08-27-2020, 11:55 AM
HIGHER BEINGS, THESE WORDS ARE FOR YOU ALONE
ghostwhisper - mantis-awahondo hybrid - they/them
[div style="width: 100%; height: auto; text-align: justify; padding: 20px; font-size: 15px; color: #f2ffff;"]If they really thought hard about it, sand reminded Ghost of ash. Odd ash, pale and powdery ash around a massive hive where fools fought for money and the brand of a king could be safely kept away. The ash of a massive rotting corpse stunk, though. The sand did not stink. Ghostwhisper couldn't smell all that well - with no nose on their face to speak of - but that didn't mean that the reactions of others around them gave them knowledge that the place reeked. So absorbed within the childish task of messing with sand, they hadn't even noticed that someone had managed to move all the way in front of them until a throat was cleared.
Ghostwhisper does not jerk, nor do they give indication that they'd been so blissfully absorbed with their antics that they'd entirely been sneaked up on. They rise their shell slowly, methodically, with purpose, and as they pull their claws close again they make sure to knock over the small pile of sand. Another territory, another group. They seemed to be absolutely everywhere they went. Ghost was going to run out of colors for their map at this rate. Intent, people always wanted to know intent. Being spoken at, rather than spoken to, was always a normality for them. They listened instead of instigating conversations. People took note of their presence, and responded. They dip their shell and cross an arm beneath, a small bow before they snagged paper from their cloak.
'I am Ghostwhisper. Just wandering. Learning the land. Meeting new people. Finding places to stay. What is ash below called?' They finish scribbling their words, and present it to the other. If the other could read, well, that was a simplistic answer. If not? The sand was so malleable, Ghost was certain that they could use their minimal artistic abilities to show what their scirbbles meant. Paper could only convey so much, and it was not as if they had a means to take back any accidental marks they created. The sand easily covered and moved and filled in divots. Patiently they wait, standing rigid spare their extended claw that grasped their written desire.
[div style="width: 100%; height: auto; text-align: justify; padding: 20px; font-size: 15px; color: #f2ffff;"]If they really thought hard about it, sand reminded Ghost of ash. Odd ash, pale and powdery ash around a massive hive where fools fought for money and the brand of a king could be safely kept away. The ash of a massive rotting corpse stunk, though. The sand did not stink. Ghostwhisper couldn't smell all that well - with no nose on their face to speak of - but that didn't mean that the reactions of others around them gave them knowledge that the place reeked. So absorbed within the childish task of messing with sand, they hadn't even noticed that someone had managed to move all the way in front of them until a throat was cleared.
Ghostwhisper does not jerk, nor do they give indication that they'd been so blissfully absorbed with their antics that they'd entirely been sneaked up on. They rise their shell slowly, methodically, with purpose, and as they pull their claws close again they make sure to knock over the small pile of sand. Another territory, another group. They seemed to be absolutely everywhere they went. Ghost was going to run out of colors for their map at this rate. Intent, people always wanted to know intent. Being spoken at, rather than spoken to, was always a normality for them. They listened instead of instigating conversations. People took note of their presence, and responded. They dip their shell and cross an arm beneath, a small bow before they snagged paper from their cloak.
'I am Ghostwhisper. Just wandering. Learning the land. Meeting new people. Finding places to stay. What is ash below called?' They finish scribbling their words, and present it to the other. If the other could read, well, that was a simplistic answer. If not? The sand was so malleable, Ghost was certain that they could use their minimal artistic abilities to show what their scirbbles meant. Paper could only convey so much, and it was not as if they had a means to take back any accidental marks they created. The sand easily covered and moved and filled in divots. Patiently they wait, standing rigid spare their extended claw that grasped their written desire.
TAGS 7/22/20:
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FULZANIN is a 19 year old content creator. Currently roleplaying as Beezlebub in the Pitt and Jotunhel in the Typhoon. Time spent outside of work and writing is typically done in Creatures of Sonaria. FULZANIN is also in a happy relationship, and is aegosexual/asexual herself.
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