Dust (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mithrarin) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thenearshore2018-09-12 12:56 pm
mithrarin) wrote in thenearshore2018-09-12 12:56 pm
Entry tags:
Dust's Day [Open]
Who: Dust and OPEN
When: 1/20
Where: Around the Far and Near Shores
What: Another day in heaven; battle, business, and mischief.
Note: I'll match your tagging style.
Morning
Though Dust had mastered many elements of his cell phone, he had never bothered with his alarm. In his eastern-facing room, the sun did the job just fine. After all this time he'd grown accustomed enough to a bed, indoors, that he no longer woke up early and restless -- in fact, these days he didn't feel in much of a hurry to get up at all.
That was a dangerous precedent, and he knew it. Which is why when the sun at last rose fully, to cast long but distinct shadows from the buildings and temples of the city, Dust jogged down the street at a steady pace, his tail and cloak streaming out behind him and occasionally to one side as a gust of wind tugged them this way or that. He was far from his living days of running across Falana, after all. Now, even if he didn't seem able to gain weight from eating and he certainly wasn't getting his heart any exercise, he still found this ritual soothing. Maybe it was more to put him in the right mental state for the day, kind of meditative. It felt good, that was all he knew.
And if other people were out here in the morning, he didn't hesitate to offer a wave and a hello.
Lunch
Not far from Fortuna's shrine in the Near Shore, a small ramen shop had a line out the door, its hot offerings too popular by far on a cold January day. And at the end of that line stood Dust, arms crossed and fingers drumming impatiently on his own sleeves. The cold didn't seem to bother him, thanks to ample clothing and fur beneath it to hold in plenty of heat -- but even he might end up half-frozen, the way this line was or rather wasn't moving. 'Glacial' felt a little too uncomfortably accurate a description here...
He wasn't even that committed to ramen! But from here he couldn't spot a good other place to eat, even as he turned in place to look. Maybe take pity on him...?
Early Afternoon
One of the few things Dust had asked for, when Marinette named him, was a place to train. Luckily, Fortuna's temple had no shortage of space, so he had a fairly large room on the ground floor to use for the purpose. It wasn't anywhere on par with Bishamon's temple, of course, but it was comfortable nonetheless, and certainly far less awkward for him to use than going over there outside of scheduling training days.
Now the room was a flurry of activity as Dust twisted, whirled, and spun about, the staff in his hands striking with sweeping blows or powerful thrusts leveled against imaginary targets. His movement with it had become quite fluid, his control much improved from his first efforts at wielding this new weapon.
Anyone who came to Fortuna's temple would hear him practicing the moment they came in the doors -- and anyone who knocked, well, he was closest to the door right now and pretty resigned to answering it.
Late Afternoon
On this side of the heavenly garden: Dust, fingers wrapped around his staff, teeth gritted, crouched slightly in combat readiness.
On the other side: a boar spirit, pawing at the ground and tearing up the turf with its tusks, determined to drive off this interloper and return to its destructive rummaging.
The boar moved first, unsurprisingly, launching itself into a charge seemingly without warning, its sharp tusks gleaming with menace as they caught the sun. Even the Sen-Mithrarin couldn't take a spirit of this size and strength lightly; even a stationary slash with those tusks could do great harm, and a charge would likely put one or both of them clean through his body. Not a joking matter.
But Dust didn't stick around to let the boar win; he vaulted to the side, spinning to deliver a sharp whack to the boar's flank with his staff. Had he been using his sword, he might have ended the contest there, but he wasn't out to kill the creature, just drive it off. That wasn't enough, though; quicker than expected, the boar spun, its hooves churning up the cold dirt as it plowed towards Dust and forced him to dodge once again.
The battle was then well and truly joined, the boar's grunting and snorting mixing with Dust's own hisses of breath and the snap of his cloak, easily audible in the crisp air. But what Dust didn't see was another boar spirit wandering towards the garden, its own intentions of claiming the plants there clear...
Evening
The sun was setting somewhere behind a thick cover of clouds, but that was almost unnoticeable; swiftly-falling snow was of far greater interest. Dust paused to watch it in one of the small parks that dotted the Far Shore as the snow drifted down, swiftly coating the grass and then the walkways.
It was pretty. And pleasant. And -- actually, it gave him an idea.
People walking by the park who he didn't know get a warning -- a call of "Heads up!" and a snowball whipped at them intentionally wide, a warning shot from the grinning Warmblood even as he scooped up another handful of snow to shape into a ball. People he DID know (and thought would be good sports about it)? They didn't get the call, and his first snowball aimed to hit.
Game on.
((Or if you want any other scenario with Dust, let me know and we can wildcard it!))
When: 1/20
Where: Around the Far and Near Shores
What: Another day in heaven; battle, business, and mischief.
Note: I'll match your tagging style.
Morning
Though Dust had mastered many elements of his cell phone, he had never bothered with his alarm. In his eastern-facing room, the sun did the job just fine. After all this time he'd grown accustomed enough to a bed, indoors, that he no longer woke up early and restless -- in fact, these days he didn't feel in much of a hurry to get up at all.
That was a dangerous precedent, and he knew it. Which is why when the sun at last rose fully, to cast long but distinct shadows from the buildings and temples of the city, Dust jogged down the street at a steady pace, his tail and cloak streaming out behind him and occasionally to one side as a gust of wind tugged them this way or that. He was far from his living days of running across Falana, after all. Now, even if he didn't seem able to gain weight from eating and he certainly wasn't getting his heart any exercise, he still found this ritual soothing. Maybe it was more to put him in the right mental state for the day, kind of meditative. It felt good, that was all he knew.
And if other people were out here in the morning, he didn't hesitate to offer a wave and a hello.
Lunch
Not far from Fortuna's shrine in the Near Shore, a small ramen shop had a line out the door, its hot offerings too popular by far on a cold January day. And at the end of that line stood Dust, arms crossed and fingers drumming impatiently on his own sleeves. The cold didn't seem to bother him, thanks to ample clothing and fur beneath it to hold in plenty of heat -- but even he might end up half-frozen, the way this line was or rather wasn't moving. 'Glacial' felt a little too uncomfortably accurate a description here...
He wasn't even that committed to ramen! But from here he couldn't spot a good other place to eat, even as he turned in place to look. Maybe take pity on him...?
Early Afternoon
One of the few things Dust had asked for, when Marinette named him, was a place to train. Luckily, Fortuna's temple had no shortage of space, so he had a fairly large room on the ground floor to use for the purpose. It wasn't anywhere on par with Bishamon's temple, of course, but it was comfortable nonetheless, and certainly far less awkward for him to use than going over there outside of scheduling training days.
Now the room was a flurry of activity as Dust twisted, whirled, and spun about, the staff in his hands striking with sweeping blows or powerful thrusts leveled against imaginary targets. His movement with it had become quite fluid, his control much improved from his first efforts at wielding this new weapon.
Anyone who came to Fortuna's temple would hear him practicing the moment they came in the doors -- and anyone who knocked, well, he was closest to the door right now and pretty resigned to answering it.
Late Afternoon
On this side of the heavenly garden: Dust, fingers wrapped around his staff, teeth gritted, crouched slightly in combat readiness.
On the other side: a boar spirit, pawing at the ground and tearing up the turf with its tusks, determined to drive off this interloper and return to its destructive rummaging.
The boar moved first, unsurprisingly, launching itself into a charge seemingly without warning, its sharp tusks gleaming with menace as they caught the sun. Even the Sen-Mithrarin couldn't take a spirit of this size and strength lightly; even a stationary slash with those tusks could do great harm, and a charge would likely put one or both of them clean through his body. Not a joking matter.
But Dust didn't stick around to let the boar win; he vaulted to the side, spinning to deliver a sharp whack to the boar's flank with his staff. Had he been using his sword, he might have ended the contest there, but he wasn't out to kill the creature, just drive it off. That wasn't enough, though; quicker than expected, the boar spun, its hooves churning up the cold dirt as it plowed towards Dust and forced him to dodge once again.
The battle was then well and truly joined, the boar's grunting and snorting mixing with Dust's own hisses of breath and the snap of his cloak, easily audible in the crisp air. But what Dust didn't see was another boar spirit wandering towards the garden, its own intentions of claiming the plants there clear...
Evening
The sun was setting somewhere behind a thick cover of clouds, but that was almost unnoticeable; swiftly-falling snow was of far greater interest. Dust paused to watch it in one of the small parks that dotted the Far Shore as the snow drifted down, swiftly coating the grass and then the walkways.
It was pretty. And pleasant. And -- actually, it gave him an idea.
People walking by the park who he didn't know get a warning -- a call of "Heads up!" and a snowball whipped at them intentionally wide, a warning shot from the grinning Warmblood even as he scooped up another handful of snow to shape into a ball. People he DID know (and thought would be good sports about it)? They didn't get the call, and his first snowball aimed to hit.
Game on.
((Or if you want any other scenario with Dust, let me know and we can wildcard it!))
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"Did you eat something bad?!" Because Dust does not cackle. She was getting concerned.
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"I had ramen! It was good! Though that was a while ago! Once I bury you in the snow, let's get something!"
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