#ardyn 01

He was certainly human here. He tried shifting; nothing. It seemed as though he was on the outskirts of a city; the absolute havoc sure was new. Not completely foreign--but new. A car pulled up in the midst of this, calm as ever, offering a ride. He accepted the ride; this was better than walking in these conditions. 

The driver was silent; Vlad minded not. The driver seemed rather barely there, quite literally. He would’ve been able to tell if there was a ghost here, wouldn’t he? He kept his eyes fixed on the dashboard mirror, staring at his driver. Realizing he didn’t want to be caught up in more conversation about how he was staring, he shifted his gaze to the road and--

The car swerved, crashing, god knows what happening to the driver, an unintelligible mass in the windshield and glass littered across the gap between the front seats. Vlad got out with a start, looking around to see what would be the cause of the commotion. Whatever rammed into the windshield wasn’t human, but there was certainly a human shaped-something in black a ways out. 

“That could’ve killed me! I wasn’t even wearing a seatbelt!” 

SOME PEOPLE PLUCK THE PETALS FROM DAISY CHAINS. others press buttercups to their chin, hoping to see a splash of gold upon their skin. others crack pine cones against the rocks, with the intent of watching the shell-like exterior smash beneath their grip. but gerwyn... gerwyn does none of that. gerwyn finds solace in lying flat upon his back, blades of grass teasing the skin of his arms and cheeks, self-bloomed roses curling from the ground around him like watchful guardians, bowing their heads to their deity of spring. he caresses these petals with the adoration a mother does her small children; innocent babes yet to sample the world’s cruel horrors, whilst being the epitome of one himself. alas, gerwyn here is idle, resting peacefully though not asleep. never asleep. he does not. 

although the scene around him is one of tempting beauty, look beyond the mass of green and red and one may find a far more gruesome sight. some nameless trespasser lies without their head any longer, wide-eyed face staring off in the distance whilst his body is several feet beside it. where the thorns had made contact with the flesh, blood seeps and soaks like a natural spring, coating the lush nature in a vicious and violent crimson. 

that is what they deserve. this is what they earn when they dare to pluck daisy chains. when they dare to tear flora from the earth. when they crush nature within their palm.

 but his peace does not last. it never does. green eyes open, soft lashes brushing against his cheek as he sits up. a visitor. this is unlike the presence of Men. gerwyn stands, flora quick to cover his exposed details thus leaving him robed ( partially ) in a makeshift gown of ivy. he glances up and down at the visitor, from his manner of dress to... his face. his eyes. he studies them, but learns not a thing. 

It was a fine evening for drink, and the general was fast becoming re-acquainted with the pleasures of simple beers. A pale ale this one, charming and friendly with hints of oakiness. Surrounded by the automatons that piloted  the city, it seemed to Swain that there was only one other person here.

That is, if such a person could be called a... person.

No doubt he looked, spoke and acted like a person. But there was a kinship of sorts, between those whose humanity had been transcended. Whether through divine providence, demonic intervention or some strange force in between, Swain and the stranger had a similar aura to them. 

It made him beyond fascinating.