waiting v1 - everything's in ruins [ Thus far, Matt Jamison has been a model captive: responsive and pliable, easy to chivvy from spot to spot. Part of that is because his physique, which could generously be called "willowy," doesn't really lend itself to resistance. But mostly it's shellshock. His mind is drenched in confusing dreams–communion, being one with the heart of all things; bitter isolation, fangs sinking into his throat. The pit of his stomach holds a cold, iron-heavy suspicion that even if he gets out of this, there's nothing to go back to.
It isn't until he arrives at the ruins and is left, somewhat, to his own devices, that his brain begins to wake up.
Obviously, Matt's first thought is magic. He finds a little alcove in the stone, obscured from the gaze of their guards but with nowhere for him to actually run, and tries a spell. Just a simple one, the first he ever learned: light. Matt steadies his breathing, clears his mind. So with our song that prays and serves attentive, lord of spreading light–
Nothing happens.
And as Matt tries spell after spell, the same nothing continues to happen. He tries to stay calm, to keep his breathing even and deep, but his heart feels like it's going to pound out of his chest. Agitatedly, he rubs the crystal embedded in the side of his neck. It's the left side, he can't help but notice. V's favorite. His nails start to nip into the skin around it. ]
waiting v2 - so meet me at the checkpoint [ Okay, magic isn't going to solve any of his problems. Matt's doing his best not to contemplate the cosmological implications, namely: if his power comes from the animating energy of the universe, the one true source at the source of everything, does his lack of power now mean that his universe really is dead?
That's exactly the kind of shit he's not contemplating! Instead, he's watching his fellow captives from the shadowed side of a pillar, looking for opportunities to speak to them. Directly ahead of him, the forest beckons, full of verdant possibility.
You'll probably notice his nest of dark hair before anything else. Then the flutter of the robe on his frame, awkwardly loose. Should you wander close enough to catch the crystal shard in the side of his neck, he'll murmur: ]
This might seem like a random question … but how good would you say your wilderness survival skills are?
waiting v3 - you look good by siren light [ It seems that their captors didn't entirely prepare for the number of interlopers they'd been transporting. There appears to be a bedroll shortage. And there was only one bedroll??? Matt shuffles guiltily off his cardboard-thin pseudo-mattress, gathers it up in his arms, and holds the bundle out to the nearest person. ]
Ah–here. You can have mine. I don't think I'll be using it.
[ What this soft-handed twig is planning to do instead, one may well wonder. ]
[ ooc: More info about the character here. Prose or brackets fine! PM or hit up artistformerlyknownas with plans, questions, schemes, dreams, etc., etc. ]
matt jamison | oc | probably the lover | ota
[ Thus far, Matt Jamison has been a model captive: responsive and pliable, easy to chivvy from spot to spot. Part of that is because his physique, which could generously be called "willowy," doesn't really lend itself to resistance. But mostly it's shellshock. His mind is drenched in confusing dreams–communion, being one with the heart of all things; bitter isolation, fangs sinking into his throat. The pit of his stomach holds a cold, iron-heavy suspicion that even if he gets out of this, there's nothing to go back to.
It isn't until he arrives at the ruins and is left, somewhat, to his own devices, that his brain begins to wake up.
Obviously, Matt's first thought is magic. He finds a little alcove in the stone, obscured from the gaze of their guards but with nowhere for him to actually run, and tries a spell. Just a simple one, the first he ever learned: light. Matt steadies his breathing, clears his mind. So with our song that prays and serves attentive, lord of spreading light–
Nothing happens.
And as Matt tries spell after spell, the same nothing continues to happen. He tries to stay calm, to keep his breathing even and deep, but his heart feels like it's going to pound out of his chest. Agitatedly, he rubs the crystal embedded in the side of his neck. It's the left side, he can't help but notice. V's favorite. His nails start to nip into the skin around it. ]
waiting v2 - so meet me at the checkpoint
[ Okay, magic isn't going to solve any of his problems. Matt's doing his best not to contemplate the cosmological implications, namely: if his power comes from the animating energy of the universe, the one true source at the source of everything, does his lack of power now mean that his universe really is dead?
That's exactly the kind of shit he's not contemplating! Instead, he's watching his fellow captives from the shadowed side of a pillar, looking for opportunities to speak to them. Directly ahead of him, the forest beckons, full of verdant possibility.
You'll probably notice his nest of dark hair before anything else. Then the flutter of the robe on his frame, awkwardly loose. Should you wander close enough to catch the crystal shard in the side of his neck, he'll murmur: ]
This might seem like a random question … but how good would you say your wilderness survival skills are?
waiting v3 - you look good by siren light
[ It seems that their captors didn't entirely prepare for the number of interlopers they'd been transporting. There appears to be a bedroll shortage.
And there was only one bedroll???Matt shuffles guiltily off his cardboard-thin pseudo-mattress, gathers it up in his arms, and holds the bundle out to the nearest person. ]Ah–here. You can have mine. I don't think I'll be using it.
[ What this soft-handed twig is planning to do instead, one may well wonder. ]
[ ooc: More info about the character here. Prose or brackets fine! PM or hit up