Ziziphus West (Arrival) Foster's looking less lost than many of the new arrivals, even if only because he's used to not knowing what's going on.
He does not immediately realise the world is falling apart.
It quickly becomes obvious that something is wrong, though is less afraid than he is invigorated. The ocean, in general, is like that for him--something about it compels him, its vast depths and violent collisions with the earth--or not so violent, lapping up and down a beach's edge, but even there it dominates the air and fills the lungs with salt and spray as it ebbs and rises, eating away at the land's body.
Much like in his dream, it's where he finds himself almost from the beginning, though he can't stray too close to the beach--he's watched a shelf of sand and soil collapse into it once already, chasing strange underwater shadows out of sight. But he is also loathe to leave it, even when he knows, nominally, that his purpose should be to return immediately to the Ringmaster to understand what has happened, to receive more instruction than... this talking stone.
Save what you can.
Of what? Of this?
Should it be saved?
Saved for what?
No. He's asking the wrong question. What he should ask is...
Should it be saved? Should he?
His train of thought is interrupted by an itch on his ankle, and the glimpse of red--
He stops in the midst of flowers, their upturned blooms shaped like tiny white cups.
.... hm.
MORE Ziziphus (He's Not Leaving, Anything Goes)
In a sense, it is as though Foster has arrived at the end of the world. To bear witness, to leave his mark, to be marked--all and none of these, he has no greater moment than this, no greater focus, no greater thrill. It's exciting, but also perilous--the ground crumbles beneath his feet, stone splits and ocean depths suck at the caving earth as vast booms and deep tremors rock the world around him.
As more of the island gives way, he throws more of himself into more of it--leaping a chasm, he comes down on the other side with barely inches to spare. Beneath it, the ocean rises, and the stones and sand he's kicked into the gap are swallowed by hungry blue waters. He watches, entranced--at least until it loses his attention, which only takes a few seconds.
But it's only when he turns away that he notices the plethora of multicoloured flowers--any actual people catch his attention after.
He stops, eyes bright. And locks gazes... if there is a gaze to lock with.
Foster van Denend | ota | please check his permissions | I'll match u
Foster's looking less lost than many of the new arrivals, even if only because he's used to not knowing what's going on.
He does not immediately realise the world is falling apart.
It quickly becomes obvious that something is wrong, though is less afraid than he is invigorated. The ocean, in general, is like that for him--something about it compels him, its vast depths and violent collisions with the earth--or not so violent, lapping up and down a beach's edge, but even there it dominates the air and fills the lungs with salt and spray as it ebbs and rises, eating away at the land's body.
Much like in his dream, it's where he finds himself almost from the beginning, though he can't stray too close to the beach--he's watched a shelf of sand and soil collapse into it once already, chasing strange underwater shadows out of sight. But he is also loathe to leave it, even when he knows, nominally, that his purpose should be to return immediately to the Ringmaster to understand what has happened, to receive more instruction than... this talking stone.
Save what you can.
Of what? Of this?
Should it be saved?
Saved for what?
No. He's asking the wrong question. What he should ask is...
Should it be saved? Should he?
His train of thought is interrupted by an itch on his ankle, and the glimpse of red--
He stops in the midst of flowers, their upturned blooms shaped like tiny white cups.
.... hm.
MORE Ziziphus (He's Not Leaving, Anything Goes)
In a sense, it is as though Foster has arrived at the end of the world. To bear witness, to leave his mark, to be marked--all and none of these, he has no greater moment than this, no greater focus, no greater thrill. It's exciting, but also perilous--the ground crumbles beneath his feet, stone splits and ocean depths suck at the caving earth as vast booms and deep tremors rock the world around him.
As more of the island gives way, he throws more of himself into more of it--leaping a chasm, he comes down on the other side with barely inches to spare. Beneath it, the ocean rises, and the stones and sand he's kicked into the gap are swallowed by hungry blue waters. He watches, entranced--at least until it loses his attention, which only takes a few seconds.
But it's only when he turns away that he notices the plethora of multicoloured flowers--any actual people catch his attention after.
He stops, eyes bright. And locks gazes... if there is a gaze to lock with.
"... how does it feel?"