Post by Seven on Feb 28, 2008 1:01:51 GMT -5
It was the evening of the 23rd of Harenter, 100,000, the year of good fortune and new beginnings. How trival! He couldn't help but wonder how the years were named and who was the idiotic bloke who named them. Honestly, after 100,000 years, couldn't they be just slightly more creative?
He sighed, disappointed in the poorly chosen cliche title for the turn of the millenia. Oh well, what could be done?
The young nobleman pulled firmly on his white leather gloves, making sure they fell into the correct position on his hand. He continued to brush off the rest of his red-maroonish suit and fixed the royal pin upon the breast of his shirt. He secretly despised the thing with a fiery passion. You see, the young man liked to think of himself as a travelor, even an ethnographer of some sort. And how could a person blend in less and stick out more than if you placed a large, shiny golden badge just below their collar? Well, of course there were ways--one could always prance about in nothing but tights and leaves and surely some soul might realize that they don't fit 'quite' in...
But once again, the emblem was another thing that could not be helped. It had been his birth right, and refusing it would not only be foolish, but selfish and naive. No, he was quite good at being a perfect adolescent in the upper class: charming, respectful, athletic, intelligent, and perfectly able to hold his own in debate and oratory. And you musn't misunderstand him--that is sincerely just how he was! He didn't strain himself to accel, nor was his personality some form of guise or persona due having to maintain his good social status.
No, he could not even have regrets about 'freedom,' as so many other members of nobility did. He was witty enough to always find rhyme or reason to travel, whether pursuing intellecutal purposes or gaining world experience (and making a profit) to further his family's name.
But something honestly did feel lacking, something missing and empty, and he did not know what. How infuriating! Perhaps that was also just part of his personality--cursed as a constant seeker, there would never be enough to hold him fast in eternal awe. There would not be until there was nothing left in the world to see, nothing left to explore. But if one did see everything there was, wouldn't that in itself create a void and solitude? Perhaps his need to always search was a far nicer ordeal to have. After all, when you try to fill an emptiness is when you feel most satisfied and content.
A servant walked into the young man's glittering chamber, "Master Devon, you carriage has arrived," she said with a bow.
"Thank you," he gave her a courtesous nod and smile, "you are excused for the evening." Devon van Shire was a man of the world, a lovely oxymoron of good behavior and obiendence verus subtle rebellion and a playful darkness. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror, stopping for a moment.
"Badge--check. Rapier--check. Pursue--check. Hat--hat?" he looked about for a moment, finally seeing it at rest on his chamber bed-post. He grabbed off and immacutely placed it on his golden hair, "Check."
Devon no doubt looked like a fairy tale (or shoujo) prince who could make bubbles float in from the heavens and roses bloom behind him where ever he walked. Yes my friend, I mean he looks slightly effeminate. But heaven help you should you say that--I did refer to his subtle darkness, did I not? It is a well known fact Devon carries a large needle with him; he will pop any bubble romanticly floating on sight.
With an eager smile, Devon walked out the door of his bedazzling home to where his carriage lead by four large white tigers waited for him. Adventure was calling.
He sighed, disappointed in the poorly chosen cliche title for the turn of the millenia. Oh well, what could be done?
The young nobleman pulled firmly on his white leather gloves, making sure they fell into the correct position on his hand. He continued to brush off the rest of his red-maroonish suit and fixed the royal pin upon the breast of his shirt. He secretly despised the thing with a fiery passion. You see, the young man liked to think of himself as a travelor, even an ethnographer of some sort. And how could a person blend in less and stick out more than if you placed a large, shiny golden badge just below their collar? Well, of course there were ways--one could always prance about in nothing but tights and leaves and surely some soul might realize that they don't fit 'quite' in...
But once again, the emblem was another thing that could not be helped. It had been his birth right, and refusing it would not only be foolish, but selfish and naive. No, he was quite good at being a perfect adolescent in the upper class: charming, respectful, athletic, intelligent, and perfectly able to hold his own in debate and oratory. And you musn't misunderstand him--that is sincerely just how he was! He didn't strain himself to accel, nor was his personality some form of guise or persona due having to maintain his good social status.
No, he could not even have regrets about 'freedom,' as so many other members of nobility did. He was witty enough to always find rhyme or reason to travel, whether pursuing intellecutal purposes or gaining world experience (and making a profit) to further his family's name.
But something honestly did feel lacking, something missing and empty, and he did not know what. How infuriating! Perhaps that was also just part of his personality--cursed as a constant seeker, there would never be enough to hold him fast in eternal awe. There would not be until there was nothing left in the world to see, nothing left to explore. But if one did see everything there was, wouldn't that in itself create a void and solitude? Perhaps his need to always search was a far nicer ordeal to have. After all, when you try to fill an emptiness is when you feel most satisfied and content.
A servant walked into the young man's glittering chamber, "Master Devon, you carriage has arrived," she said with a bow.
"Thank you," he gave her a courtesous nod and smile, "you are excused for the evening." Devon van Shire was a man of the world, a lovely oxymoron of good behavior and obiendence verus subtle rebellion and a playful darkness. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror, stopping for a moment.
"Badge--check. Rapier--check. Pursue--check. Hat--hat?" he looked about for a moment, finally seeing it at rest on his chamber bed-post. He grabbed off and immacutely placed it on his golden hair, "Check."
Devon no doubt looked like a fairy tale (or shoujo) prince who could make bubbles float in from the heavens and roses bloom behind him where ever he walked. Yes my friend, I mean he looks slightly effeminate. But heaven help you should you say that--I did refer to his subtle darkness, did I not? It is a well known fact Devon carries a large needle with him; he will pop any bubble romanticly floating on sight.
With an eager smile, Devon walked out the door of his bedazzling home to where his carriage lead by four large white tigers waited for him. Adventure was calling.