[Claudio Bernardo]

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[attr="class","sixShtiny"]TAGGED:

Pim Finnegan

[attr="class","sixShnotes"]NOTES:

Tap, tap, tap, what to do, what to do...

[attr="class","sixShlyric"]

have a laugh!

[attr="class","sixShcred"]SELKIE

[attr="class","sixShright"]

[attr="class","sixShly"]
Dragon's fire, prayer and thunder will not change my mind

[attr="class","sixShpost"]heheA murmuring hustle and bustle, a wave of people — of families — stepping along the bay and its nearby marketplace. Lights littered the place, both from the bayside pathways and from the hands of the people walking, resting, and swirling along. Some lights, still unadorned or detailed, rested atop benches as their families decorated. They weren't just lights, after all; they were lanterns, lanterns etched in remembrance, shapes and colors strewn across warmth, yet burned nearly identically to one another in that same, shimmering yellow just at the cusp of becoming an orange. Lights that existed before but now continued as the memory amongst the ones set to light them again.

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heheSome of the younger ones, near benches and on flatter ground, scribbled on their yet-to-be lit lanterns. Some of their parents chastised them for the crassness, some others encouraged their work — and some of them were even beautiful in that same, childlike way, contributing to the memories they only barely grasped.

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heheAmongst them, and with no such guardian to praise or chastise him, the Playful Cloud himself sat doing his own. His lantern was still just sheets as it currently stood. The base sat off to his side as he tapped a pencil to his lower lip. Tap, tap, tap, tap... God, what was he going to do? Was starting like this the right way to do it? Ma hadn't ever taken him to anything like this before. No visit he could recall ever taught him how this was supposed to be done, or really what this was supposed to be. Apparently, back home in Brazil, Obon was celebrated too, yet, despite his Japanese descent, his mom hadn't ever taken him, or even really told him it existed to begin with.

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heheFrom what he'd found in a quick, 10-second Doogle search, it was meant to be a day of remembrance for a loved one. A gone one, maybe a gone-too-soon one, or maybe even a long-since-gone one — whoever he decided to make it about, if he chose to make it about a singular person at all. That's right, if he really wanted to, he could make it about barely anyone at all! Who was gonna stop him, huh? He could write (almost) anything on this and send it off, and no one would be the wiser! He could write a name not his own — what, they were gonna ask for his name? He could lie there, too — and simply move on, saying he had the experience all the same.

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heheBut would that be any fun? Really? Sure, he could, but what was the point in that? It was just mean to be mean, pointless to be pointless — not that there was anything wrong with that necessarily, but it would just be such a spiteful memory for such a wondrous thing.

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heheAs Claudio looked look out to the lanterns wading out into the waters, he trained his focus on the names. Some drawings, too, and some rather masterful patterns occasionally set amongst them, shadowed the light for their display, keeping both the ink and the light visible to everyone watching them follow down the stream.

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heheHe turned back to his sheets with sigh. What to do, what to do...

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holy water, stakes and hunters — you're losing your time

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[Pim Finnegan]

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WELCOME TO THE TEA PARTY! [break]
YOU DIDN'T RSVP? THAT'S OKAY! THÀ̸̛̙̦͔̊͆̋̈T̴̞̤̼̖̙̤̙̪̿̑̉̇́̆'̸̥͓̻̌̈́̋͐́̈̐̋S̷̢̢͔̬͕̪̮̾͌͂̒͜͠ ̸͙̻̼̪͕̞̔̑͐͝O̵͍̠͌́̑̄̈́̄̃͝K̷̢̡̘̗̞̟͎͓͋Ḁ̸̛̯͓̞̔̂̌̏̚Ỹ̶̢̡̠̤̤̬̘̞͑͊̉͆̆̚!̶̧̢̢̡̩̘̱̊͛̂͗̍͑̑͠

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There were many influential individuals which existed only in the realm of his dreams, many of them who he watched pass away and never knowing how to make it up to them outside of simply living his life. It was always difficult to witness those who lost a loved one simply being told nothing more than, I'm sorry for your loss. Those words reminded him of the many mass produced cards for those who struggled to find their own words to comfort their peer. Manufactured comfort...much like a script that could reach hearts or nothing at all, it depended on the actors, actresses, director and stage hands to bring life to those words.

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Sometimes it filled the void of sorrow when the delivery had some heart behind it, other times it felt empty like a hollow cup with a single drop of water. Spoken as though it was a cheap band-aid...there was a part of him that despised it. Yet, he couldn't completely hold it against those who truly didn't know what to say, yet desired an approach to comfort someone they cared deeply about. No one could provide them comfort for the loss of the Alices...or the others who lost their lives because Pim knew that the Alices of this world would never acknowledge those lost souls as real.

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Standing there as the lantern carefully rest upon his palm, he was careful not to puncture any of the panels with those sharp nails...humming softly to himself, a song of a very merry unbirthday to seemingly no one in particular. That black yukata accented by golden threads forming into shimmering lotus blossoms. Patiently, he would create shadowed silhouettes...and each panel was represented by a different suite like a deck of cards. All in a silent hope that this lantern would guide them in their respective after lives, reminding them all they were never forgotten despite wading through madness...

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...though when he lifted his gaze for a moment, there was an Alice who seemed as though they were mulling over their lantern. What a curious sight...! Especially since so many Alices came here knowing who they wished to honor the memory of during Obon. With each careful step of his geta clad feet, a gentle mist rolling past his feet as though he was walking among chai scented clouds. Slowly draping the place as though it was like a mysterious fog of sorts...most of their peers didn't seem fussed by it in the slightest...but perhaps that's because his focus was on that of the Alice with hair like clouds...?

[attr="class","LOUDBOTTOM"] Claudio Bernardo - have fun with the hallucinations UwU!

[attr="class","dijitalccredit"]✭ dijit

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[Claudio Bernardo]

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[attr="class","sixShtiny"]TAGGED:

Pim Finnegan

[attr="class","sixShnotes"]NOTES:

A voice, a ghost, but maybe one that's always been there somewhere.

[attr="class","sixShlyric"]

have a laugh!

[attr="class","sixShcred"]SELKIE

[attr="class","sixShright"]

[attr="class","sixShly"]
Dragon's fire, prayer and thunder will not change my mind

[attr="class","sixShpost"]heheThe world around became a warm, glowing buzz of orange and caramel. Below him, in the center of where the table was empty underfoot, a light — like a warm bonfire — sparked to life. At either corner of his eye, the shapes of people, of children and adults, blurred into vague silhouettes only barely present in the rest of the background. The bench stayed the same, and the blank paper — segmented where it would fold around the base — remained unaltered.

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heheClaudio rested his cheek on the table, sitting it just beside the paper. God, what was he doing?

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hehe"Well, you're not 'doing' anything, to be fair. P'etty sure that's the whole p'oblem, hight?"

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heheAt Claudio's side where the seat had once been empty, a whirling mass of red dust formed, coalescing and shaping into an impermanent, ever-shifting figure. Like sand falling over itself, it couldn't maintain anything more than a vacant shape of mass; a something of a being. Its words were tinged by an echo, like the grains within the mass — whatever core it held — each spoke over the rest in one fleeting chorus.

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heheThe mass shifted towards him with a collapsing tilt, with some of the grains falling onto the bench. Was it looking over the page?

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hehe"I mean, you al'eady know what you want to do, hight? So why dance around it?"

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heheClaudio kept his head to the table. His hair lazily twisted upwards, ebbing and flowing with the little traces of the wind flowing past, as the student closed his eyes.

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hehe"Dude, it'sh not heally about that." He dragged a hand through his hair. "It'sh about being genuine, y'know? It'sh like... It'sh like eating prope'ly, I guess. Ya have to be mindful and undershtand the deal, eshpecially if ya wanna stay healthy, but fo' thish... I don't know, it jusht feelsh wei'd to me, like it'sh completely alien. But at the same time, it seemsh so fun..."

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heheThe dust passed beneath the table, picking up on the opposite side's bench and, with a crooked accuracy, propped what seemed like an arm on the table. It rested the top of its misshapen form — what one might consider a head — into its crumbling palm, falling together into a mess still entirely unrecognizable as anything known to move, living or otherwise.

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hehe"I know what to w'ite, but everything else... Even without you' name, I want it to say so much about you."

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holy water, stakes and hunters — you're losing your time

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