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North [Solo]

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#1Arthur J. Sokolov 

North [Solo] Empty on Fri Feb 24, 2017 3:40 pm

Arthur J. Sokolov
Dull Tools.
There is so much one can do before realization hits them, it's dark blue outside, could the north be calling?
The clock struck the evening part of the day and the doors to the church opened with a loud noise. It was dark blue outside; the sun down and the small clouds gathering to paint a serene scene. His clothes moved tiny inches as the wind blew past the small figured man and he walked in, doors closing behind him.

The clash of the church to the rest of Oak was like a wall of condensed pressure that Aonaka had to endure, enjoy and take in. Gemstones of many kinds decorated the pillars, seemingly added recently as the low light passing through the colourful stained glass was enough for them to show their gleaming beauty. Reddish eyes would gaze over them, to the ground and then the altar. The beastmaster would take slow steps towards the benches or whatever people would call them and let himself go on the second one from the front, his arms resting on the back part of it, he seemed to be relaxing.

The brazier of eternal fire would show it's grace here, in the front, much better as the holy sun symbol stood behind it and the altar. No one was in there with him except for one person, or one beast, Panthello, who was fast resting sleepily on his shoulder, trying not to fall asleep. The little mammal was tired and no amount of snacks would help him back to the world of the alert. Aonaka would then close his eyes and rest his head by leaning it to the back of the bench. He stood like that for a while, perhaps minutes, perhaps hours. The crackling sound of the fire would echo within the holy chambers.

After a while, his eyelids would lift up and he would take the bat and place him on the bench, his right so it could sleep peacefully. Soon the whole church would be filled with the gentle sleep-growls of Panthello, which Aonaka responded with a smile. His hand would find its way to his shirt's chest pocket, under his sweater and take out a small rosary. Embellished with a golden sun symbol, grey coloured chains would make small metallic sounds in his hand. The boy would lean forwards, grasp the rosary towards his forehead and then close his eyes.

He didn't believe if anyone was out there and whoever they were, they probably weren't Illumin. But here he was, in the end, rapturing the beliefs of his old. Praying for him felt like nothing more than physical labour, using his willpower to its very last drops to focus, to breathe and to believe, at least for now. Those who can't swim, if they were to find themselves in a huge body of water, would be willing to hug the closest snake, so the saying went. Where had he heard that Aonaka didn't remember. That was his situation now.

The world was a scary place. Oak was a scary place and perhaps despite knowing, his mind was a scary place. The weight of attention would not be left there, however, for he hated his own thoughts grasping his directions and self-assumptions. To Aonaka, he was whatever, he knew the true way of magic and to use it for art and grace. He did not enter the road of those brutes, he didn't kill, but he allowed death in the past. Then wasn't that the same as killing? Perhaps the boy was too stupid to see that, or maybe it was the undeniable power of denial itself.

He complained about a dull life and even after the time spent here in Oak that statement wouldn't change for he realised what dull meant. "If something wasn't dull, then it had a disgraceful side to it." was correct for reasons other than what he thought; like farm tools that weren't used, like people who refused hard work. Those people who worked hard would grow dull too, but wasn't that better to know that you worked and not shined away your capabilities for the desire of positive comments followed by the gaze of the common folk?

He was a scared little cunt that relied on a small mammal more than anything. He couldn't help but crack a smile at his own comments. Such a vulgar word, his mind was capable of saying those? A dull person that wasn't dull because of working hard, but for being useless. The desire to paint his dull life with other people, characters, guilds made no sense, a dull thing wasn't a canvas. What he needed was to be reforged, to be sharp once more.

He had entered Oak as the piece of shit he was, he didn't want to be that if he was to ever come back.

A small piece of paper, advertising boat tours of Hargeon, to Nanuq and an island was standing on the other edge of the bench. It was forgotten by someone who probably visited the church before he did.

When Aonaka picked up the brochure, the paper rising from the bench made a sound akin to someone flipping the page of a book.
EXIT

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