starry eyed ¦ frogs

[Grimm]

[align=center][div style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11px; width: 60%; text-align: justify; line-height:120%"]It seemed of no significance the days that passed within an oddly contraditionary fashion, the steady trickle of seconds noted for the manner they gathered and stuck, yet a secondary glance at the passage of the sun spoke of a much quicker pacing than previous guestimated. Possibly it was the view of the passage, unobscured by the thick growth of interwoven branches in a manner that had elicited a startled response when first noted. Or it may simply have been how his mind moved in similar patterns.

Some part of him had distantly whispered it would be the plaster lined walls bearing a cool shade of blue he would awaken to, disappointment leaving a bitter taste upon his tongue as he made note of the carved niche. The salt laden air of sea born town had he sought, some small familiarity that drew forth along pale lips a listless smile. Among the rising tide bearing a foam lacing would be his brother, if not preoccupied by other activities. It was not for such Winston stood upon the creaking assemblance of boards strung between each abode, however, the quiet hum of conversation as preparations were made drawing him forth on unsteady legs.

He could not speak of how long it was he was among the merchants, bright their voices though the hour he had begun was rather early, pity taken upon the lost child as he peddled the few belongs brought with him. In the bag cinched about his waist an assortment of items was stowed, one of the houses bobbing along within the tide converted over into a library his final destination. Unsure was he for a moment, reaching forth and testing one of the overstuffed arm chairs adorning the space. Seemingly satisfied Winston lifted himself up, his work beginning with scraps of cream and green fabric.

Along the arms, and within the case of a few needles of varying sizes quite literally stuck, lay more swaths and a pair of scissors, a small spindle of thread settled against his stomach. Aloft was held a single needle, the moss hued depths squinted near to entirely closed, tongue a pale point poking out between his dark lips, his concentration unwavering as he set about threading the needle.

[Warringkingdoms]

  [font=trebuchet ms]Rin, too, had noticed the uneven flow of time. It was easy to pass off as a side effect of her aging, or the aftershocks of the... episode she had had recently. Still, it was possible that it ran deeper than that. She had made a note in her journal to ask Goldenluxury about it the next time she visited, so maybe she would get some answers.

  Rin had entered the library with a specific book in mind for retrieval, but upon noticing Winston sitting inside, she allowed her thoughts to shift over to him. She probably ought to contact Tanglewood, in case he was one of theirs- looking at him now, divorced from the context of the border's dangers, his familiar fur pattern led her to assume he was a relative of their medic's. Even if he wasn't, the traces of swamp scent on his fur were worth investigating, at least. Maybe it was a coincidence, but she wasn't about to have Elysium suspected of kidnapping a Tanglewood child, not when they were already going to be on unsteady ground with Roman's recent arrival.

  Still, that could wait until she was sure Winston was well enough to travel. Glancing at his face, then down at the sewing needles and the green fabric, she nodded slightly. Having the coordination necessary to sew was a good sign. Unraveling her scarf, Rin examined the ends of it- furrowing her brows as she noticed a large tear in the fabric running length-wise on one end. The tear was going to fray if not patched up, she was sure.

  "...Do you mind if I borrow one of your needles?" she asked after a moment, looking back up at Winston. "I won't need it for long, but I can wait until you're done if you'd like."

[– 2D]

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2D's understanding of the passage of time had never been exceedingly stable. Even when he had been just a young, innocent child, sometimes minutes could seem like hours, and hours could feel like seconds. Back then he hadn't been sure what caused it, and he was no closer to an answer nowadays, if he were to be honest. Especially since his poor, pink dyed vision sometimes made it difficult to figure out what time of day it was. Usually he could figure it out by judging the chill that always seemed to accompany the arrival of the night, but it seemed as though Elysium was constantly just as cold as the nighttime, so it had become difficult for him to tell when a day had gone by. He had little idea of how long it had been since Winston had arrived, but he hoped that the child was doing well. The serval was not yet experienced with the apparent Elysium pattern of exhausted children showing up alone on their borders, so the arrival of the former Tangler was still fairly surprising. Not that 2D felt one way or another about the boy being from Tanglewood. After all, he didn't know anything about the swampy scent that had clung to the other's patterned fur, and had thought little of it when Rin went about muttering things about alerting Tanglewood.

The library wasn't a usual place for the singer to frequent, seeing as he was hardly an intellectual. Reading was difficult for him to grasp, and that was disregarding the fact that words had a nasty habit of bleeding together in his vision. However, he had seen Winston disappear into the front doors of the building recently, and that had piqued his interest. He wanted to make sure the other was okay, and it was pretty creepy just watching a child from afar, so he'd just have to ask. After a moment of hesitation at the fringes of the floating town, 2D stretched his long legs and jogged his way over to the library, gangly limbs nearly tripping over themselves in his rush. He pushed the doors open quietly, following after the scent of not only Winston, but Rin as well. He was glad it was just the two of them for now, considering Rin tended to put him at ease. Coming up beside the magna, he looked at the various sewing implements that Winston had nearby him, along with the miniature swaths of fabric. Never having been one for arts and crafts – besides the art of music, that is – 2D cocked his head to one side before questioning, "What're y'makin', Winston? Somefin' cute?" It seemed obvious to him, that a young child would go through the effort of making something cutesy, especially in a foreign land. After all, cute things provided him with comfort when he felt alone.

2d