Post by Asher Branwen on Mar 21, 2020 2:12:52 GMT
Brittle petals broke apart beneath the careful touch of the winged noble who let loose a frustrated breath at the state of decay overtaking the one plant he'd been trying so desperately to convince to come back to life, but it was useless. If some had a green thumb, Asher's was black. Every plant he touched seemed to wither away and it was driving him up a wall. All he wanted was to get this Clematis to grow and it was now as fragile as rice paper to the very touch. Perhaps it was time to call it quits on the endeavor. He'd hoped a hobby might clear his mind of things, but it seemed a different hobby might be called for seeing as Asher would not be making headway in the gardening community anytime too soon.
The shirt hanging from his person seemed several sizes too large for the thin ghost of a man, the slits his wings emerged through appearing to be the only thing stopping the loose material from abandoning his person altogether, long fingers slicking back his raven colored hair that hung asymmetrically around the dull look he currently sported.
He supposed he could be thankful for the small blessings in this world. Some form of company or another had the estate in a tizzy. Help rushed about as if they were fit to welcome a King of some sorts, not that Asher really cared. He'd seen the same routine rolled out time after time.
"Entertaining".
They called it. But truthfully the only entertaining thing about it was watching the panic ensue when the mischievous young Branwen saw fit to interfere with readying plans.
He could still hear the maid frantically searching for the oh-so-expensive bottle of wine with the fancy French name emblazoned upon the bottle.
Much akin to the one Asher currently held in his hand, tilting it back to draw a long taste from it contents.
What the fuss was about, he didn't understand. As far as he could tell, he'd certainly had better.
Perchance his venture might've been better served had he just waltzed off with the roasted duck currently sitting atop the dinning table.
Now that would cause a reckoning to behold.
Ever the dear and innocent Blackbird that he was, Asher let loose a soft whistle, sliding across the tiled floor of the greenhouse in a rhythmic motion of a man seen waltzing with an invisible partner, those wings of his opening ever so slightly to form a circle around his person that spun when he did, letting the momentum carry the feathers back like a pirouette performed by a harbinger of death. An omen Crows and Ravens were often regarded as, though Ash had always felt the superstition to be rather befitting of his person.
If the chaos of the day's preparation offered the young man anything at all it was a promise of solitude and peace he was always far too happy to accept the gift of. A reclusive creature by nature who had no intentions of exchanging pleasantries with yet another Noble family from another house with some pompous names and titles adorning the picture.
Such tiresome affairs.
How his family did not find the usual droll conversations of business and small talk to be so utterly madness inducing, Asher would never understand, but then, that only ranked as a few among many things he could not comprehend when it came to his own family.
Their malice and hatred, for one. The entire estate seemed positioned beneath clouds more grey than even his own eyes were. Always so moody and ominous.
If the manor had a face it was contorted into a look of unamusment for all it days.
The stained glass that surrounded him cast strange colors and fractured light over his form as he twisted through the thin walkways placed between the rows of plants, careful to not touch anymore, even with the bristling feathers of the appendages jutting free from his shoulder blades, lest he infect another innocent greenling with his apparent curse of death in regards to his leafy friends he'd only ever be able to appreciate from a safe distance-- from him.
Evidently in the community of shrubbery the idea of a Raven bringing about ill-will was all too apt.
The shirt hanging from his person seemed several sizes too large for the thin ghost of a man, the slits his wings emerged through appearing to be the only thing stopping the loose material from abandoning his person altogether, long fingers slicking back his raven colored hair that hung asymmetrically around the dull look he currently sported.
He supposed he could be thankful for the small blessings in this world. Some form of company or another had the estate in a tizzy. Help rushed about as if they were fit to welcome a King of some sorts, not that Asher really cared. He'd seen the same routine rolled out time after time.
"Entertaining".
They called it. But truthfully the only entertaining thing about it was watching the panic ensue when the mischievous young Branwen saw fit to interfere with readying plans.
He could still hear the maid frantically searching for the oh-so-expensive bottle of wine with the fancy French name emblazoned upon the bottle.
Much akin to the one Asher currently held in his hand, tilting it back to draw a long taste from it contents.
What the fuss was about, he didn't understand. As far as he could tell, he'd certainly had better.
Perchance his venture might've been better served had he just waltzed off with the roasted duck currently sitting atop the dinning table.
Now that would cause a reckoning to behold.
Ever the dear and innocent Blackbird that he was, Asher let loose a soft whistle, sliding across the tiled floor of the greenhouse in a rhythmic motion of a man seen waltzing with an invisible partner, those wings of his opening ever so slightly to form a circle around his person that spun when he did, letting the momentum carry the feathers back like a pirouette performed by a harbinger of death. An omen Crows and Ravens were often regarded as, though Ash had always felt the superstition to be rather befitting of his person.
If the chaos of the day's preparation offered the young man anything at all it was a promise of solitude and peace he was always far too happy to accept the gift of. A reclusive creature by nature who had no intentions of exchanging pleasantries with yet another Noble family from another house with some pompous names and titles adorning the picture.
Such tiresome affairs.
How his family did not find the usual droll conversations of business and small talk to be so utterly madness inducing, Asher would never understand, but then, that only ranked as a few among many things he could not comprehend when it came to his own family.
Their malice and hatred, for one. The entire estate seemed positioned beneath clouds more grey than even his own eyes were. Always so moody and ominous.
If the manor had a face it was contorted into a look of unamusment for all it days.
The stained glass that surrounded him cast strange colors and fractured light over his form as he twisted through the thin walkways placed between the rows of plants, careful to not touch anymore, even with the bristling feathers of the appendages jutting free from his shoulder blades, lest he infect another innocent greenling with his apparent curse of death in regards to his leafy friends he'd only ever be able to appreciate from a safe distance-- from him.
Evidently in the community of shrubbery the idea of a Raven bringing about ill-will was all too apt.
