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Find Rory Atlidóttir

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Posted | 09-06-2017, 10:47 PM




You're saying I'm fragile - I try not to be
It was late in the afternoon on a Thursday. The humidity in the September air was thick enough to stick to your skin as you walked through it. Even when indoors, the stickiness always seemed to linger. It was uncomfortable, especially for those who weren't used to warmer clients. Rory was on of those people. Even the hottest summer months in Iceland did not rise above a comfortable 'warm'. The drastic change of this new city, even after 3 years of residence wasn't something the small town coastal girl had grown accustom to. It was all so new. So ludicous at the same time. It definitely wasn't Iceland, but this was more of a home to Rory than the island had ever been. Funny how unfamiliarity could lead a girl to comfort.

It was the time of day where most people would be settling in to their homes to prepare dinner and greet their families. Instead, Rory had found herself sitting on top of a worn down bar stool. In some sort of pub she didn't even remember the name of. She had nothing in front of her but a mostly full glass of red wine. Her fingers were wrapped around the stem of the glass, but she didn't seem to take a drink more than once every ten minutes. Her mind seemed to be lost in thought.

Down by her feet was an oversided messenger bag covered in an assortment of sewn on patches. What seemed to be the result of a random thought, Rory reached down to rummage through the insides. She pulled out a small, pocket sized notebook and a mangled pencil. Evidence of a nosy dog with no manners. Tucking some stray hair behind her ear, Rory began to write down a collection of sentences. It was a collection of things of merit that she had either overheard or seen b coincidence. A byproduct of a growing control of her dominion. It was easy to listen in to conversations she was not supposed to hear. That's why she enjoyed writing things down. Today it was simple. 'I don't know what a speedo is, and at this point I'm too afraid to ask.' Whatever that conversation was about, she didn't really want to know.

Reaching over to take a sip of her wine, Rory let out a relaxed exhale. She was used to her own silence, so by now it was kind of nice. Typical. Just the way the liked it. Only in her attempt to set her pencil down in the counter top again did she let it roll right off again. Down to the ground. Too dirty with stains and drips of who knows what to pick it back up again. She wrinkled her nose in protest.
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Find Ava Caputo

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Posted | 09-13-2017, 09:07 PM


Ava doesn't always prioritize location over convenience, but right now she just needed a drink--it didn't matter where it came from. The place isn't high-end like she'd grown used to, even if that was a recent development. Unlike those other places, though, she's invisible here. Not a single person turns their head when she walks in the door (alone, thank God) and takes a spot near one of the few people sitting at the bar. Her mind isn't able to anchor any one specific train of thought, plagued by images that slip focus from her grasp. A frustrated hiss seethes from her nostrils, ordering the strongest thing she could stomach and furrowing her brow against the burn is ignited in her throat.

She rotates the glass between her fingers, listening to the scrape of it against the wooden counter-top. Ava is under no impression that what she does is good, but it's not about that. She knows about escapism, about needing an out when life was too much, and that is what she provided. However, one did not inherit an empire by allowing mistakes and error. One also did not earn respect by hiding behind walls and lines of people. Occasionally she had to throw her weight around to make a point. While this tended to work out fine in most instances, her demon enjoyed playing for the losing side every so often. It was easy to put a bullet in someone's head that you've convinced yourself was useless, inhuman, and a detriment to society with how hard they'd managed to fuck up in order to land themselves on the business end of a gun. Still, it was difficult to hide the hesitation in your trigger finger when your demon activated your empathy dominion and transferred that cold, electrifying fear straight into your senses.

Ava rubbed her hands over her eyes, freshly washed and smelling of bathroom soap; she still can smell the poor bastard's piss.

It is then that she feels the need to occupy herself with something else. Lifting her head, she catches sight of the woman near her casually writing away in her notebook. Half squinting her eyes, the ginger just so happens to drop her pencil before Ava deems it too sudden to speak to her without it seeming off. Pursing her lips, she leans over in her chair and picks the pencil up off the floor, brushing it off on her shirt before offering it back to its owner.

"No idea how you manage to write in this place. I'd have to meditate to focus." She pauses, gaze sliding over to her drink, assessing what that said about the stranger, "Wine is also an interesting choice. Do you come here to relax?" Interesting. Looked like a good distraction to her.


"speaking" | thinking | "Rosalyn speaking"

Find Rory Atlidóttir

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Posted | 09-13-2017, 11:28 PM




You're saying I'm fragile - I try not to be
Sitting on her own, Rory always found a way to notice when anyone came near to her. It was a hyper sensitivity made up entirely in her head. A horribly annoying side effect of social paranoia. Of course, people walked near her, spoke in earshot, and sat near her constantly. It was just a art of being out in the big wide world. It was only when people sat close, or spoke to her unexpectedly that she would feel Lux dig his claws inside the bones in her shoulders. Pressing down on her body to make her feel like the world was falling on top of her shoulders. It was him that caused her to notice things that she would rather ignore. Like a normal person. Like a person who didn't have this voice inside of them that made them doubt the entire room around her. This time it was a woman. A stranger just like everyone else in this never ending city. Despite the looming feeling of Lux's influence, Rory turned her head to smile at the girl. Emoting light surprise underlined with thanks as she fetched her pencil from the floor and handed it to her. How very kind. "Thank you." She spoke in her soft set voice. Just loud enough to be heard over the music.

When the stranger spoke, Rory couldn't help but let out a small laugh. She hadn't thought about how out of place she must look here. Treating a pub like her living room. Shrugging her shoulders, Rory pointed around her in a weak circle, motioning to the entire room. "Writing actually helps me concentrate. It gives me something to focus on." Okay, so maybe she intentionally left out some details. People didn't care about her dominions, it wasn't something people off the street usually discussed with the redhead.

Not that Rory was the type to share personal information with just anyone. Her dominions came with a long list of emotional distress. Something which she liked to keep to herself.

Looking down to her wine, Rory raised an eyebrow and promptly took another drink. "Oh, I've never been here before." She laughed, while sending her a lighthearted smile. "I just didn't feel like going home yet, and I don't have much of a taste for beer." Or liquor at that. Not that she really ever drank much to begin with. It fet kind of sad to sit at home and drink with your pets and plants. Especially while watching a Lord of the Rings marathon. Not that that had ever happened before. Never.

"I'm Rory, sorry." Realising that she had never even introduced herself. It was the least she could do for a strangers kindness. People don't usually talk to her in places like this. Or very often at all, really.

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