08-13-2020, 01:21 PM
He’d spent years honing this skill, slipping the cage of flesh without completely relinquishing his hold. But the conflicts of his waking mind blurred the efficiency of discovery in the dream. When a ruckus from outside echoed within, he abandoned the effort. A man shouldered his way in shortly after, scowling deeply as he massaged his wrist, and muttering under his breath. He complained loudly about the woman outside, offering various insults and assumptions of her character that he apparently presumed Sören to agree with. Not that Sören disabused the notion. In fact he barely listened.
Some short time later he finally rid himself from the plague of company by stepping outside into the fresh air. It was customary to return to the steam several times, but he had little wish to rot his ears further, and he’d heard all he needed to by then. Blandly watching the wooded scenery that surrounded the hostel, he chanced access to the tech in his eye. Relief loosened his jaw when it did only as bid, and he spent several moments disseminating information before the cold began to bite rather than cool the sweat from his skin. After, he headed back in to dress.
Sören was not usually indecisive. He began to consider now the possibility of connections rather than the disparity of events that had brought him here. All crossroads had an intersection, after all. When he made his decision, it was one of patience.
His clothes were nondescript, as much of his appearance was beyond height and width of shoulder, and that in itself curtailed by his general leanness. The hub of the kitchen was not busy when he emerged, but neither empty at this time of day. He joined a table of travellers talking amongst themselves, slipping into the conversation with easily wielded charm. Habitually his interest in others served purpose, but the transience of such places lightened the burden, and he had a fondness for stories. Sören's injury was not overly noticeable at first glance. The eye itself blended well, the scars around it pale against his skin, but it was something people usually noticed eventually. Amongst the open curiosity of strangers swapping stories, someone usually asked about it. Though Sören occasionally changed details, such as the lake’s location and Declan’s identity, it amused him to tell the truth like it were some fantastical and embellished story. Usually to incredulity, disbelief, and laughter. So when it was asked now, a small smirk touched his lips, and he began.
Some short time later he finally rid himself from the plague of company by stepping outside into the fresh air. It was customary to return to the steam several times, but he had little wish to rot his ears further, and he’d heard all he needed to by then. Blandly watching the wooded scenery that surrounded the hostel, he chanced access to the tech in his eye. Relief loosened his jaw when it did only as bid, and he spent several moments disseminating information before the cold began to bite rather than cool the sweat from his skin. After, he headed back in to dress.
Sören was not usually indecisive. He began to consider now the possibility of connections rather than the disparity of events that had brought him here. All crossroads had an intersection, after all. When he made his decision, it was one of patience.
His clothes were nondescript, as much of his appearance was beyond height and width of shoulder, and that in itself curtailed by his general leanness. The hub of the kitchen was not busy when he emerged, but neither empty at this time of day. He joined a table of travellers talking amongst themselves, slipping into the conversation with easily wielded charm. Habitually his interest in others served purpose, but the transience of such places lightened the burden, and he had a fondness for stories. Sören's injury was not overly noticeable at first glance. The eye itself blended well, the scars around it pale against his skin, but it was something people usually noticed eventually. Amongst the open curiosity of strangers swapping stories, someone usually asked about it. Though Sören occasionally changed details, such as the lake’s location and Declan’s identity, it amused him to tell the truth like it were some fantastical and embellished story. Usually to incredulity, disbelief, and laughter. So when it was asked now, a small smirk touched his lips, and he began.
![[Image: odinraven.png]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/08/odinraven.png)