I'M A BOY, NO I'M A MAN | READING

[ORPHEUS]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]It wasn't until Orpheus was an adult that he realized most people didn't learn how to read with the classics. Sure his dad had found some more age-appropriate books pretty quickly, but it was too late for him by then. Nothing could curb his love for Shakespeare and Dickens, not even The Rainbow Fish (though he has to admit to a certain love for Seuss and Where the Wild Things Are — Brigand's voice when he roared the line, “Oh please don’t go-we’ll eat you up-we love you so!” had always made him giggle). He'd learned how to tell stories with those books. He'd learned all of the voices from him, and then everything else that had mattered too. Sometimes Orpheus had fallen asleep to Brigand's quieter voices, all of his stories about people finding their ways in life. Their happy endings. Though his dad sometimes tried to keep the worst of it from his ears, he figured out that sometimes things weren't happy. More importantly, he figured out that there was always another book to pick up, another story to read. Or to tell.

It's hard to accept that a chapter has ended, though. That a new one has begun. He's curled up in the observatory again, his tail slipped over his hind paws. An old book rests under one of his front ones to hold the pages in place, and even though everyone around him is bustling around with their chores, it's clear that Orpheus is stuck in the story instead. It's one he's read dozens of times now, with dog-eared pages and notes jotted in the margins and on various pieces of paper he'd inserted inside, but he always finds another thing to add. Today, he writes something quick — motif: solitude — before he continues to read, his expression soft as he allows himself to get wrapped up in a story so far separated from his own. Just a moment to be something else.

[arcy]

Link knew how to read, once. He knows this, just like he knows some fragmented things about his past. But, strangely, he'd forgotten by the time he woke up. Link's brand of amnesia took a lot of things from him. People, books, abilities. Endurance, too, but Spirit Orbs, however, could be used to up his endurance if he traded them to Hylia, so they didn't really count. ... He oughta go back to Hyrule someday, just to find some more shrines. Training worked, but it was lots slower.
Right. Reading. He can't read. The words don't mean anything to him. He knows the letters, but he just ... he can't translate them. It's frustrating, and there's nowhere to start learning.
Link, by nature, is nosy and curious. He doesn't just leave people alone when he sees them doing something -- he has to approach until he gets some kind of answer. A shoo, an explanation, a quest for Shiekah to log. (he hasn't gotten any quests since he arrived here, it's kinda weird). Hence, when he sees Orpheus reading, of course he approaches. There's a little spring to his step, and, without preamble, or even shame, he shoves his face past Orpheus' to peer at the book. Except he can't read. He forgot about that. He blinks somewhat disorientedly at the book once it registers, the slight ache of his head, the quick-footed reminders of words gone before they can register. As quickly as he came, he withdraws and shakes out his head, as though that'll loosen the grip of the strange feelings. He recovers quickly enough, luckily. The canine chirps softly, trying his best to convey his curiousity about what Orpheus is reading. Luckily, that's probably the first question somebody would ask here, so he doesn't try anything more in his attempt to question.

➵ NOW I BEAR LITTLE RESEMBLANCE
TO THE KING I ONCE WAS

[ORPHEUS]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]It was always hard to start learning anything. Orpheus had to scramble for everything he could do — his dad taught him to read and fight, but that didn't make it easy. You try learning how to do anything when your mentor was a tiger that could crush you with a paw, huh? Instead of raw strength, he'd learned how to use his small size and speed. Still hit hard, but get out of the way as quickly as possible afterwards. They'd started slow with that, and mostly at his own insistence. Looking back, he can see why it bothered Brigand. Wanting to fight, needing to defend himself — it was a loss of innocence. But reading had been a way to counter that for both of them. He found less reason to fight and his dad got to see him get lost in a world separated from their own.

A world where the good guys won. Real life had ruined that dream when Brigand died. Maybe this is a way to get some of it back. Orpheus seems to be ignoring the world in favor of a different one right up until the moment that Link's face breaks his line of view. The lion jerks a little in surprise, lifting his head away from the dog until he registers who he is and what he's doing. The tension that had been building his shoulders bleeds away again with a little laugh. He tilts his head at Link and waits for what the young canine has to say — or... gesture? imply? Although the chirp doesn't reveal much, it's enough. "It's Treasure Planet. Have you heard of it before?"

[Grimm]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 420px; line-height:120%; font-family: arial; font-size: 8.5pt; text-align: justify; margin-bottom:5px"]Ink drawn across the page, sweep of it touching the surface of alabaster leaving within its wake something new, beginnings drawn within the stark contrast of lines written upon surface.

He knew well the journey such could take one upon, the joy caught within the heart as it beat upon the cage of the ribs, wondrous the tempo as it sped up, enjoyment cast about the curve of a smile. Clear his father's voice, warmth where they joined, fur so alike mingling into one, his small paws batting at the surface of the book as on the story continued. Fantastical had been some, snippets contained in the darkness of blanket thrown about them, hidden from prying eyes, yet discussion had come from others, clear the workings of the mind though young had he been. Enjoyment was found in debate, exploring the world and the things within, but he found those nights when the story was nothing more then that the best.

The skill he bore for such was great, more so then one may expect for one at the stage of life he was within, spanning not the language that settled upon his tongue and was shared by many but another. Germanic words lingered on the edge of his thoughts, suspended there on the broken lines, swirling within. Clear his feeling for such, the crease of brow over eyes once bright now grown dark, stormy the amber irises cast upon the concrete. Minimal his knowledge with such, tongue tripping over each word, mind never able to truly grasp each before it was slipping away as though it was nothing more then sand.

Sound all around, the chatter of others and the sound of their steps as they continued on their path, designated for tasks were set before them unlike Keyne, finding reason for their wandering. Yet beneath it was an odd one, rolling sound arising in a burst, that more suited to the vocal cords of a bird, disorienting to hear it well practised and precise though the tone was different, all too deep for an avian to produce. Attention shifted until it found the two, familiar in a way an acquaintance passed on the street proved to be, nagging thought raising trying to draw forth their names. Yet hazy was it all, his head fuzzy within the wake of a growing sickness, sniffle making such clear as his steps turned.

Words found perch upon his tongue yet never arose, gaze flicking up and down, moving from the lion who held the book to the subject of his interest, worn and well loved, tended to though time had left a mark upon it, finally his attention settling upon it fully. Difficult was it to tell what the words were from such a place, head twisting so the upside down words may make some more sense but there was no hope of such, rather he crept a little closer, never enough contact was made, tilting his chin up once more to look towards Orpheus. “What's it about.”