Luca Milda (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
milquetoasthero) wrote2012-06-24 06:24 am
milquetoasthero) wrote2012-06-24 06:24 am
Entry tags:
05 | text
[He wakes up the morning of the 24th feeling sick; despite the fact he's staying on the second floor of Celadon's Breeding Center, he doesn't go down for work. He curls up in his blankets instead and wonders, if he was home, would he be celebrating his headcanon'd birthday with everyone? He's sixteen now, and while living another year seems like a good excuse as any to celebrate, he wants to go home.
He misses the smell of his mother's cheese soup; he misses the gruff way his father talked to him. He misses Iria and Spada's creepy laughs and wonders if they'd laugh at him now -- probably, but without any ill-will. He misses Hermana's words of wisdom (the way she talked, too, all relaxed and warm). He misses Ange's hugs and how she reminded him of his mother, although less coddling and more refined, more faithful, than any woman he had met. He misses Ricardo and how he was like a gruffer version of his father, more war-worn and with rougher hands than the merchant ones he had felt on his shoulder all his life.
He hadn't celebrated his birthday on their journey yet - although, it was probably getting close to that point - and he curls his fingers into his blanket, wishing they were here to celebrate it with him now.]
[Not much later, he makes a text and goes downstairs to spend time with the center's eggs they usually sell, not hold in their laps and sigh over. It still isn't the paperwork job he was hired for, but at least he isn't in bed anymore.]
How do you spend your birthday, normally?
[ooc: anyone at celadon's breeding center, feel free to action tag instead of text.]
He misses the smell of his mother's cheese soup; he misses the gruff way his father talked to him. He misses Iria and Spada's creepy laughs and wonders if they'd laugh at him now -- probably, but without any ill-will. He misses Hermana's words of wisdom (the way she talked, too, all relaxed and warm). He misses Ange's hugs and how she reminded him of his mother, although less coddling and more refined, more faithful, than any woman he had met. He misses Ricardo and how he was like a gruffer version of his father, more war-worn and with rougher hands than the merchant ones he had felt on his shoulder all his life.
He hadn't celebrated his birthday on their journey yet - although, it was probably getting close to that point - and he curls his fingers into his blanket, wishing they were here to celebrate it with him now.]
[Not much later, he makes a text and goes downstairs to spend time with the center's eggs they usually sell, not hold in their laps and sigh over. It still isn't the paperwork job he was hired for, but at least he isn't in bed anymore.]
How do you spend your birthday, normally?
[ooc: anyone at celadon's breeding center, feel free to action tag instead of text.]