( network | open )

[convents]

[ that's it. a rather detailed drawing of an apple. one man's journal is another man's sketch pad. ]

Comments

[convents]

[ ...the relevance of pie (outside of its relation to fruit) is lost on the vampire, but to his credit, he adds a dollop of whipped cream on top of the slice. ]

[undermyfeet]

[He grins, before dropping down under the picture and scribbling:]

Perfect.

[convents]

[ are you ready for some super old world looking handwriting? because here it is. ]

You've got some talent.

[undermyfeet]

[That doesn't really phase him. His is standard block letters but still pretty legible.]

Thanks. I've had practice.

[convents]

Formal or informal?

[undermyfeet]

Informal. Mostly my dad teaching me.

[To forge things.]

[convents]

My father tried to teach me the opposite.

[ so many "stop drawing, liam" lectures and variations of. ]

[undermyfeet]

Your old man sounds like he sucks.

[No offense to your dad, Angel, but really?]

[convents]

He did.

[ past tense. the man's been dead for centuries — at angel's own hands. there are some days their turbulent relationship makes him feel leess guilty about ripping the man's throat out after he was turned. the 1700s were very a "do what your parents wish for you" sort of time. ]

[undermyfeet]

[He can catch that past tense, and he'll drop it. Dead parents aren't something you talk about and while Alexander is lucky enough that neither of his actually are (mom might as well be for all the good she did him, but at least she's still out there), he knows that for the people who do, it's not something you want to talk about.]

Seems like you got pretty good anyway.

[convents]

[ dead parents are a theme here. dead actual parents, dead-dead sire, undead dad to a child himself... 8| he should petition the powers for a new one. ]

I've had a long time to practice. [ a long, long time. ]

[undermyfeet]

[Definitely. Maybe something with a little more pep.]

Cool.

[there's a pause before ... ]

I'm Alexander.

[It's on the journal, he knows that, but he still likes to introduce himself all the same.]

[convents]

Angel.

[ it's written with a flourish, a bit more loopy and stylized that the rest of his handwriting. which is a touch hilarious, considering this isn't even his original name or even the one he bore the longest. ]

[undermyfeet]

[He smirks a bit at that, but he doesn't comment. Some people have their handwriting quirks. Apparently this guy is fancy-pants handwriting.]

How long have you been on the boat?

[convents]

Not too long; a few days. You?

[undermyfeet]

Same. A friend of mine was here before though, I just came through with him this time.

[convents]

People coming and going is normal, then?

[undermyfeet]

From what I can tell? I'm not sure how often, but they do.

[convents]

There has to be some kind of force behind this. A spell or a portal with multiple entrances or some other seemingly omnipresent force.

[undermyfeet]

Or it's it's just a strange cosmic occurrence. My world was full of them, people fell through all the time. The only thing that's different here is that people actually get put back in their own worlds.

[convents]

Nothing's that random. Random is only that which has yet to be explained.

[undermyfeet]

Holes in the universe, I think, have it within their right to be random. Or at least, that's my perspective.

[convents]

The universe does not govern itself.

[undermyfeet]

[There's a long pause on the other end of the line.]

I'm not really speaking metaphysically.

[This conversation may have just gotten a bit too philosophical for his taste.]

I'm talking about literal holes in the universe, emptying out like a sieve.

[convents]

Holes have to be punctured by something, if not someone.