Arnold Manger
February 15, 2015 6:34 PM
It's only a paper moon [Room 1] by Arnold Manger
Despite a lifetime in its midsts, the seemingly limitless capabilities of magic continued to floor him. Whomever had cast the spells to enchant the MARS rooms, Arnold was certain, had never seen his childhood home, but here in the water-themed room, he felt almost as if he were back in Rhode Island. All around him was home: the the babbling stream that fed into the Narragansett Bay, the mosses that served as subject to his first nature painting, even the small dock at the pond he used to sit by and dip his feet into the water.It was a dock with no practical purpose, since the Manger family kept no boat. He had no recollection as to where it came from or what its intention had been, but the dock had latent usefulness for him growing up. The redhead remembered imagining the dock was a pirate ship, or else casting out pretend fishing lines and rejoicing when his fish was this big. Then he got older and stopped pretending; that was when the dock made him truly happy, supporting his canvas and teaching him to perceive.
This was not Rhode Island. Arnold knew that. But for a moment, he let himself imagine again, the light breeze from the bay ruffling his curls. With his robe cast aside, he sat at the edge of the dock, his pants rolled up to his knees to allow the rest to sink into the familiar waters. He rolled his sleeves up as well, mostly because they distracted from the memories with their itchy encompassment. He held no brush, although a sketchpad was half-concealed by his robe. And though he was neither creating nor contemplating, the Aladren felt content.
He tried not to think about anything, although a familiar face sometimes sparkled in the moon, dark eyes smiling above a silent but beautiful laugh. Fireflies danced around him, which were a fortunate distraction from the image he invented. Arnold felt curfew creeping closer, but this too he opted to ignore--at least for now--in favor of his created reality, one where things were simple and easy. On occasion he would break from it and remember himself, and sometimes he idly wondered if fifteen was simply the edge where everyone was sad, because in addition to his own concerns, he vaguely picked up some troubled hints from some of his yearmates. Or maybe he was projecting. Either way, he found more enjoyment in the moments when these thoughts were successfully buried.
So he sat and listened to the nothingness of nature: that is, the lapping water, the chirping crickets, the singing frogs, and everything else that a busy wizard might simply ignore. They were sounds one had to listen for, sounds that were hard-pressed to cover other sounds, such as the approaching footsteps Arnold detected behind him. He leaned back and glanced over his shoulder to discern the identity of this new company, a small smile resting on his lips. “Hello,” he greeted casually. “Hope you weren’t looking for an evening swim. I don’t think this pond will be very good.”
OOC: Best if read to the song from which the title is taken, which can be found here
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Arnold Manger
It's only a paper moon [Room 1]
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