the "p" doesn't stand for pretentious, FYI. [art gallery, may 6th—??? ]

[theearth]

[ Welcome to Locke's very own Taste de Louvre, everyone! Predictably, the unveiling of the new set of statues at the magnificent Hugh P. Thadson Gallery of Fine Art has turned out to be a rather fanciful affair. The upper echelon of snobby society, in their snobby society attire, has come to mingle amongst one another—and is endeavoring to ignore you, fair citizen, as much as possible—and discuss this fantastic addition to our city's fair culture.

The first statue is a touchingly metaphorical piece, the prominent carving of a snake coiled around a human heart that looks so real you can almost hear it beating within your ears. This statue appears to be the most popular; the crowds drawn around its base simply can't stop going on and on and on about how wondrous it is, along with the rest of the works on display tonight.

The second statue also depicts a snake, but has its blush-brushed scales cut dramatically open to display its own wicked black heart. The Thunder Corporation and its latest line of tacky memorabilia is the primary subject of discourse here.

The last statue is strikingly different from the other two, and features a wolf howling at the open sky,* dying in apparent agony with a sword driven through its chest. You get a distinctly unsettling impression from it that the other, ordinary folk don't seem to notice—that perhaps your adventure to meddle in recent affairs is ill-advised. Inscribed below the pained wolf's paw is a link of sorts to a peculiar forum that, when accessed, bears only the topic "Let's Negotiate" with the same message enclosed within. Strange, but since no one else is talking about it, you wonder if you can't have just imagined the whole ordeal... and yet stranger things have happened, right? Perhaps it's worth looking into, in any event.

There's plenty to do with the statues about and the gift shop buzzing, with lots of familiar faces to run into. So what's your agenda for the evening? ]

(( General mingling post for the plot as related to art gallery affairs! There will be base threads for OPEN INTERACTIONS, open to all as implied, CLOSED INTERACTIONS, for planned out one-on-one interactions between player characters, and a general purpose EVERYTHING ELSE, for characters who wish to explore the gift shop, just mull about. Just as a general reminder:

1) Touching one of the snake statues will grant you one (1) Echo, for two (2) Echoes max. However, touching a second statue will definitely arouse suspicion, so be prepared for that. One safe Echo, two potentially risky ones up for grabs here! No Echoes from touching the wolf statue, though, so slither your way towards the snakey-snakeys for those.

2) If you'd rather not touch the statues themselves, hanging around them for awhile -- about an hour or so -- will grant one (1) Echo.

3) Accessing the webforum will not grant an Echo, but posting a reply to it will. It will be possible to get a second during conversation, but as for how it happens... it's a secret to everybody!

4) Little statuettes are available for purchase in the gift shop, but do not grant an Echo themselves in any way.

You may also handwave the mingling NPCs being snobby snobs at you, just for fun. Because why not.

As before, please wait for all base threads to go up before posting. OPEN FOR BUSINESS! In your character's subthreads, please put your character's name, the day, and optionally the time you are visiting in the title so things remain nice and neat. Remember, open to all interactions in the open section and one-on-one time in the closed section. Everything else goes in Everything Else. This post will remain stickied throughout the entirety of the plot duration, for easy finding.

The plot post for this week, detailing about the art gallery and more, can be found here.

*This awesome picture drawn by our very lovely Lucas-mun! Thanks, MC! ]

Comments

[argents]

[ Banagher starts forward, mouth ajar with a half-formed, "Don't" lingering on his lips, but he knows it before he's even consciously moved that Casval wouldn't be listening. So he hangs back, watching that process flicker through him like wildfire, even when he does so admirably in containing it. Controlling the destruction, burning down only what was necessary to cultivate something new.

Even though they're risen from these flames again and again, Banagher is still far too wary of the burn to want to try to invoke them that willingly. Watching Casval take the hammer and chisel to the foundation of his own life and send it plummeting away, piece by piece...

He sighs, at a loss. ]

You're so reckless. [ When Casval speaks again, exposing the sudden rawness of the moment to him in a way he still doesn't understand, Banagher takes it as the all clear to approach again. His teacup is still wavering in his grasp, the liquid inside upset and threatening to spill over its rim. Banagher pauses at his side, eventually reaching out to steady his wrist first, and take the teacup from him second. It's an impulsive move on his part, though one that remains almost natural at this point.

And knowing that it could basically be taken as the pot calling the kettle black at this stage doesn't stop him. ]

Aren't you afraid of doing something you can't take back? Knowledge like what you're after doesn't stop. It'll—it'll change you forever.

[ Their hands were nearly being forced into remembrance, and he's still caught somewhere between vague acceptance and once bitten, twice shy. No, there wasn't any chance of going back now. But his very first memory, of an inordinately heavy hope being passed onto him, of a billion hearts coming to rest atop just one, his, is nearly enough to crush him just thinking about it. But he remains on the side of genuine curiosity, if anything: his musing more in search of something than it is wanting to outright reject it.

Banagher looks into the teacup as if it had the answers. An answer. Any answer. ]

[secondcomingof]

[ Casval is quickly at a similar loss as Banagher steps up, brushes fingers to his skin and sends him into an eerie calm. His wrist ceases to shake and his eyes lose their venom; his mind clears and he is returned to the world of now, the world that is Banagher Links and Casval Mass. The cup is taken from him and he allows it, allows a boy half his age to chastise him. You're so reckless. Aren't you afraid, too?

He allows it because he knows, better than ever thanks to that purposely invoked flashback, that Banagher Links is no mere boy. He wasn't in the past and he's not in the present, and more than ever, he feels the intensity of that connection. That bond.

Trust. It radiates from him before he can think to temper it, but any consequential shame comes and goes. For once, the fragmented memory has inspired in him hope as opposed to despair, and he clings to that wavering shard like a drowning man to a raft. His only means of rescue in a stormy sea. ]

What I've done—what we've done—already can't be taken back. [ Casval rests a hand atop Banagher's. Faith flowing outward. Look at me. ] But even if I change forever, and that future we step into is filled with uncertainty, changing together, side by side, is something I can accept.

[ "I don't want to be alone."

"I can't say it out loud. There's so many things I can't."

"But you know. I trust you with knowing."

"That's why..." ]

Don't doubt yourself. If you just look up, the stars are always there, as guidance.

[ His head is bowed, as if in submission. Compliance. Acceptance. ]

The person I learned that from was you.

[argents]

[ Just like that, the haze of another life lifts. Something shifts in seamlessly to take its place, to bear its weight—that striking purity rings through him, the kind that was capable of gathering up all the corners of the world itself and pulling them in close. Making that which was infinite seem nearer, attainable, enough to touch when Casval's hand neatly encircles his own.

But it's left its mark all the same, that foreign shore awash in so much starlight and mystery and things far grander than he could ever imagine. That mark finds him square in the chest, where all the courage he can take from those barely-tapped reservoirs of trust and faith and patience pools. It knows the answer before Banagher himself does, the sudden thudding of his heart loud in his ears giving it an unspoken voice. A voice of rebellion in the face of staggering odds.

It doesn't matter how vast this universe is.

Or the one before it was.

You'll never have to be alone. ]

No matter where you are when you look at them, they're all the same stars. I want to believe that people are like that, too.

[ Brilliant, shining, nearby. He's somewhat startled by the deference being shown to him, its transient admittance. Having watched Casval walk away, over and over, makes him hold tight to the truth being laid so neatly at his feet. Hold tight and persevere for it in hopes of a world that would harbor them both. ]

So even if we remember, or keep remembering, and have to change because of it, we don't have to forget.

[ Without a past to recall, without a present to forge those memories out of, to immortalize the mistakes and the miracles, what use was it talking about a real future? Banagher looks at the teacup balanced between them soberly, finally shifting enough to press it back towards Casval. ]

It's cold now.

[secondcomingof]

[ A wry smile blossoms across Casval's lips, a rarely seen touch of sentimentality setting his features aglow. Sun in a field of swaying flowers. Music in a room no one else knows about and secrets no one else can lay claim to. Birds on the windowsill and bright blue eyes that sing with laughter long since past.

These are the things of he's thinking of now, and even if they'll fade when those same eyes blink back that moment of vulnerability, in that moment, they existed. They lived. They breathed.

And in the face of staggering odds, beneath troubled times and troubled layers, they survive. ]

You really think so?

[ "The universe is a very big place, that's true."

"Maybe the last one was even bigger. But it's not so frightening."

"Even if I'm still a coward." ]

I feel as though it's warmer than ever.

[ "I'm also a comet, and you can keep me company, among those stars."

Bright blue eyes slide shut, briefly, and Casval Mass, if ever only briefly, is at peace with the future he knows will someday doom him, the inevitable fate of all fierce red comets that blaze across the sky. ]

We had tea together. [ After a time, with his free hand, Casval reaches into his jacket. Pulls a slip of paper out, but he doesn't quite show it to Banagher yet. Almost teasing, in withholding its information. ] That is what I saw. And I want to have tea again, so we can talk properly—if that's alright. Would you oblige me?

[argents]

[ Banagher doesn't quite have the precision in his ability to keep remembrance from drifting across his face. Sunlight thrown across those same flowers, bright and uplifting. Even when he can't see them as clearly as he had before, they still remained; they breathed in with the wind, and out came the sound of laughter from a woman he never knew, but lives on with them, if only in the quieter corners of his mind.

Unlike Casval, Banagher does find the universe terrifying.

He's frightening by knowing as much as he is frightened of not knowing.

But he hasn't gone back on what he was asked about this power, the serenity so briefly given by its grace.

This is what makes him unafraid to try. ]

So you remembered me again. [ Allowing his hands to fall away, he can't keep the tinge of frustration from coloring his voice. Why couldn't he? First Audrey, now him... Banagher briefly entertains mentioning her, how she was like them, another piece of the puzzle ready to align into place, but he stops himself short. Time, he has time now to tell him everything. Instead the slip of paper captures his attention and holds it, brows lifting. ] ...I know of a place, a tea parlor by the university. Maybe it won't help me remember the things you do, but I wouldn't mind taking you there anyway.

[ It's a place he's fond of now, a similar brush of familiarity sweeping across him. ]