2 Vhalar, 720
After their bubble bath together, Ash had told Zur that he had grown rather tired and traipsed eagerly to the bed room to get some shut eye, leaving Zur alone to continue the studies he wished to improve upon.
The half blood diligently located his journal and a proper writing utensil and placed them on the desk in his living room. He took a seat in a chair and scooted himself closer to the desk so that he could begin writing.
But what would he write? His thoughts had been interrupted (albeit a good interruption) by Ash’s worries. He had repressed his thoughts in order to deal with what mattered then and now that he was solitary again, he had a difficult time retrieving them.
“Stupid brain,” he muttered to himself while grabbing his pipe and lighting it. He brought the mouth piece to his lips and took a generous pull, sucking in the dangerous chemicals and releasing a long exhale of dark grey smoke.
His body buzzed slightly upon exhalation and Zur closed his eyes to relish in the sensation.
He wished he could properly describe the feelings he was experiencing, especially in written form, but words could be so finicky sometimes. They were equivocal, like a double edged sword. Oftentimes he couldn’t explain himself by simply speaking about what it was he was experiencing, so how could writing down his thoughts be any better?
He opted to continue his muse of storytelling instead. He had been on a roll weaving a tale for Ash only moments ago, so why not go from there?
Zur reached for the pencil and placed it delicately in his hand. He opened his journal to the next blank page and began to write.
His hands arced in a many smooth movements as he slowly transferred his thoughts to the paper. He may not be an excellent writer, but he took pride in his ability to write somewhat neatly. If he couldn’t read his past entries, what good was keeping a journal in the first place?
He had finished his first sentence and found himself at a road block. Tapping the end of the pencil against his bottom lip, he thought about what he was going to write next.
A good story almost always had to have an introduction. This was common sense that Zur knew from basic conversations with people. Especially when it came to strangers, you needed to introduce yourself before spewing out tangents or else they would succumb to bewilderment and might even begin to walk away slowly like you were crazy.
His first sentence included the cliché ‘once upon a time’ and, deeming it a worthy approach, he continued to spin a tale about his partner, Ash. Perhaps he should write about tonight but add a little fictional flair.
Zur’s mental cauldron was swirling with various liquids. New inspiration was coming to him left and right as he forwent his decent penmanship and opted to simply get every thought down on the paper as soon as they transpired.
He scribbled a few lines before pausing. What came after an introduction? Was it just the middle? Surly the middle included action and romance, but remained on topic without straying too far from the main plot.
He continued to write about Ash, a young man who was troubled, with notions of a greater life. Wait, pause. No. He amended his last statement by crossing it out with a thick, black streak. Ash longed for his past life as a secret military spy. He had given it up to be with Zur and live a life of love and passion.
Yes, he pondered quietly to himself. This was much better. It added intrigue that would want his readers (had he any) to continue reading his story.
Ash was an ex military spy who was troubled with thoughts of a war he both wished to never be apart of again, but also longed for in similar adventure.
Zur frowned. Did the actual Ash long for adventure? Was Zur not giving enough amusement to fulfill his basic desires? He shook his head and reassured himself that just because his fictional work stated something did not mean it translated factually to the real world.
But he was digressing.
He made several more swooping gestures with his arm, adding a flourish to a common word that had many curves and sharp corners.
But what else about this fantasy Ash? Perhaps he acted upon his longing and sought employment to be something similar of what he had in the past. Perhaps without Zur’s knowledge, thus bringing in a secretive element. There had to be some intriguing elements to the story or else it would quickly become dry and disinterest his nonexistent readers.
So fictional Ash found a job working as a spy for a secret intelligence agency. He roamed the streets, disguised as a pedestrian… wait… Zur noticed that he had made quite the jump from one paragraph to the next without giving much detail as to how and when Ash had acquired his new position.
He had to make it seem real. Perhaps Zur was away on the job when Ash sought for new employment. Maybe the employer was hesitant to give Ash this new job not because he wasn’t qualified but because it was dangerous.
Zur again amended his previous statements, but instead of crossing them out with a thick, black streak, he instead wrote above his prior words with new ones, highlighting the important details that would make the story more realistic.
However, as a result his work became sloppy and the transitions difficult to follow.
The half blood sat back in his chair and contemplated his next choice of action. He needn’t think long before an inkling of inspiration hit him.
Ash comes home as though nothing happened- a lie to his partner!
Zur’s hand was cramping by this point, but he endured it and pushed on.
The next day… that was a decent transition, right? The next day was the day of Ash’s first mission. Zur was away again on the job which left him the perfect opportunity to sneak away and attend this mission.
But again Zur found himself at a loss for how to proceed. Instead of describing in detail how Ash’s mission went, he decided to bullet point some potential ideas.
He filled in an arbitrary bullet point with the graphite of his pencil, using an excessive about of pressure solely because he wished to get on with the rest of the story and the bullet point wasn't filling in now.
Once he had finally succeeded in his task, he arrived at a climax in his story, the point where the most action occurs.
Ash gets injured and flees to the safety of their home, to where Zur is sitting on the porch, a pipe in his mouth, waiting for Ash as though he knew all along what the young man had been up to.
Wait, how did Zur know that Ash had acquired a new job as a spy? Zur mulled this over for a moment. That was something he would have to work on at a later date. For now, he was too enthralled by his own writing to waste time hesitating on the specificities.
Zur continued writing about how Ash explains himself, apologizing for his secrecy, all the while fictional Zur is stitching him up with his master medical experience.
Zur laughed as he wrote this. As a fictional character, he wanted himself to sound impressive. While in the real world he was far from being a doctor, he could dream of being one in his story.
Now that Ash’s wounds were tended to, Zur realized he needed a proper way to end the story. He went back in his memory of the day’s recent events. How had the night ended? A bubble bath and an exchange of good nights.
He translated these ideas onto his paper, again rushing solely because he was extremely excited, and his hand was smarting something awful.
Once he had finished his final thought, he tossed the pencil onto the desk and sat back to admire his work.
He skimmed the first few lines, then found his eyes trailing down to the middle, then to the end. His eyes were strained, his mind tired, hand included. He would have to take a look at his finished product later in order to get a fresh glance and a better judge of where he stood with his story.
For now though, he reached for his pipe, lit it again (as he had neglected it for quite sometime and therefore it had burnt itself out), and took a long puff. A swirling cloud wafted above his head for several trills before dissipating into the air. And just like the smoke, his muse vanished too.
He rubbed his weary eyes and got up from his seat. He lazily stepped outside, careful to close the door so it wouldn’t make a sound. He didn’t want to wake Ash at this ungodsly hour.
The stars were just as they had been when he had been out earlier in the night. They shone brightly and twinkled every now and then like they were winking at him.
Did they know some inside joke that he wasn’t aware of?
How queer! To personify stars! He would have to add that to his list of ideas to write about.
He took a seat on the top step of the porch and continued to gaze into the abyss of the night sky. He wondered about what all the stars had seen. He wondered if they could tell infinite stories, had they the ability to.
He blew out another thin wisp of smoke before setting his pipe to the side. He couldn’t wait to tell Ash of his latest story. He hoped he would appreciate it. It just might take his mind off the problems he faced in reality.
Zur took one more glance up at the stars before picking up his pipe and heading back inside for the night.
Sleep was calling his name.
