#susurrone

The Observer chuckled, clearly amused by the remark. "Something like that. I don't take you for a Harry Potter-esque wizard, Mr. Talbot. I know you as one. But, as you wish, if it is a no-smoking-allowed bar," he did not take so much as one last drag as he took it from his lips, "I will remain allowed and not smoke."

The cigarette wasn't put out. It vanished from existence entirely, one moment there between his fingers, the next not. Where it went, no one could say. Oh, the Observer did like his cigarettes. Interesting thing, smoking. The people of today didn't think so, as they should. Corporations couldn't be so sneaky about their downsides now that the people who grew up smoking grew old. But the Observer didn't have a body prone to cancers and buildups like humans did. He enjoyed the act of it, he enjoyed the smell of the smoke and the warmth in his mouth, be it from a cigarette, cigar, or ancient pipe from the very beginning of the practice. Prestigious people in the pictures, television shows, you name it did it until quite recently, even. Sometimes they still did. He'd taken it up a long time ago to pass the time as he watched. It was never a habit he could shake.

Regardless, if it was not allowed, it was not allowed. Rather than be kicked out or disappear he'd like to stay and talk to one Liam Talbot, aged forty-something, former-maybe-current rebel, drifting by one magical maguffin to another as he sought something like redemption. Nobody else in the room could see him. Nobody else needed to.

"Just what do you allow? A chat, I hope?"

Oh. That’s what it was all about. Liam finally tucked away his bar spoon, and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Allowed... yeah. Ye can stay and we can... we can talk. We gotta.” Cheeks puffed up, eyes were rolled and a long exasperated sigh finally made known this was not what he had been expecting from this evening.

Back behind the bar, the mage helped himself to a bottle of beer, though he feared he might’ve needed something far stronger. “Drink?”, a question falls between long sips, though by far not the most important question and not the question he was itching to ask either.

@susurrone​ (Grimmer): "You seem to know an awful lot, Mr. Bouchard." 

         ❝ Not nearly as much as my staff would like. ❞ Elias exclaims in an exhaled laugh. A smile of natural charisma presses his lips  and his hand waves dispellingly. He’s only 49 (physically, anyways), yet it is fascinating how the youth these days categorizes all adults over 20 as a senior citizen with an inability to learn and adapt. ❝ Technology is advancing far too rapidly these days, wouldn’t you agree? ❞

Meg, herself, is an ancient creature by earthly standards. She’s seen more horrors than she can count on her hands, and so...she recognizes the look of someone who has also seen. Someone less than naive.

He’s different, though. He seems to look right through her, and despite herself, she shivers. Her skin prickling in warning as he tells her that he could’ve read her story as easily as any other. Plucking it off the shelf-

SUSURRONE:

The two beings are on a seaside cliff. It’s said that native Americans used to believe these cliffs were dormant giants asleep near the ocean. Now, however, now they’re little more than pretty window-dressing on the island, rarely given much consideration. Because here, the so-called historic Gay Head Lighthouse of one Martha’s Vineyard looms in the distance. Tourists bustle about in the summer sun, taking photographs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. The Observer watches.

“At times, I simply watch and wait. At times, I intervene, at times I punish, and at times I help.”

The Observer puffs his cigarette.

“For the record, you, Old Man Wake– not humanity, not their schemes, not their downfalls, not their trials, you– might just be the biggest enigma of all.”

YARN-STONE-AND-BOTTLES:

And in reply to the Observer, Old Man Wake lets out a long wheeze, teeth like cockle shells jabbed into his gums, nasty and yellow. Like a storm comes apart those smoke clouds from his lips, joining the puffs exiting that of the man beside him. 

“Aye, more than an enigma poor Ol’ Wake be,” he says. “But me will n’ spirit be no more than what lurks out in me living space. O sea god Poseidon be greater than me, thy Hades be scorchin’ bout these sands we stand on right now -- but somethin’ tells me that yer more than to meets the eye... aye?”

Simply watching and waiting seems too boring for a man like him, and he briefly wonders what patience the Observer has to not lash out when observing the cruelest of men get their ways. Old Wake would rather sleep in bed all day and get his rest for the energy of the night, where his ol’ wickie would be sure to complain about his poor treatment of them.

@susurrone​ said:

"Don't treat me like a child." (from Geralt and for whoever you'd like)

the witcher 3: wild hunt starters  :  always accepting

( Thanks for the ask @susurrone )

“Huh?” Jeanne looks behind her when she hears the strange voice, “Well that’s not ominous. Hey you guys I think we made a wrong turn.”

“What was your first clue?” Jiro asks looking around the incredibly dark and unsettling town, “The hell is this place?”

“I dunno...but it sure is creepy.” Otto comments.

“Calling it now. We’re either in Maine or Rhode Island.” Kara deduces.

“Why those places specifically?” Jeanne asks.

Let me compliment you : @susurrone / @onennian : accepting