❰ if everyone wasn't forced to be here, emil would have nothing to do with any of this. he's very much a 'focused on his own life and no one else's' kind of guy. it's a small saving grace that he isn't a big enough asshole to drop all of this fabric he's holding and bolt (there's some textile pun in there somewhere.
the plan was to be somewhere that wasn't on the street, which the masquerade hall is as good a place as any. at least he can try and mind his business while also eating something. however, he's arrived a little bit too early and happened upon a bustling crowd of people preparing. first it was one bolt of fabric thrust at him, and then another before he even had time to complain. now he's accepted his fate of being 'that guy assigned to hold all the fabric'.
it's hard to even see that there IS a guy behind all of it, with how much it cascades down from the stack. emil isn't that tall to begin with, so if you were to currently mistake him for just a pile of inanimate objects. the grumbling he's doing to himself is curse-laden, but also smothered by the bulk of material.
— until he's bumped into by a hurrying npc carrying a large rug, smacking emil backwards and into a pile of fluttering fabrics on the floor. the yelp he lets out is much louder and undignified, even though the only physical sign that there's still a man under all of that is the tip of his boot sticking out from around the bottom. ❱
— masquerade proper
❰ the actual concept of a masquerade emil can take or leave — what's up with the masks? why would you want to dance with people you don't know? ludicrous.
so the main draw is the food, which he'll never object to. he's also luckily got a few ripped pieces of fabric he's fashioned into little pouches after that whole almost-suffocating-in-satin. since in his mind this is all made up and doesn't matter at all, no one will complain if he swipes a very large number of desserts from the table, slipping them into an aforementioned pouch. half of this stuff he doesn't even know what it is, evident by how he picks up a small merengue inquisitively. ❱
Can you even eat...? ❰ his eyebrows raise with his whisper, before a shrug, and it goes into the sack. the ramifications of eating dreamscape desserts will be discovered later. in the meantime, there's a tower of biscuits he's got to shove into another sloppily tied knapsack. ❱
emil västerström ▶ ota
❰ if everyone wasn't forced to be here, emil would have nothing to do with any of this. he's very much a 'focused on his own life and no one else's' kind of guy. it's a small saving grace that he isn't a big enough asshole to drop all of this fabric he's holding and bolt (there's some textile pun in there somewhere.
the plan was to be somewhere that wasn't on the street, which the masquerade hall is as good a place as any. at least he can try and mind his business while also eating something. however, he's arrived a little bit too early and happened upon a bustling crowd of people preparing. first it was one bolt of fabric thrust at him, and then another before he even had time to complain. now he's accepted his fate of being 'that guy assigned to hold all the fabric'.
it's hard to even see that there IS a guy behind all of it, with how much it cascades down from the stack. emil isn't that tall to begin with, so if you were to currently mistake him for just a pile of inanimate objects. the grumbling he's doing to himself is curse-laden, but also smothered by the bulk of material.
— until he's bumped into by a hurrying npc carrying a large rug, smacking emil backwards and into a pile of fluttering fabrics on the floor. the yelp he lets out is much louder and undignified, even though the only physical sign that there's still a man under all of that is the tip of his boot sticking out from around the bottom. ❱
— masquerade proper
❰ the actual concept of a masquerade emil can take or leave — what's up with the masks? why would you want to dance with people you don't know? ludicrous.
so the main draw is the food, which he'll never object to. he's also luckily got a few ripped pieces of fabric he's fashioned into little pouches after that whole almost-suffocating-in-satin. since in his mind this is all made up and doesn't matter at all, no one will complain if he swipes a very large number of desserts from the table, slipping them into an aforementioned pouch. half of this stuff he doesn't even know what it is, evident by how he picks up a small merengue inquisitively. ❱
Can you even eat...? ❰ his eyebrows raise with his whisper, before a shrug, and it goes into the sack. the ramifications of eating dreamscape desserts will be discovered later. in the meantime, there's a tower of biscuits he's got to shove into another sloppily tied knapsack. ❱