citylogs | currently open prompts, might make some closed ones for people

WHO: Sylvain (laidtocrest) & you?
WHAT: Various and sundry TDM-adjacent prompts and/or a catch-all so everything can be caught.
WHERE: Various places. Some ice cream themed prompts so probably at least one place is the ice cream parlor? But I can come up with other things.
WHEN: August
WARNINGS: Will be updated with warnings.

A. Why should the bank vault oversharing just happen in July?

[Sylvain's steps slowed as he entered the building, as he'd gotten used to the gray of the city, and it wasn't as if he'd never seen color before, but it's still quite...well. A Thing, caps intended, to go from gray to teal and pink and over-saturated colors that shouldn't go together, but it does.

He's still trying to decide what he thinks about the situation. Food, potentially tasty. Music, strangely familiar? But, while he weighs his options (does he want the normal looking chocolate ice cream, or the weird pink ice cream that doesn't seem like it's strawberry), why not small talk?]

So...what'd you get from the bank?

B. The real reason why I'm writing this, tbh.

[Sylvain's sitting in a car. No engine. No fuel. He's got a cup of mostly eaten chocolate ice cream with him. He had taken it to go. This had been a mistake.

He's sobbing, leaned over the steering wheel, carrying on like he just received some horrible news - like someone had died (again) - just very emotional right now. Lots of feelings, so many feelings that he had to immediately hide in something (badly) and start sobbing again.

This car isn't going anywhere, much like his life.]

C. I was going to make a darker joke for this, but then decided against it.

[Regardless, in a sudden nihilistic spree Sylvain's in the process of ~~strategically looting~~ ~~pilfering~~ getting neat shit from a store, which really does bring up the question of where their waste goes, huh? He's suddenly got questions about toilets which is terrible, because he was in the middle of doing something.

Back to that something. That something is this: a shopping cart, a generic store, and going through rows of balls. He considers two basketballs, weighs one, weighs the other, considers the texture of them, puts one into his shopping cart, he reconsiders, and switches it back again as he feels like Dimitri would prefer the one that hurts more if they accidentally clock each other in the face with them. Makes it feel more...real. True to home.

Other things in his shopping cart include two lacrosse sticks, because even if Sylvain has no idea what lacrosse is, he feels like Dimitri might feel better with them for...reasons. They're shaped in the right way, in certain respects.]

Probably says something I'm getting stuff to hit each other with... [Philosophical questions, he and Dimitri can explore the world of sports together, somehow, even if they don't understand most of these things.]

D. Wildcard...?

[PM me if you want a prompt, or surprise me.

I'll also err on the side of caution and admit that I'm possibly walking into another workplace disaster on Monday, so I might be slow? Might be okay. (Much Happened last week, caps intended, I don't mind telling the shitshow story but this isn't the venue for it.) If I am slow and you want to know what's up or plot/handwave, go ahead and give me a nudge and we can work something out. It's cool.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Sylvain could certainly attempt his womanizing ways. She probably wouldn't get it, or be confused, or deflect them. Maybe a different time. For now, yeah, boy ain't lookin' like his typical, pretty self. All red-eyed and tear streaked, and clearly crying his eyes out. Senua's been there plenty of times, and figures he probably needs to talk.

So, she's still here, blue-painted face still looking at him with a hint of concern.]

Sometimes that does happen.

[Stated in, what was hopefully a soothing tone, though one voice questioned it. She did her best to shut them out, impossible though that might be.]

You miss... nature? That... [She thinks about that. Then looks around herself. A nod follows.] ...I do as well. Where exactly do you come from?

You wouldn't have heard of it. [Sylvain says this with (miserable) certainty, conviction, even: he wouldn't have called it a bad thing to begin with, and he still doesn't think it's a bad thing that nobody knows who he or Dimitri are, but as time passes it does get lonelier and lonelier.

Things nobody needs to know, but might slip out by accident one day...or five minutes from now depending on how things go.]

I'm from Faerghus. It's a half-frozen patch of dirt, but it's my half-frozen patch of dirt. Not much is there, the food sucks, it's impossible to find anywhere to have fun at sometimes, but we've got the clearest skies I've ever seen and our forests are never ending. So's our snow, but you get used to it.

[Sylvain leans against the car, arms crossed, staring at some patch of ground or rock or whatever else.] I miss getting woken up in the middle of the night by something like an owl or a screeching fox. Isn't that...I'm not sure what. Who misses hearing a fox screaming like a woman died in the middle of the night?

I haven't heard of many things until arriving here.

[Not just many things either. Most things here was a first for her. Ice cream, cares, air conditioning. RUNNING FREAKING WATER! This is all a far cry from most of everything she once had.]

A fox making noise is a good sign that an area is safe and plentiful. [Or, safer for human habitation.]

It's not odd at all to miss the sounds of the forest. Or it's animals. It can be comforting sometimes. [And other times foreboding. But in this case, she'd rather take the sounds of things you can't see over the silence. The staring shadows that dart around the corners from a distance. The confusing signals from the voices.]

...You miss your home then?

[It takes him a moment to comprehend her question, and another to think about it, and a third to stubbornly wipe the tear-tracks from his cheeks as he stares at a bit of pavement because he's feeling stupid, so very stupid, but then Sylvain nods...more to himself than to her, the slow nod of having realized something so very obvious and knowing that he should've admitted it to himself sooner.]

Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.

[He looks again at her.] I don't know why. I mean, we're not starving here. One of my friends is here, and he's someone I'd follow 'til the end. I'm a lot luckier than a lot of people are, and that's not even getting into what waits for me back home. The rest of our friends are back home, and, sure, I love 'em and miss them. I keep on walking around and thinking things like...

[He gestures to a store. One, over yonder. A convenience store.] That place has meat: Ingrid would love it if she was here. Stuff like that, and then I get depressed they're not here. But all my life, I wished I could...I don't know. Feelings are complicated.

[But, you know what?] Sorry. I know I already said this, but I'm not normally like... [He gestures to himself. Take it all in, Senua, this mess of a boy having a breakdown in a car because of ice cream, volunteering information instead of being the listening ear.] I didn't even tell you my name. I'm Sylvain.

It's quite alright. You're correct. Feelings are complex, but I don't believe it's odd to wish for home. Or your friends and family.

[It's a feeling she knows far too well.]

When you don't have something you're used to- love, when it's gone, the feelings of longing become near unbearable.

[And when it's gone, as in truly gone, then-]

And I'm Senua, well met.

[Family evokes a weird noise from Sylvain, most likely, a sort of laugh-sob-sigh mildly choked noise, but you know what? She doesn't need to know the finer details. Senua's been kind enough. He can't even muster the energy to try to make a sleazy pass at her (for the purpose of keeping her at arm's length) she'd been kind enough as is.

What a weird thought.]

Thanks. I mean...really, feels like I've been crying for days. [Sniffle. The 'cried so hard he accidentally dehydrated himself' headache is starting to settle in.] But enough about me. I'm not that interesting. Tell me about your home? [And then, he says this like it's an incentive, trying to muster the teasing tone something like this needs.] We could be homesick together?

[Like a really stupid support group!]

You certainly look like it.

[She quipped, taking note of his little sniffle, and tear-streaked cheeks. Poor guy must have been at it for a while now! Why he wasn't napping from exhaustion is a little dizzying for Senua herself. But it's fine, no need to worry!

My home? I don't have a home.

[Not anymore, at least! What he sees is what he gets. Which is, a woman with blue paint made from woad, an empty scabbard, and some really bitching braids.]

It's all gone by this point.

[Sylvain's eyes water with fresh tears, which he immediately hates - his headache is definitely present, he'll need to chug some water and maybe take a nap after whatever emotional thing this had been, and he stubbornly wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and wills them away as best as he can (an effort is made) because...because. Because he's got a headache. Because his eyes hurt. Because it's not like he's got a right to get upset, but-]

Sorry about that. If I-

[No, no, moving on.] Something like that happened to a friend of mine. Now I wish you could meet him. You'd probably like him? I've only known you for...however long all of this is, but I get the sense you really would.

[Dedue's nice, patient, tends to flowers, and also has an incredibly traumatized friend who hears voices, not that Sylvain knows any of this, Dedue might not know about the voices thing, but still, commonalities.]

currently open prompts, might make some closed ones for people

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