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Calais Lochley

"This might be my next great adventure. Even if it's not? The place is colorful, and that's enough for me."

0 · 210 views · located in Wing City Plaza

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by AiteCipher

Description

Calais Lochley
"To live life in a world of light and shifting colors— it's chilling prospect, but it's a joy, isn't it?"

Image

Name
Calais Lochley

Age
He doesn't have birth records, but he's pretty sure he's a bit older than twenty.

Gender
Male

Role
Pyrotechnician and mechanic.

Blood Type
B-

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Eye Color
Green

Hair Color
Rusty brown

Style of Dress
Casual and completely random— usually found in whatever fits, which usually means thirdhand, ill-fitting shirts and pants that are always too long. He's never without his black overcoat, though it's worn beyond belief. Whatever the state of his overall dress, he does always make sure to wear nice boots, even if he does have to change them all too often due to the nature of his work. He's long past caring about his clothes, as they're often burned within months.

Weight
135lbs

Height
Just under 5'9''

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Likes
+ Color +
+ Fire +
+ Bright lights +
+ People who know how to put on a show +
+ Costumes +
+ Intricacy +
+ Finding pattern in disorder +
+ Astronomy +
+ Chemistry +
+ Cherries +

Dislikes
- Being told, 'no' -
- People who can't be subtle -
- Stutters -
- People who are picky about order -
- Having to dress up -
- Being forced to do anything -
- Getting woken up -
- Salt -
- Intimate conversation -
- The dark -

Habits
Calais is always tinkering with something, never without a handful of gears, a tin soldier, and his trusty toolkit somewhere on him. His hands always need something to do, and he's liable to just start touching people if he can't mess with something in the environment. He gets antsy easily and can't sit still even though he hardly seems energetic— rather, he comes off as just the opposite, often being found sleeping in dangerous places at what are arguably the worst times imaginable. If he isn't sleeping or taking things apart, he's setting things on fire or blowing them up. Granted, this is his job, so it's hard to tell him to stop.

Calais is also a talented artist, and, if he feels as though he's close enough to someone, he'll ask the person to model for him, as he's always looking for ways to improve his skills. He never lets anyone see his drawings and hides them among his belongings (meaning that they're well-impossible to find).

Crush
None, yet. He's not really the most forward of guys.

Personality
While Calais is certainly full of life, he's prone to keep his energy to himself and his toys, wandering his way around the carnival day and night when he isn't sleeping to fix, pick apart, or burn whatever he can get his hands on. Calais is never not busy, but he can fill his busy days with more business if he feels as though he doesn't have enough. Calais is bored easily and liable to get into trouble, but reprimand has never stopped him from doing what he wants. In his self-separation from his coworkers, he's obstinate and can't stand being told what to do. He has a bit of an inferiority complex and never feels as though he's proven himself.

Having always been the strange child in search of trouble, Calais is unfazed by most anything: blades, explosions, staggering heights, and the like. He's a very agile person and can slip through the background unnoticed, a skill honed to a fine point over years of serving as a stagehand for the circus. He has no problem with talking to other people, but he doesn't generally approach them unless he needs something for one of his 'jobs.' He's actually quite the conversationalist and enjoys the company of others.

Calais is ever-curious, with what would have been a striking scientific mind had he ever been educated. Being illiterate, his inquisitive mind is confined to the messy confines of his brain. He can never seem to recall things when he wants to and is always plagued by the strangest memories when he least expects them. As such, he's not much of a deep sleeper, being prone to strange strange dreams ranging to haunting memories to outright nightmares. Sleep is a valuable commodity, and his fuse is short if he's woken up when he doesn't plan on doing so.

Neatness is not something Calais values. He finds it oppressive and dull, and it shows in the way he handles himself. His life is an ironically routine cycle of disarray and collapse following the path of the circus. His trunks are arranged in a pattern decipherable only to him. With his love for colors, bits of paper and any number of dyed, painted, and scrawled-on trinkets are scattered about anywhere he frequents— he's a bit of a pack rat, really, hating to let even the strangest of things go if he thinks it's pretty enough. Calais actually has quite the keen aesthetic eye even if he doesn't much care for order.

Calais occupies his time with stage mechanics ranging from pyrotechnics, using oil and gunpowder and heavy paper, to gel lighting to to actual mechanical work. Despite his lack of a formal education, he has a knack for patterns and systems, being a very tactile and a very kinetic person. He has no trouble grasping abstract concepts if he can tie them into a system, but anything arbitrary will exit his mind within minutes. Schedules he classifies as such, so one should never expect Calais to ever pay any mind to what time of the middle of the night it is if he's called for.

It's important to note that Calais has a massive fear of the dark, feeding a deeper fear of the unknown. He doesn't like it when people keep secrets from him and tends to ask questions to the point those who talk to him regularly might think him nosy. Those people, however, are few, and he mostly comes across as a distant, spacey yet moderately bright individual who doesn't own a comb. He's fascinated by colors and owns a good many prisms, though he can't really ever find one when he wants one. He always wears a well-cut glass crystal around his neck, which he probably nicked from a store on his many trips into town for chemicals and supplies.

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Skills
Pyrotechnics/Tactile chemistry
Mechanics
Knows the circus inside and out
Problem-solving

Family
Frances Lochley (Father)
Helen Lochley (Mother)
Alexander Lochley (Uncle) (deceased - suicide)
Colette Surléon (Birth mother - estranged)
James Lochley (Half-brother)
Richard Lochley (Half-brother)
Michael Lochley (Half-brother)
Annabelle Lochley (Half-sister) (deceased - fever)
Francesca Lochley (Half-sister)

History
Calais was a bastard child taken in by his father at the behest of his kind-hearted uncle after the affair between his father and his birth mother blew up through his small farming town. Though he was too young to understand it as it happened, the demons of his father's past haunted him well into his formative years. The woman he called 'Ma' neither looked like him nor treated him properly, and he'd learned to take a verbal beating before he could speak. He never attended school, always working on the farm and helping his uncle maintain the locals' machinery while he was at it.

As neither parent much cared for the child that 'wasn't really theirs,' Calais was practically adopted by his uncle, a man who had always strived to leave town for the city but could never seem to put together the money to do so. Alexander Lochley was an inquisitive man who taught Calais to never stop looking for his next great adventure and to always strive beyond what he was told he amounted to. Even as his uncle fell into depression and eventually drank himself to a tearful death, he always supported the boy, having never had a family of his own to care for.

Shaken by his uncle's death, Calais was unsure what to do with himself afterwards and ended up running off to the circus after a fight with his father devolved into something worse. Calais was never built to take a beating, always having been the somewhat underfed runt of the bunch, and, at thirteen, arrived as a bloody rag in one of the back tents. He's spent the rest of his time traveling with the circus, never once looking back— after all, each day holds the possibility of holding his next great adventure, so who is he to relinquish that chance?

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Gallery


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So begins...

Calais Lochley's Story

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Character Portrait: Calais Lochley Character Portrait: Rune Athol
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Calais Lochley

Though he hardly considered himself anything of the sort, Calais was a connoisseur of colors. Reds, blues, greens, yellows— his shirt, worn thin and riddled with holes seared by countless sparking mishaps, was streaked with almost every pigment imaginable. He'd bought it when it was at least the color of minute-brewed tea, but now the fabric was a veritable color of rainbows. With a worn blazer thrown on top, Calais was slightly dressed up as compared to usual, but he was still a colorful mess.

Fingering the pendant around his neck, Calais watched as his fireworks sailed into the night sky. Iron, copper, and magnesium oxides all took to the air, scattering splotches of color against a blackness that seemed to consume them. Out here, in the city, the night sky was lighter, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that the velvet expanse was peering into his soul through the million of pinpricks that dotted its surface and shined through the curtain of clouds above. He fidgeted a bit, seeming to shrink into himself at the thought.

That was when the first raindrops came, and with them, utter disappointment. Incredulous, Calais stared back up at the sky again. As he'd stood watching the fireworks, it had been clouds, not gunsmoke, that had gathered in the sky. Within minutes, the drizzle he'd felt setting up had turned into a torrential downpour.

The weather sure was fickle here, wasn't it?

Now ducking down to keep the water out of his face, he paused only to catch the ringmaster's nod as he moved to cut the fireworks' fuse. Another minute passed, and Calais had thrown a tarp over what remained in an attempt to save what was left of the show for a better night. The acrobats had cleared the streets, the stiltwalkers had dismounted and now ran inside to save themselves from the downpour. Again clutching his pendant— this time, almost absently— he followed suit and ducked into a nearby café, sitting down his soaking form at the first table available and shedding the now-sodden jacket to reveal the runny rainbow that had become his shirt.

He didn't seem to care that he was dripping all over the floor.

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#, as written by Castle
Rune walked through the now empty Plaza, his coat collar up, and a thin smile spread across his lips. He had been leaning up against a brick wall for sometime, watching the show of fireworks and the circus people walk by. He never was much for large shows, but that didn't mean he hadn't been entertained. Shoving his hands in his pockets, the dark haired and pale skinned man looked for someplace to settle for a while, the rain beginning to soak into his coat and weigh down his jet black hair. He spotted a rather nice looking café. His thin smile faded to a more neutral look as he walked in through the door. He headed straight for the counter and ordered a cup of tea, tipping the barista and finding a nice seat by the window where he sat alone, the awfully tall man occasionally sipping his tea.

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Calais Lochley

Calais left his soggy jacket draped over the back of a chair by the window, then stood to order something from from the bar at the back of the room. His footsteps were quick, quiet, agile, his boots well-fitted to his feet even though his shirt hung loose off his frame as though it was trying to escape his body. He shambled up to the barista and stood for a moment in silence, considering the menu and searching his pocket for change. He hated coffee, and he was too cheap to buy tea, so instead he opted for a cherry concoction that sounded not unlike a smoothie. Calais was hesitant in letting the handful of coins from his fingers, as any man of the street life would be, and he left the poor woman nothing for her service simply because that was the last of his money. He sidled away and sat back down in the one dry seat at his table.

As he waited for his drink, Calais tapped his long fingers idly on the surface of the table as though he was waiting for something to happen. His left hand played with the prism around his neck— now completely exposed, as the top few buttonholes on his shirt lacked buttons— and his right lay outstretched on the table. He needed something to do.

Glancing out the window, Calais caught sight of the tarp covering his fireworks. They had been left just outside the building, and if he reached far enough, he could reach them through the window. He waited for a minute for the barista to call his drink, then, with the pink, icy sweet still in hand, he wandered over to the man in front of the windowlatch and gently tapped on his shoulder.

"Excuse me," he whispered— though he wasn't exactly sure why he was whispering, as there wasn't much anyone else in the café, "I need to open the window for a moment."

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#, as written by Castle
Rune exhales lightly right before he felt the new presence beside him, he had been lost in thought about his apartment, he had recently moved into a very retro building, he wasn't all for color, but he had to admit, he found the apartments quite stunning. He had always dressed like this, all in black and somewhat classy, his dark hair to match which always seemed naturally straight, he bareky had to run a comb through it.

Rune seemed surprised, only slightly of course, though it had been a while since he had really talked to a real person. Setting his tea back down he looked up at the young man that stood beside him. "Of course," he says with a small nod, standing up and exiting the seat to allow the colorful brunette to get behind him. He just decided to take the seat across from the one by the window, pushing his tea back in front of him.

He wondered what the young man would want with a window on such a rainy and cold night. So he just watched, pressing the mug edge back up to his lips to take a sip, the hot water stinging lightly, and the bitter taste of the unsweatened chamomile tea washing over his mouth,

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#, as written by Castle
Rune exhales lightly right before he felt the new presence beside him, he had been lost in thought about his apartment, he had recently moved into a very retro building, he wasn't all for color, but he had to admit, he found the apartments quite stunning. He had always dressed like this, all in black and somewhat classy, his dark hair to match which always seemed naturally straight, he bareky had to run a comb through it.

Rune seemed surprised, only slightly of course, though it had been a while since he had really talked to a real person. Setting his tea back down he looked up at the young man that stood beside him. "Of course," he says with a small nod, standing up and exiting the seat to allow the colorful brunette to get behind him. He just decided to take the seat across from the one by the window, pushing his tea back in front of him.

He wondered what the young man would want with a window on such a rainy and cold night. So he just watched, pressing the mug edge back up to his lips to take a sip, the hot water stinging lightly, and the bitter taste of the unsweatened chamomile tea washing over his mouth,

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Thankfully, the dark-haired man obliged. Somewhat anxious with nothing to do, Calais was practically waiting on his tiptoes to reach the window. As he did, he set his drink down on the floor, undid the latch, and leaned out in an attempt to reach the fireworks.

What he hadn't factored into the equation was his height. Calais was a bit shorter than average, and though he could remove the tarp from the fireworks, just leaning out the window wasn't going to be enough to snag one and draw it in. He preferred the protection the building afforded from the downpour; even leaning out a window was more comfortable than standing around outside in the rain. In an attempt to avoid getting even wetter, Calais propped himself up on the sill with his hands like a trapeze artist and leaned forward even more. He flagged his foot out, practically falling out the window in his effort to reach the firework. It wasn't working. At last, Calais stood up straight, huffed silently to himself, and circled around out the building.

He returned in a moment with a single firework, then set it down on the table and closed the window. He picked up his drink and nodded to the taller man. "Sorry about that. Hope I didn't get you too wet." He sat down in his seat again only to find that, as the man had moved, he couldn't pull the chair out as far as he would have like. As it was either that or the wet seat, he just squeezed in, doing his best not to shove the other man's chair aside as he did.

He sipped his cherry smoothie, chilled as the air around him, then set to work emptying the firework of its contents onto a napkin on the table.

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#, as written by Castle
While watching all that, Rune was very surprised, certainly and energetic young man. Perhaps he shouldn't think young, since the boy seemed roughly his own age, but it was always hard to tell because of Rune's own height. "I suppose no harm done," he says with a dry chuckle, sipping his tea again as he watched what the copper brown haired man was doing.

He sat back in his chair and relaxed his shoulders, occasionally glancing over to where the boy sat, he looked at him up and down, he seemed formal but not entirely, really quite colorful, though Rune was not in to that sort of thing. The man looked as though he hadn't bought new cloths in ages. Rune observed the little object he seemed to be dissecting. Was that a firework? He definitely look like he knew what he was doing.

Rune sighs running his pale hand through his dark hair to remove it from his face. Retrieving his hand it was damp, his hair certainly must have soaked up a lot of water while out in the rain.

He wondered if he should address the man again, barely said two words to him, he felt as though he should talk in some way, but he could not bring himself to do it, besides, the boy seemed busy anyway, probably didn't want any distractions.

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Calais's long fingers served him well in dissecting the firework, tapered points moving quickly beneath the cardboard and the wax paper that held the gunpowder-and-metal concoction together. He poured the powder from its container and did his best to separate the magnesium and the sodium powders from the black powder, but even Calais, with all his years of experience, couldn't separate the tiny granules from the... well, the other tiny granules on the napkin. He did hate sodium being where it wasn't supposed to be— it burned so brightly, cutting off all the other colors with its yellow-gold sparks.

Carefully, Calais folded the piece of wax paper he'd taken from the cannibalized firework and folded it in half to make a rough funnel. Next, cut a piece of the cardboard with a pocketknife he drew from his pants pocket and formed it into a cylinder. Reaching into the sachet at his waist, he found masking tape and tore off a bit to hold the tiny container together. The entire construction was no bigger than his pinky finger in circumference. He cut a piece of the fuse, trailed it in, then began separating out gunpowder. Now, all he needed was a mixture to put inside the miniature firework.

Calais emptied his sachet onto the table. He carried elements to create everything from red to yellow to green to white, but for the life of him, he couldn't decide which. On impulse, he turned to the man behind him.

"What's your favorite color?" he asked with a grin.

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#, as written by Castle
Rune looked up from the table, looking back towards Calais who seemed to be talking to him. Rune glanced around before responding only to realize they were practically the only two in the café. "Uhm, yellow... I suppose," he replies in his deeper voice. He gaze traveled until he met eyes with the other man, his expression puzzled but neutral.

"What have you got there?" He asks, his eyes falling down to the object in front of Calais. He was generally sure of what the thing was, but he wanted to keep the interaction going, never really getting to talk to anyone anymore. He still held the mug of tea between his black gloved hands, tapping it lightly out of habit.

Rune bit his lip softly, tilting his head at Calais, the edge of his thin but wide dark scarf tickling the tip of his angular pointy chin. The pale faced man met eyes with the colorful boy again, almost willing him to keep up the conversation.

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"Uhm, yellow... I suppose," the man replied. After a beat, they met eyes, and Calais smiled up at him. "What have you got there?"

Glancing down, Calais could only conclude he was talking about the firework. Sure that the man knew it was a firework— who didn't know what a firework looked like, these days?— he tried to figure out how to describe it beyond its simplest classification. Really, all it was a plain firework, if not a tiny one. How boring, Calais thought. He snatched the straw from his drink and cleaned it off with a napkin before sliding the empty cartridge onto the straw. The pale man's gaze was puzzled, but the expression seemed to lean neither to the positive nor to the negative side, so Calais was hardly concerned.

"Well, see, it used to just be a regular firework," Calais gestured to the tiny cartridge in his hand, now snugly fitted onto the straw, "But now it's a rocket. A yellow rocket," he added, glad that the man had chosen yellow. "Which is a good thing. There used to be sodium in this firework, which burns a bright gold. I couldn't get it all out. If you'd, say, picked green, it might've been tougher, but yellow's almost the perfect choice."

Calais reached for a tiny container of cryolite coloring on the table and tipped it into the piece of cardboard, sprinkling a few granules into the container before screwing the cap back on and depositing it back in the sachet. "Yellow's such a happy color. Don't you think it'll look nice against the sky when it's all gray?" He fumbled with his prism absently for a second, then raised his green eyes to meet those of the man next to him. He'd turned his legs out so he wasn't stretching his neck so far to talk. Rune was biting his lip— Calais wasn't sure what it meant. Was he nervous? Annoyed? But why would he be either of those things? Calais tried not to make people feel either of those things.

"Where I grew up, yellow was one of the hardest things to get just because we didn't produce it nearby, but out here it's so ridiculously cheap I couldn't help buying an entire barrel of the stuff. It's ridiculous how things change the farther you get from home, you know?"

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#, as written by Castle
"Yes, that is true," Rune looked to the floor, which had a lovely tile pattern of checkers. He tended to like patterns, but mostly on his own clothing, scarfs and the like. He was not sure if his liking for clothing was good or bad, he just like to make nice impressions, even if his choices were always in the darker range.

He heard the tone in Calais' voice, he couldn't help but feel a little idiotic for going out of his way to talk to someone he had never even met, he wasn't even doing a good job about it. The pale man released his jaw's grip on his bottom lip. It was yet another habit he seriously needed to cut out, as his lips were naturally soft, whenever he bit them it would tear the skin making his lips not as smooth as they usually were.

Thinking about his lips would do him no good of course, actually rather strange, he was just glad no one could read his thoughts.

Rune was not nervous nor annoyed, well maybe a little nervous, but not for any particular reason. He shifts his position from where he sat just so he no longer had to crane his neck around at the other boy.

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#, as written by Castle
"Yes, that is true," Rune looked to the floor, which had a lovely tile pattern of checkers. He tended to like patterns, but mostly on his own clothing, scarfs and the like. He was not sure if his liking for clothing was good or bad, he just like to make nice impressions, even if his choices were always in the darker range.

He heard the tone in Calais' voice, he couldn't help but feel a little idiotic for going out of his way to talk to someone he had never even met, he wasn't even doing a good job about it. The pale man released his jaw's grip on his bottom lip. It was yet another habit he seriously needed to cut out, as his lips were naturally soft, whenever he bit them it would tear the skin making his lips not as smooth as they usually were.

Thinking about his lips would do him no good of course, actually rather strange, he was just glad no one could read his thoughts.

Rune was not nervous nor annoyed, well maybe a little nervous, but not for any particular reason. He shifts his position from where he sat just so he no longer had to crane his neck around at the other boy.

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As he continued to pack the firework, Calais carried on with his rather one-sided conversation. On looking up, he realized that Rune had released his deathgrip on his lower lip. Was that a good sign? He hadn't been sure if the previous had meant negatively or not, so he couldn't quite judge this reaction, either. While Calais was a quick learner and though he thoroughly enjoyed the pursuit of information, he'd never much been good with body language. He supposed he'd always been too busy for it.

"See, I'm from the countryside. My family ran a farm for pigments— dyes— so I guess colors are in my blood." Calais continued chattering as he tipped the last of the black powder in. "I've never much gotten to see the city, but from what I've gotten to see traveling around, it's so different here. Everything anyone could ever desire's right there on a shelf in an apothecary or in a general store. Isn't it just amazing?" There was something innocent, childlike to his fascination with city ways. Calais had never traveled much into town even as a child, and growing up, they'd grown most of their own food alongside the flowers and herbs used for pigment and dye. It was in his ramblings that a soft, slight accent came out at the very edges of his speech.

Calais stuck his last clean finger in his mouth to gather a bit of saliva to pack down the powder, then fashioned a small cap for the firework. It was done.

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#, as written by Castle
"I suppose it is," Rune replied softly, he would talk about himself, but it felt unnatural. It almost felt forbidden. Anyways, it'd be rude to tip the subject on himself. He bit onto his lip again subconsciously, he watched the man work until the little object seemed done. The rocket thingy.

"I grew up in the city, it isn't that big of a difference for me.." He states in a simple fashion, avoiding to much detail.

"Mind if I join you?" He asks hesitantly, it began to feel odd talking to him from a distance away.

He intertwined his gloved fingers in his lap, looking back down at the lovely checkered tile that covered the floor. He did feel awfully awkward asking this strange man something like that, he hated feeling awkward. He needed to regain his confidence so he sat up straight and crossed his legs.

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"The city, eh? Then I guess you're used to all this. Tell me one thing: how do you city folk sleep at night? It's so noisy here, you'd think no one ever got any sleep." Calais had stopped noticing Rune's physical cues, and if he was acting awkwardly, Calais didn't seem to see. He simply affixed the cap and looked up with a soft smile. "And sure, follow me. We'll go under the awning and set it off. I don't think the owners would much appreciate us launching fireworks inside their fine establishment," he added with a laugh.

Calais stood up, leaving the sachet of fireworks supplies on the table alongside his jacket. He motioned for Rune to follow. As he headed for the door, he sought out a lighter in his back pocket and flicked it on to test it. It still worked, though it had gotten soaked as he'd thrown the tarp over the rest of his fireworks in the rain. It was no matter. He waited for Rune, then proffered the lighter. "Care to do the honors?" He flicked it on and held it steady with his left hand while balancing the makeshift rocket in his right.

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#, as written by Castle
Rune chuckled with his thin smile after he heard the small joke, sliding his hands into his coat pockets before standing up to follow Rune out. It was as if they had passed through another world, leaving the warmth of the café behind and into the cold damp night. He felt as though he was following a child, being at least a head over Calais, but is seemed that way with everybody these days.

Not even Rune was entirely sure how he got this tall, being much taller than both his parents were. His family was never really known for being very tall people, but that was not of importance right now.

He looked at Calais who seemed to offer him the lighter. He was never had any use for lighters, never having smoked or really kept one on him, but he still knew how they worked, of course. He took the lighter, using his thumb pad to hold down the tiny lever and keep the flame coming as he slid the lighter out of the Calais' hand. "Why not," he replies with a smile.

"My name is Rune, by the way," he adds as sort of an after thought, waiting until the rocket was in a proper position before even bringing the lighter close.

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Character Portrait: Calais Lochley Character Portrait: Rune Athol
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Calais waited with a childlike excitement as Rune drew the lighter closer. He seemed experienced enough using one— a surprise, as Calais had needed to show all too many people how to use the damn thing. In a way, he was somewhat glad; most people didn't seem to like having their hands held and guided over the lighter, but he found it no fun if they didn't light the rocket themselves. Thankfully, Rune caused neither of the two any discomfort that Calais could pick up on. That said, it wasn't saying much. Calais knew he wasn't the most emotionally sensitive of people.

Calais moved the rocket into position, pointing its tip out toward the rain. It wasn't meant to spread far or fly high, so even the downpour was of little consequence to his endeavor. The firework was one of the meteoric sort— fast to fly, fast to explode, fast to burn, and bright as the eternal fires of Hell. Suddenly, he was glad for the sodium and the magnesium littering the inside of the rocket.

"My name is Rune, by the way," said Rune as he paused to let Calais position the rocket. Calais remained silent for a second as he mentally traced its trajectory.

When all was well, Calais replied, "Pleased to meet you, Rune. Calais Lochley, at your service." After a life worked in the shadows of brilliant performers, it was second nature to introduce himself like a servant. There was nothing spiteful or even joking about it— Calais was completely serious, right down to the humble smile on his face. He added, "And light it whenever you're ready. I can't wait to see the colors. It should certainly brighten up this day."

As if making a point, the thoroughly-soaked and jacketless Calais shivered a bit, and he had to reposition his rocket.

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Character Portrait: Calais Lochley Character Portrait: Rune Athol
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#, as written by Castle
Rune had his free hand cupped over the lighter to make sure it stayed lit. "And a pleasure to meet you as well, Calais Locley," Rune added, bringing the lighter closer to the wick of the rocket. He paused for a moment before removing his hand to take a look at the raining sky. Once he moved his hand away he put the lighter up to the string and waited for the rocket to take off.

Rune let his thumb off the button on the lighter, holding it for a moment as the rocket bursted into the sky like an exploding star. It was rather marvelous, the yellow against the dark grey sky.

Rune slid his left hand into his coat pocket, while his right offered the lighter back to Calais. The lighter rested in the palm of the black thin leather glove. Though the lighter was presented, Rune's focus was on the sky which bloomed with great divine color. It was truly a beautiful thing to see. The corner of Rune's lip curled into a small smile as he watched.