Raw Log: Sol and Iso re-meet

Sоloмои Ðeȼroix : He hated long flights, through out his life in the military there was only one thing he regretted and it was being stuck in the sky for much of it. If he'd wanted to fly, he'd have been a pilot, or joined the airforce. But the fact of the matter was he was glad to be done with flying, fighting, and killing for a bit. Right now all he wanted was a good cup of coffee and something that wasn't microwaved to eat. Which begged the question why did Airplanes even offer a choice of meals? If anything he should have been able to bring his own damned hungry man in. Least THAT would have had some flavor! Shit he'd been living off of mre's and mess hall meals. Did anyone really enjoy those? Now, nearly seventeen hours later he was exiting the confines of a flying deathtrap and making his way into the comfort of a small airport that provided the most basic of needs for the weary traveler. It'd be another hour before he hit the hotel, maybe longer if there was traffic. So what now? He -c-

Sоloмои Ðeȼroix : had a rental waiting for him, and surely there was something palatable within the area. So he'd chance being stuck in traffic for a burger and fries, Hell he'd take a MacDon's if they had them! But alas, no such luck it seemed. But thankfully a nearby bistro offered something of a opportunity to enjoy a non microwaved t.v dinner from the late fifties. So it went, gathering his belongings from the baggage claim, and gathering his rentahicle, Solomon made his way to the small cafe. It was quaint enough to feel homey, and it seemed well cared for. Better then some of the dives he'd frequented in Iraq, or Syria. But man sometimes when you wanted a change, you were willing to risk being bound to the head for hours on end. Parking, the mammoth of a man exited the Jeep Liberty he'd rented for the week and stretched himself out just lightly. Autumn was in the air, the weather was chilly and snow had freshly fallen. Sol who was born and raised in Arizona had sought the advice of -c-

Sоloмои Ðeȼroix : brothers in arms about what to wear while he was here tending to 'family' business. (Which was really just seeing to the selling of a property from an estranged uncle he'd never met.) Needless to say, he looked out of place bundled up in a warm carhart jacket and black scarf, yet wearing a pair of older battle dress slacks and his favorite pair of combat boots. (No longer standard issue, but worn in perfectly) Hood pulled over his head, There was no way to really to make this sound cooler, so basically the freeze-baby rushed inside to the warmth and comfort of the Cafe, where once within he sighed contentedly awaiting a greeting from server or hostess. -end-

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εvαɳgεlιɳε : Welcome))

Sоloмои Ðeȼroix : Welcome )

Isolde·Allard : Welcome]

Urizen : Ello', and thank you. //

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Urizen : I apologize for the awkwardness of this if my memory is failing me, but that name, Evangeline looks quite familiar. My name is Blues in case we are familiar with one another. //

Aralie : Blusie! ]

εvαɳgεlιɳε : Well duh. (Crystal) ))

εvαɳgεlιɳε : And welcome))

Urizen : Hah! It's my lucky day then. I'm not entirely surrounded by strangers. //

εvαɳgεlιɳε : <3 lol))

Urizen : <3 //

Urizen : I'm having a gaming computer delivered to me, so I'll be returning to League. In fact, it's the only reason my friend is giving it to me. //

Aralie : I wanna play! ]

Urizen : You two are, no pun intended, 'leagues' better at it than I. //

εvαɳgεlιɳε : Lol))

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gєммαꊼωανєяℓу : -explodes in sparkles and destruction through a wall- hii! ]

ᴾᴿᵁᴱ†ᴸᴱᴱ : -flinches and waves timidly- h-hi]

gєммαꊼωανєяℓу : 😀 ]

Sоloмои Ðeȼroix : lol)

εvαɳgεlιɳε : She's baaaaack))

Isolde·Allard : ֎ The svelte, crisply dressed Isolde bore the ails of traveling with grace and patience. People were traveling home for the holidays, and she was among them. With intentionality, forethought, and yes…a seat in first class… she had the perfect equation for both calm and gentle demeanor. Not that she had far to travel, having just wrapped up a New Year’s promotional shoot for Chanel in Paris. Home was a short train-ride away, but for whatever reason, she’d been booked a flight. The prim model didn’t protest when presented with the tickets from her agent-- merely accepted them graciously and packed up. A tidy, matching luggage set in shades of retro-mint by the company Birdy followed her, pulled in tow by two beefy security guards. A pair of modest heels clicked as they trailed her through the airport, casting stern glances at passers-by as they gawked. She wore sunglasses and a knitted hat with a matching green scarf, tucked neatly into the firmly pressed felt collar of her -c

Isolde·Allard : feminine winter coat. Despite obscuring her features, some people still seemed to take note of her. Being gentle, she didn’t often decline photos with strangers or the occasional request for a signature. Her notoriety had been climbing in the last year, requiring a constant escort from one shoot to the next. And now, even in her own hometown. As she exited the airport, she and her two companions walked past a large, glowing advertisement of her sporting last season’s leather handbag and fur-lined mules. She paused, glancing up and grinning. It was the first time she’d seen her likeness in a life-sized advertisement. Holding out her cellphone to one of her guards, she turned with a demure smile. “Could you?” she asked, Snapchat already open on the tiny glowing screen. Gruffly, with an accommodating smile, Greg agreed.  Pressing her palms together in a gesture of thankfulness, she beamed. “Thank you!” she chimed merrily before taking a few gentle steps to stand beside it. With an -c

Isolde·Allard : animated expression of surprise, she gestured to the advertisement and opened her mouth in an exuberant smile. Once finished, she’d collect her phone from Greg, and they’d guide her to a waiting limo. A few young girls waited outside, snapping pictures of their own while she offered a modest wave and a kind smile. Once in the limo, she scrolled through filters and sent the happy picture to friends and family. “Can we stop for tea?” she asked in a hopeful tenor, not at all exercising her power as ‘boss lady’ amongst those hired to cater to her every whim. Isolde wasn’t accustomed to treating anyone’s autonomy with anything less than kindness and consideration. “Absolutely Miss Allard.” the driver replied with warmth, and took her along toward Portree’s small downtown, cobblestoned shopping district. Watching with nostalgia and peace, Isolde noted the small changes here and there as they passed by the window. Once they arrived, the limo parked, just as any other vehicle would be -c

Isolde·Allard : expected to, in the lot for the cafe. Exiting with the grace of a gazelle, she waved off the pair of guards. “I’ll be fine. I’m -home-!” she insisted. Her agent had sent out strict memos regarding her travels, that nobody was to speak to any publishers about her hometown so that she could travel there in peace. Eventually, she was sure, that would change. But for now, things were calm. Stepping into the cafe with a sigh of maudlin, the lissome girl crossed to the counter, waiting patiently in line to place her order, a Jasmine tea with honey and a bit of milk. It was served up in a ceramic mug, despite needing it to-go. Not issuing complaint, and figuring she had as much time as she’d like, Isolde meandered the cafe in search for an available seat. ֎

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Margot : OMG]

Margot : Rin's little profile picture]

Margot : -dies of cuteness-]

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Isolde·Allard : Welcome~]

Monday Mourning : Thanks. //

Isolde·Allard : Of course!]

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εvαɳgεlιɳε : Wb!))

Monday Mourning : Welcome back. //

gєммαꊼωανєяℓу : Thanks ^^ ]

ᴾᴿᵁᴱ†ᴸᴱᴱ : Welcome back Gemma!]

gєммαꊼωανєяℓу : <3 ]

Sоloмои Ðeȼroix : The Cafe, was notably busy this cold afternoon. People moved left and right, this way and that making it hard to navigate them when encumbered by a cup of coffee, two pastrami on rye, a bag of chips and of course a blueberry muffin to sweeten the deal. Oh how excited he was, with a desire to devour this tasty meal of carbohydrates and sugars. Mind you, in his desire to find a seat, dodge the lovely group of teenage girls gawking at the musclebound meathead moving from one side of the cafe to the next with the grace of a bull in a china shop. (Mind you he had not slept, or eaten in sometime.) somehow navigating people was much harder than a minefield. Mind you this was a recipe for disaster no matter the time or place. In an instant the world was about to change, and Solomon was about to open Pandora's metaphorical box upon himself in a fashion that he might not have thought possible. The large man would move to the side with the intent to dodge an incoming ten year old hyped +

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Isolde·Allard : Welcome back!]

†Chloe†Eden† hola))

Sоloмои Ðeȼroix : up on cookies and cola. Which required more focus then he currently had, otherwise he might have found himself able to stop that little stagger that sent him from brushing shoulders with the petite form of Isolde, to a collision that would send his food, and drink flying upward. Causing him to loose his balance and fall backward in a comical fashion and hitting the ground with his backside and a light bounce. Now he was a musclebound meathead in the most literal of fashions as pastrami covered his face and some of his hair. In his confusion he uttered a few choice curse words, but nothing so directed that it could have been taken as an insult toward the woman before him. Coffee, pooled around his legs and caused him to shift to avoid being fully burned by the heated liquid. The crowd around him, sort of just disappeared, be in they were attempting to avoid what they thought was an angry outburst. Or because for an instant his focus shifted and Sol was somewhere else entirely+

Monday Mourning : Enjoyable read so far, Solomon. Anyways, Oasiz looks nauseating on Safari, so I'll return on the unquestionably superior Firefox. //

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Isolde·Allard : Welcome Haguro~]

gєммαꊼωανєяℓу : Also testing what accounts you remember, I see lolol ]

Haguro : Ello', and this just happened to be one of the ones firefox had saved. //

Isolde·Allard : Ah, nice.]

Sоloмои Ðeȼroix : The cafe faded out, and the scent of fresh flowers flooded his memory. The sound of laughter, a clatter of steel, and for an instant the image of a ancient blade looking out of place upon cobblestone streets, adorning it a myriad of summer flowers that seemed almost perfectly haphazardly aligned to create the most striking image in his mind. It was not an unfamiliar site, he'd been dreaming of that image for many years of his life. Like any man he thought it to be a symbol of protection sent to him by the lord and thus had carried it in him, and on his chest for many years. However the symbol had never come so strongly before that he could make out the scars of battle on the weapon, nor the scent of the flowers. Nor could he shake the sudden terrible sadness that filled his heart. Like losing someone, it nearly brought him to tears. Were his senses not returning to him. A silent whisper of loving words, and the smell of blood and smoke would be all that remained as he focused+

Sоloмои Ðeȼroix : upon the scene before him " Hey look I'm sorry " -end-

Ăćăţĥłá Waves on his way out ))

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εvαɳgεlιɳε : Wh!))

Mєяlγη : thanks!)

Isolde·Allard : ֎ Not carelessly, but certainly with her head in the clouds, Isolde wandered aimlessly through the bustling cafe. She was admiring all of the nooks and crannies, still the same after a long time apart, with a nostalgic smile as she cradled a hot cup of tea and breathed in the floral steam rising off of its surface. No matter where she was, or what she was doing, flowers seemed to be a recurring theme in her life. She adored floral perfumes like Miss Dior for their eternally spring-like scent, which lingered in her wake and mingled with the softer scent of jasmine. Not entirely paying attention to her surroundings, she brushed shoulders with someone nearly three times her mass. And while it was hardly intentional, Isolde felt immediately at fault as hot tea leapt out of her cup and splashed down the front of her pale moss-colored coat. Her weight vacillated under the sudden shift of momentum and she leaned a bit too hard on one of those pin-thin stiletto heels. An exclamation of -c

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Isolde·Allard : surprise chirped out of her as she toppled in the opposing direction of Solomon, landing in a basket of french-breads, which in turn, exploded into the air like a gluten-allergy waiting to happen. Once at rest, she blinked a few times, palms pressed to the floor on either side of her lithe frame, knees pressed together primly to conceal the view up a pencil skirt. “Oh -shoot-.” she whispered, lovat hues falling on Solomon. A remorseful look passed her features as she curled her legs to one side, cheeks flushed with shame. “I’m so sorry.” she breathed, glancing around as other patrons cleared a circle around them. “I didn’t mean to-- oh, are you al…right?” she asked, clear, round eyes searching him with concern. “No, no…” she shook her head. “I’m sure it’s my fault, I wasn’t paying attention, and…” she felt a strange, solid tug on her heartstrings that nearly took the breath straight out of her as she set eyes on his face. Doing her best to stifle the elated gasp that stole her -c

Isolde·Allard : attention, the wilting model drew in a focused, calming breath. It wasn’t merely that he was breathtaking, but that his very image had been a source of comfort and protection in all of the dreams she’d ever had featuring herself in any kind of danger, turmoil, or fear. It was like seeing a long-lost friend, returned from another life, when she was absolutely sure she’d never see him again. But they were complete strangers. How uncanny that a living person (in her hometown, no less!) should so entirely embody the -literal- man from her dreams…just…covered in pastrami. Turning so that she could stand, she shifted her knees beneath her and pressed her palms to the floor. A weak yelp of pain escaped her once she tried to stand and she realized that her choice in impractical footwear had utterly betrayed her. Not only had one of the Jimmy Choo heels come away from the foot of the shoe entirely, but somehow she had managed to twist (Oh lord, please not break!) her ankle in the process.-c

Isolde·Allard : Meekly shifting her weight to remove both shoes, she then made the attempt to stand on her good foot (luckily, her dominant right foot). ֎

Isolde·Allard : Welcome, XII]

XII : Thanks. ))

†Chloe†Eden† offers him a cookie))

εvαɳgεlιɳε : Welcomes))

XII : Hi. ))

Rin : Belated ^.^! to Margot!))

Margot : -hugs the lil Christmas Princess-]

Rin : *Happy hugs*))

†Chloe†Eden† gives the little one a cookie >.>))

Sоloмои Ðeȼroix : There was chatter all about them, voices flooding the spaces of his mind that told him whatever he was seeing was just his more fantastic side of mind. Where he dreamed of battles in a distant land with magic and sorcery, swords and fireballs. Where he had been behind the swinging of a blade twice the size of his body. You know the kind of thing that drove a perfectly well adjusted young man into the thralls of Uncle Sam's welcoming grasp and made a Soldier out of what had once been a Dungeon Master and avid Gamer. However as he shook off the odd sense of familiarity that struck him. She spoke and his mind shifted from his internal dialog to her with a bit of a frown. " No really, It's my fault " he glanced over his shoulder " I should have stuck to my isle " He let a soft nervous chuckle go, and groaned as he stood up removing bits of meat and bread from his face. Using the sleeve of his jacket to remove mustard that had collected upon the tip of his nose. When she yelped, +

Rin : *Chows down!*))

Sоloмои Ðeȼroix : It was instant, he was at her side, like he'd done it a thousand times and moving to help her with the task of removing her designer shoes. Which to his recollection didn't offer much tread or traction from the ice and snow. Frowning he shifted to look at her ankle. " you're lucky today " he said with a bit of humor in his voice. " I happen to be a trained physician, Well a battlefield medic " He corrected " But I've seen this a hundred times. You wouldn't believe how clumsy soldiers can be. " He of course was attempting to use humor to hide the fact that he was feeling entirely guilty for not only ruining a pair of shoes but likely having caused a sprained ankle in the process. As she moved to stand he did too, and like a gentleman he offered her his arm to help her to a nearby chair. Behind him the staff went about repairing the damage, which was really just a mess and some scooted tables, but the true tragedy would be the death of a perfectly good pastrami on rye with +

Sоloмои Ðeȼroix : with swiss and brown mustard. " Here, why don't you sit, and I'll get you another cup of tea " This of course was also because some innate part of him couldn't fathom letting this walk away just now. Not until he understood it! Standing, he tried his best to clean himself off, and shifted to find the cafe's owner, making a request for what he'd ordered, and of co

Sоloмои Ðeȼroix : with swiss and brown mustard. " Here, why don't you sit, and I'll get you another cup of tea " This of course was also because some innate part of him couldn't fathom letting this walk away just now. Not until he understood it! Standing, he tried his best to clean himself off, and shifted to find the cafe's owner, making a request for what he'd ordered, and of course a repeat of Isoldes order. When he returned he'd speak his mind " I have this, feeling like I've seen you before " he said finally " But I can't for the life of me remember where " -end-

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εvαɳgεlιɳε : Welcome!))

Ilztas_Arkenett : Thank you))

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εvαɳgεlιɳε : Welcome back.))

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εvαɳgεlιɳε : Welcome))

Kate : Thanks! )

εvαɳgεlιɳε : Np ^.^ A spot of writing going on, feel free to dive in, start fresh, or just hang out to watch Any questions, just let one of us know!))

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†Chloe†Eden† takes her cookies around to the new folk))

ɲäɖɨɳᴇ : There's cookies!? ))

Rin : *Totally doesn't steal a couple...*))

ɲäɖɨɳᴇ : -totally does- ))

Sоloмои Ðeȼroix : -gives rin an entire cake-)

Sоloмои Ðeȼroix : From Aiden with <3 )

†Chloe†Eden† : don't you try to one up me good sir!))

†Chloe†Eden† returns to the kitchen to bake))

Rin : *Squee's in delight* Best uncle ever!))

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Isolde·Allard : ֎ Just like the man of her dreams (er…in…in! Her dreams,) he was quick to tend to her with surprisingly gentle hands, despite his overwhelmingly brutish look and experiences. “Thank you.” she murmured with demure gratitude. Listening as he tried to soothe the awkward tumult, she offered a shy grin. Clumsy soldiers? A brief image of front-line, battle-hardened men and women tumbling into trenches and spraining their ankles hardly seemed right. Slightly embarrassed, and a bit shell-shocked by the culmination of real-time events and fleeting images of dream-Solomon, she reclined in the chair, daintily inspecting her ankle as Solomon wandered off to replace the orders they’d tossed into the air. Pushing her stockinged toes back and forth, she watched the bones move under her skin, feeling a bit nauseated by the thought of sinew and muscle hiding beneath. The ache of a recent sprain made her grimace as she tested the waters. Luckily,

Isolde·Allard : -c

Isolde·Allard : holiday break ought to provide enough time to heal up before she was shipped off to Los Angeles for the next clothing launch for Betsey Johnson (which wouldn’t be a terrible tragedy to miss…she wasn’t a huge fan of their line. But they loved her.) When he returned, she looked up at him with unrelenting charm, features brightening as he approached. Well, there was no hiding -that-. Soon, though, her features realigned to a thoughtful sort of confusion. “Mmm, maybe.” she mused, tapping her chin as she crossed the wounded leg over the other so that the ankle could dangle without pressure in the air. Her own visual presence in magazines and on billboards was soon to come, but she was certain that a Battlefield medic had little interest in fashion. She let her elbow rest on the table, chin propped in her palm as she watched his face. “You know, I was going to say the same thing, though.” she admitted, without expostulating on exactly -how-. When they were presented with their tea (and-c

Isolde·Allard : food…so much food.) she smiled kindly and leaned in to blow on the surface of the tea, drinking in the floral vapors that rose from its surface. “I’m Isolde.” she offered her name without pause, lips framing the name in the exact fashion her great-great-great-etc grandmother’s would have. Even her voice was intensely similar. Genetics had done a one-over on the two of them. ֎