything you need and she's the one to ask! Whether or not you accept, she's brought along an offering of good luck for your overnight journey."

Lella smiled shyly, tucking a lock of reddish brown hair behind her ears. She unraveled the rucksack to reveal a host of perishable goods that'd allow them to feast— breads and hard cheeses and a sprinkling of dried fruit and salted fish jerky.
 
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Captain Rien
@Kuno @rissa

Another gust of cool wind rustled at the stray hairs of Rien’s bun. She considered, not for the first time, cutting it all away as it had been in her youth. Cropped hair was better against the waves and the storms, but she’d grown fond of her longer hair. Perhaps after the trip she’d hack it all off. It was to that place that her mind had wandered when Onya arrived, accompanied by an informal greeting.

“Morning,” Rien returned with a small raise of her pipe.

“Divers? Five.” Was her response to the question. “And an overeager artifact dealer tagging along. He’s fresh and not at all prepared. You’ll know him when you see him. Foppish.”

Further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of two others. One was a Mister Fontaine, whom Rien had previous experience and the other was a younger girl carrying a rucksack who Rien did not recognise. The man offered an enthusiastic salutation but before Rien could respond he stumbled. Instinctively, The Captain lurched forward despite the man being too far away for her to do anything. Instead Fontaine tottered toward Onya where he steadied himself against her gear. He apologised and Rien sighed in relief. Fontaine didn’t miss a beat.

“Be here at noon tomorrow and you’ll get your first look,” stated Rien. “But ultimately it’s up to the divers to sell their haul or not,” she added pointedly. Although there were shipmen who took their pay from a percentage, Rien preferred a flat rate upfront. There was grand profit to be found in taking a cut but you had to be the divers would find something worthwhile.

Rien’s attention slipped from the man and his money to the girl beside him as he continued to talk. She had profound sympathy for those who yearned for the sea but the waifish girl had her worried, even as he explained her usefulness. Lella — as she was introduced — unfurled a bag to reveal an abundance of delicious looking food. All of it sure to be better than the hard biscuits and porridge Rien’s crew had to offer. It felt like a crime to turn that down. Rien huffed. She put her palm over the barrel of her pipe where she could feel warmth against her hand.

“Alright. I’ll take her aboard,” she addressed Fontaine as she said this. “As long as you promise to do what I say,” she added to the girl.
 
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Inconsolata Fenix Playfair Display


A cool wind brings about an air change.

ANGER IS FORMED FROM EXPERIENCE...
Should he have gone home once his shift ended? Maybe. Valerian never shut up about how important sleep was to a person and how it would keep his memory working. Memory was all he spoke about when it came to him…Girasol inched closer to forty and Valerian started forming crazy ideas that he was going to end up like their mother.
It was annoying. But he supposed he couldn't blame him in the end.

Girasol, instead, had taken himself to The Crooked Paw to enjoy a drink or two in solitude. He'd sat himself down at the farthest corner of the Tavern to drink, one arm propped up on the seat behind him and the other resting, comfortably formed around the glass that held his drink of choice. His feet were propped up on the table, ankles crossed over the other as he raked his scrutinizing gaze over the other patrons that had made their stay here for the night to drink into the late morning. Their loudness and excitement was irritating to him after such a long night.

Truthfully the long night of working wasn't his reason for being irritated. That's just how he was. He watched quietly as a man with a gloomy presence entered the Tavern and then a colorfully dressed older gentleman with a limp. He sighed, lifting his glass to take another heavy drink from it and set it down heavily on the table.
Being here alone was boring but Valerian was probably busy being helpful like always and it's not like he'd ever dare drink as much as him…let alone so early in the morning.

The older man dreaded having to walk, or rather stumble, home. He could almost hear his brothers chastising, eyebrow twitching as he ran over exactly what he knew he'd say.
Gira, you can't just not come home. You have to sleep and you shouldn't be drinking after EVERY shift you work.

Gira internally rolled his eyes, taking another gulp of his drink out of spite. The man rolled his head to the side, squinting at the door each time it opened to peek at the light of day that poured through. He supposed that maybe he should head home soon…if not to sleep then to at the very least check and see what his brother was up to and what business he’d managed to pull in for the day.
After a minute or two of deliberation, he finished off his drink and lifted his feet from the table, swinging them to the side so he could stand and slightly stumble. Three large glasses on an empty stomach would get anyone…he was no exception.
Girasol didn’t have the decency to walk up to the bar and pay there- rather he fished for some coin in his pocket and carelessly dropped it on the tabletop before lumbering his way to the exit, not bothering to pay attention and make sure he didn’t run into anyone.
Tags: mentions of @Lyrikai @ @

TO PROVIDE WITHOUT QUESTION...
The morning had been a little cooler than usual and thus his rising from slumber had taken longer than preferred. Valerian hated leaving his cozy little bed full of wool and linen, desperately clinging to the comfort beneath them. When he'd finally convinced himself enough to throw his blankets off, it was already well into the morning. Usually, he'd be down in his office with his poorly hinged door propped open and he would have seated himself at his desk with his mothers journals, waiting for the first person to pop in and ask for help with an ailment.
He supposed that since nobody had come banging on his door, it meant he didn't need to hurry to open his office. Perhaps he could take this morning and part of the afternoon for himself.

Valerian combed his fingers through his hair, pulling it back before tying it in a low ponytail with a scrap of ripped linen fabric. He pulled his usual clothing out, pulling a light coat out of his wardrobe as well since he'd planned to venture outside and maybe even to the docks…it couldn't hurt to see if any ships were venturing out today.
He pushed the small window in the bedroom open, propping it so it let the cool air in and keep his room cool as the day went on. Hopefully he'd be home in time to close it before his home became too cold.
He cast a glance to his brothers empty bed that sat in the corner, sighing through his nose before reaching for his crossbody bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
First on the list today would be to stop by the market…though conveniently for him it was near the docks. Couldn't place the market too far, lest any fish they catch become spoiled before it could be sold.

The man harshly tugged his door shut behind himself as he left, walking down the rickety stairs that led to the ground level where his office sat, entering the busy and already crowded streets of Luascent. He tucked his hands away into his coat pockets, avoiding running into people as he stepped quickly. A left here, a right there, another left and he could see the hustle and bustle of the docks in the distance…a ship was docked and a group of people were gathering.

The man hummed to himself, quickening his steps before he slowed down and realized that it may not be taken well if he just marched up and began questioning the group of people what they were up to. Not everyone here was as chatty as he was….and not everyone was okay with spilling their business to others. Though, he did see a familiar person…the diver Onya. Perhaps he could talk to her and maybe convince her to finally let him question her on her findings as a diver.

Valerian shook his head, clearing his distracting thoughts before turning in direction of the market. He had things to do first.
Tags: mentions of @Kuno @ @


 
PENNY FOR A POUND


Mister Fontaine turned— quite dramatically —to gaze at his niece, just as interested and expectant of her response as Captain Rien. Her answer was excited and forthright and even came with a quick promise written across her heart. He chuckled, both in and out of character, and looked quite proud when he turned back to Rien.

"Well there you have it, little Lella's very own promise." He glanced down with a smile, ruffling her hair lovingly. "You heard the captain and you've made your promise, best go get your night-bag from the carriage right quick!"

Lella nodded happily, bouncing on her toes as if she had just scored a record setting catch and dashed back towards land.

With a jovial glance he turned to Onya with a wondering query, "What do you hope you'll bring up, young miss? Any favorite wares I should keep an eye out for? I'm always willing to trade."

"Don't I know it."

Quick and nimble the statement was, almost as quick as the coins that disappeared rapidly from Fontaine's hands to Onya's pockets. It was one of the few things she respected about the man: his undying commitment to discretion.

Money talked, but that didn't mean men had to either.

"I'm looking for pottery. Metal, tin, any containers or the like. What are you looking for, peddler?"

There was a half-hearted gasp of haughty horror at the suggestion Mister Fontaine was simply a peddler and not the finest tradesmen at the docks. It was in jest, of course, though the reaction seemed instantaneous after Onya voiced her question.

"Containers as well, doubly so in regards to carriable ones." He rubbed his chin in thought, eyes locked on the horizon in the background. "Tools, of any kind, as long as they are not completely rusted through they can be salvaged.

"Same with trinkets and toys. I like to donate them once they're all fixed up and restored."

It was perhaps the most genuine thing Madlock had ever said.

Onya's eyes grew soft. "Still taking in strays? Who's this string of a girl you've brought to come with?"

Mister Fontaine's mustache crinkled as he smiled confusedly in Onya's direction, "Strays?" He inquired with a laugh, "Only the kind that travels along on four legs. I can't help but feed the lil' suckers when they keep the rats out of my garden."

He turned to look behind him at Lella's retreating form, one of the young ones he'd help raise the past few years. "One of my paternal nieces. Poor thing gets overlooked by all her siblings, some younger some older and never quite gets the chance to shine."

He smiled ruefully before adding, "I always make sure she eats seconds at Uncle Fonty's, but she never seems to pack on the meat. Hmph! And what about you, still taking every dive available to you, Missus Onya? I've seen you on many an excursion."

"As many as I can get my hands on," the diver replied with the ease of a woman with nothing to hide. "As you say - some of us poor things get overlooked."

As she had herself many, many times. Her eyes had followed Fontaine's to Lella; she, too, had been once that thin, that desperate to cling to the scraps of life no matter where they came from. It brought forth bitter memories.

"Anyways," Onya went, pulling herself from that rabbit hole, "I don't care to be left homeless. A woman's got to make ends meet, does she not?"

“Aye, that you do, that you do.” Fontaine replied, giving a little half bow as he did.

The sound of pitter-patter grew louder after a small lull in conversation and he turned with a jovial smile to greet his niece. She carried a small rucksack and the brightest smile he’d seen her wear yet. Lella glanced between Onya and Captain Rien, a tiny dream come true dancing upon her face as the excitement of the adventure swelled forth. Mister Fontaine gave his pleasantries and his goodbyes, followed by a promise to be waiting on their return.


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