Information

Paislee_697 has a minion!

Corinne the Wintersong

Paislee_697
Legacy Name: Paislee_697

The

Glacier Antlephore
Owner: panthera

Age: 17 years, 11 months, 2 days

Born: April 16th, 2008

Adopted: 17 years, 11 months, 2 days ago (Legacy)

Adopted: April 16th, 2008 (Legacy)

Nominate Pet for Spotlight

Statistics

Level: 13
Strength: 16
Defense: 15
Speed: 14
Health: 13
HP: 13/13
Intelligence: 50
Books Read: 50
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Garbage Collector

The string of golden bells shook and sang as the door opened, causing the nervous Antlephore to pause, listening. His ear twitched.

As the final bell chimed, it began to ring in his left ear, fading to the right ear and coming to rest as a feeling of compression in the back of his head, which he lowered as he approached the counter. He could feel the eyes of the two pretty - but now painfully quiet - Demis watching him as he passed, causing him to cough. He blushes when they continue to talk behind their hands, eyes flickering from him back to one another, then back to him. Hands shaking, he gives Jade an exact amount of points, counted previously in the safety of his home. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Coins, coffee. Then leave... Her eyes meet his, locking his gaze for a minute as she hands him the bag of coffee beans. "Have a good --"

He walked so briskly out, he might as well have been running.

"Corinne, I'm back my darling." The small white bird cooed softly as he bent towards her and rubbed her head. Her nest was a mass of comforts: bits of thread and fiber from his favourite scarves, old shreds of blankets and feathers, all lovingly and delicately placed by dear Corinne. Paislee sat the bag down on the counter, removing his scarf and hanging it on the hook next to the others. "I brought the coffee, if you could prepare my cup that'd be lovely..."

He spent most nights alone with his bird, brewing and drinking coffee, talking about the World outside as if it hadn't changed since he was a child. Records were played softly when she slept, filling the silence as he knitted, or drank more coffee. Sleep rarely came to him. When it did, there were no dreams: only a sudden awakening with the feeling that someone was watching him. Books of the metaphysical lay opened and half read, a pair of reading glasses out of the dozens he kept around the house sitting in the split of pages. There was no television, no radio, nor computer. He didn't need more, he had come to conclude. His seclusion was beyond satisfactory, no one needed to understand him within these walls except himself and Corinne. He didn't understand the World, and he feared the people in it. Yes, he would say quietly to himself, peeking through his curtains into the empty night. It is better in here, isn't it?