04-22-2018, 11:07 PM
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#psychosocial.space
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[/td][/tr][/table]Dupâ ploie, vine soare.
43 years in life. 485 years in death. A grand 528 years was the amount of time Marco had spent on this Earth, save the short amount of time he spent waiting for his wife in Heaven. He wouldn’t have needed this information if it wasn’t important. It was hard to keep track sometimes, but he didn’t want to forget. He couldn’t—not after everything he had done—the deal he made to be sent down to Earth. All he had ever wanted was to find his brother, and it took quite the persuasion move to convince God to let him go down. But he managed. Visiting his wife and the other side—Marco would he permitted from ever doing so until he could track down his sibling and bring him back to complete the family. Putting it simply, it is very difficult to find a certain person in a world where millions of people shared the same name as your brother. And Marco had spent over 400 years searching tirelessly until he had all but given up, traveling back to Romania and spending the last few hundred in quiet seclusion. He watched the world live and die around him— civilizations rise and fall—countless wars and fighting. And next to that, he witnessed many births, watched children grow into adults of all sorts of alignments, and he watched those same kids grow old and die and pass into the afterlife just as he had when he was alive. He also witnessed the advancement of technology and realized just how frustrating it could be. He would finally understand how new forms of architecture worked—for example— and suddenly time flies 30 years in the blink of an eye and there’s an entirely new advancement and he’s back at square one, left to once more stumble around in confusion.
It had been earlier this year when he had caught wind of a few new societies forming somewhere West of his home. And with a newfound curiosity rising in his belly, he set off on a several month-long journey, traveling by foot into the world of The Beyond—a rather untouched area of nature in all of it’s glory, only showing just a few signs of previous human life as most of it appeared to have been swallowed by the very Earth itself. Through talk of loners, rouges, and even passing members, he had learned the names of these new groups that had planted their roots; The Ascendants, Tanglewood, Snowbound, and Typhoon. But one stood out more than the rest—Tanglewood—that was his goal. Because the more he learned of these strange new societies, the more he heard of those who had founded them, and among those was a name that re-kindled that fire in him—reminded him why he was here in the first place. Beck. The name of that little boy who had held him as he lay bleeding in the streets so many millennia ago—his older brother that he had never gotten to see the first time he went to Heaven—the very brother he left his afterlife of peace for. Though this would be a longshot. It always was. After all, he’s met countless Becks over countless years. He’s grown not to get his hopes up so quickly as he had after the first few Becks he’d come across. But there was never any harm in checking.
All of this had led up to the present, having Marco here at the borders of Tanglewood and being just absolutely mesmerized at the terrain around him; a lush green patch of wetland. His paws sink into the soft muddy ground and Marco isn’t fazed in the slightest. It’s nice and cool and wonderful and he wonders why he hasn’t come here sooner. It’s certainly nothing like mountainous region of his homeland. Soon enough, the angel stops. The scents are very strong here; a borderline, he’s sure of it. The lynx settles himself down, quiet and patient. He’s not like most lynx—having a darker dusty brown—almost black—coat than those commonly found. At first glance, he’s a pretty average guy. But with a second glance, one could point out the glowing halo of light appearing to be almost always behind his head, no matter which way he turns. Another less prominent feature are the grey broken nubs and just a few white feathers jutting from his shoulder blades.
It had been earlier this year when he had caught wind of a few new societies forming somewhere West of his home. And with a newfound curiosity rising in his belly, he set off on a several month-long journey, traveling by foot into the world of The Beyond—a rather untouched area of nature in all of it’s glory, only showing just a few signs of previous human life as most of it appeared to have been swallowed by the very Earth itself. Through talk of loners, rouges, and even passing members, he had learned the names of these new groups that had planted their roots; The Ascendants, Tanglewood, Snowbound, and Typhoon. But one stood out more than the rest—Tanglewood—that was his goal. Because the more he learned of these strange new societies, the more he heard of those who had founded them, and among those was a name that re-kindled that fire in him—reminded him why he was here in the first place. Beck. The name of that little boy who had held him as he lay bleeding in the streets so many millennia ago—his older brother that he had never gotten to see the first time he went to Heaven—the very brother he left his afterlife of peace for. Though this would be a longshot. It always was. After all, he’s met countless Becks over countless years. He’s grown not to get his hopes up so quickly as he had after the first few Becks he’d come across. But there was never any harm in checking.
All of this had led up to the present, having Marco here at the borders of Tanglewood and being just absolutely mesmerized at the terrain around him; a lush green patch of wetland. His paws sink into the soft muddy ground and Marco isn’t fazed in the slightest. It’s nice and cool and wonderful and he wonders why he hasn’t come here sooner. It’s certainly nothing like mountainous region of his homeland. Soon enough, the angel stops. The scents are very strong here; a borderline, he’s sure of it. The lynx settles himself down, quiet and patient. He’s not like most lynx—having a darker dusty brown—almost black—coat than those commonly found. At first glance, he’s a pretty average guy. But with a second glance, one could point out the glowing halo of light appearing to be almost always behind his head, no matter which way he turns. Another less prominent feature are the grey broken nubs and just a few white feathers jutting from his shoulder blades.
MARCO
[align=center][div style="font-size:25pt;line-height:.9;color:#715293;font-family:impact;padding:8px;letter-spacing:1.2px"]「 THEY SANG, THEY SANG 」[div style="width:360px;font-size:8pt;line-height:1.2;color:#715293;font-family:arial;margin-top:2px;margin-bottom:5px;letter-spacing:0px;margin-left:0px;text-align:justify"] What's the softest way to say, you took away my friend, my buddy? What's the kindest way to say, you took away my friend? What's the kindest way to say, you took away my friend, my buddy? What's the kindest way to say, "the end"?
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[i][b]DISCORD: sympaii
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[i][b]DISCORD: sympaii
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