#kalopsia

a woman made of stars

the eyes can’t lie.

irving: @a-sunken-reverie

[ The man averted his gaze as soon as the other had caught it, traveling down instead towards his bandaged foot, as he stayed leaning against the body of a tree with crossed arms.

For someone who was sharing his circumstance, he behaved strangely. If he was distressed, his face showed no sign of it. He was silent and simply scoping out the enviornment he was stuck on and the people he was stuck with, trying to decide who was worth the effort of communication. Maybe Ralph had seem him before, if he attemped to remember. He could have recalled the same eyes and the freckled face, but the face he did recall was not lacking in any expression he could read, and had a head of black hair which went against this light brunette.

The man looked up to meet his eyes again, an expression crossing his face then wondering why he still had the others attention.

He made a gesture then with his hands, something that was easily recognizable as sign language, and Ralph would know meant, 'good afternoon'. He did not make the gesture expecting a conversation. He was expecting the acknowledgement of his lack of voice and to be dismissed, away from the light of attention. ]

"..."

- 🪶 @a-sunken-reverie

[ Ralph's eyes seem to light up at the hand gesture, an acknowledgment in his eyes that could only be characterised by understanding. Although he had no clue who the other man was, he was familiar enough to be a face that Ralph would have to know. There was no escaping the island that they had been damned to. Faces would become attached to names, whether it was now or weeks from now. ]

[ Ralph reaches his hand up to wave, sheepish and awkward before he turns his gaze downwards to the coarse sand that burns beneath his feet. Going over to the dirt-infused mixture of sand and mud may be more helpful for the burn that was blossoming on his heels. Ralph gathers the discarded sweater, tie, and shoes in his arms and moves expertly between the pockets of people whispering amongst themselves about the fate of those lost on the island. He lays his stuff down next to the young man, stretching his arms above his head in a large, dramatic motion, before cracking his knuckles. ]

Good afternoon. My name is Ralph. Can you hear?

[ Ralph smiles at the other, the fluency of his sign signifying that he had been doing it for far longer than a few months. He seems to be elated at the sensation of actually using a language he was fluent in, at utilising muscles that had been left untouched for who knows how long. Ralph simply looks happy to be standing next to the young man, bottom lip caught between his teeth in a boyish grin. ]

𖤓 23 years old

𖤓 Clergy member/Preacher of the Creed of Klytehin

𖤓 Speech in red and signs off with 🫀

God tells me that I am his favorite lamb; For I do not bleat pathetically when the blade hits my flesh and my blood runs warm against his palms. God tells me I am his favorite lamb, because of the way his knife slices through my skin. God tells me I am his favorite lamb for the way I follow his lead to the slaughter.

Louis Clifford Wright

𖤓 22 years old

𖤓 Cross-dressing as a woman to reform his father's tarnished image

𖤓 Speech in purple and signs off with 🦢

Ronnie Leutwin Royce

𖤓 22 years old

𖤓 Just started as a news photographer, trying to find his footing

𖤓 Speech in orange and signs off with 📷

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"I'm sorry to bother you, I just needed a bit of help and well... You're the only one who I thought may be of assistance to me." [ Her voice is soft, hardly spoken above a hushed tone, like her seeking him out is some kind of secret, or as if she had been trained to never speak too loudly to anyone. Her hand points upward at a tree after she speaks, a soft looking bag with a floral print stuck between the branches of a tree. Well out of her reach and well within his. ]

"All of my things are in there and everyone else is so busy right now. I can't lose any of my things, I don't know how I'd ever get them back and I'm not much of a climber... Could you help?" [ Her eyes shift back and forth shamefully, before she looks down and drags the toe of her shoe in the sand. ] "It's alright if you can't. I suppose I don't need it if you're busy as well."

-⚜︎

Franklin Shepherd | The floral heart | ❦

The son of a navy admiral and a boy who got everything gifted on a silver platter, abandoned on an island with no sign of home coming any time soon.

Reboot of Franklin Shepherd, no longer involved with Lord of the Flies. Refs under the cut.