Acheron, vanishes into the forest..( 10:37pm, October 31 ).
e512d 
Acheron: (*smokes tobacco pipe*)
e512d Acheron: (*dances*)
e512d Acheron: (hmm)
ff915 red: i hope minotaur are accepted in this in, it's been a long time.
37faa Celine Whitewolf: Celine had many sides to her, though few ever saw them all. To most, she was the steadfast guardian, the quiet caretaker who kept the orphanage running through hardship and peace alike. Her hands were steady, her voice calm, her presence enough to bring comfort even in the most uncertain times. Yet behind that calm exterior was a woman who had lived through war, loss, and the slow rebuilding that followed. She knew what the world could take from people, and she made it her purpose to give something back.
Fourteen years ago, near the end of the war, Celine had given birth to two children. Her family knew, of course. There were no secrets there, not really. Her parents had stood by her, and her siblings had surrounded her with quiet support rather than judgment. No one asked about the father, not out of fear, but because they understood that sometimes life does not follow the neat lines people expect. Her father might have guessed more than he let on, but he never spoke of it. He knew she would talk when she was ready, and she never was.
Their father had been little more than a passing moment in her life, a brief spark in a dark time when everything else had felt cold and uncertain. There had been no love, no promise of forever, only the sharp, human need to feel something real in the midst of chaos. When it was over, he returned to his duties, and she never told him of what came after. There was no bitterness in that choice, only understanding. He had sought freedom, and she would not tether him to her world.
Her focus was never on what she lacked, but on what she could give. The children were not a burden; they were her light. They grew up surrounded by family, raised within the safety of the orphanage she had built from the ashes of loss. There, among laughter and shared meals and the daily rhythm of life, they learned about the world from Celine and those around them. She made sure they knew both sides of it: the cruelty that once tore nations apart, and the beauty that remained despite it.
Celine believed that children needed to see both, to understand that light only mattered because of the dark. She taught them kindness but also resilience. When she looked at the orphans she cared for, she did not see brokenness; she saw potential. Every scraped knee, every tear wiped away, every moment of laughter echoing through the halls was proof that life could heal itself if given time and care.
Her own children grew among them, never treated as different or special. That had been her wish. They would learn empathy not from privilege, but from shared experience. They helped tend to the younger ones, shared their toys, and learned responsibility early on. Celine was proud of that. She had wanted them to know that family was not just blood, but the bond formed through compassion and shared purpose.
Sometimes, in the quiet evenings when the sun dipped below the hills, she would sit by the window of the orphanage and watch them all play outside. The sound of laughter, the sight of small hands grasping one another, reminded her why she had chosen this life. There were still moments when her gaze softened with something wistful, but it was not regret. It was gratitude.
Her siblings visited often, bringing supplies, stories, and warmth. Her parents, older now but still sharp of mind, came to see the children and always left smiling. They never asked about the man who had given her those children, because there was nothing left to ask. His part in her life had been small, fleeting, but the love that grew from it was endless.
Celine found peace in the simple routines. The morning songs of the children, the smell of bread baking in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes after supper. She had fought enough wars for a lifetime; now she fought only to preserve laughter and shelter innocence. To her, that was the truest kind of victory.
Her children would grow knowing the truth of the world, but also its beauty. They would learn that cruelty exists, but so does kindness. They would see pain, but they would also understand joy. They would know that love was not weakness, and that compassion could be as strong as any sword.
And when night came and the halls quieted, Celine often walked through the orphanage, checking doors and blankets, listening to the soft rhythm of sleeping breaths. Each sound, each tiny heartbeat, reminded her that what she had built mattered. Not just for herself, but for all those who had nowhere else to go.
She was not haunted by secrets anymore. She was content. Her life was simple, full, and real. The world had been cruel, but she had chosen to answer it with care. And in doing so, she had found something far greater than what she had lost.
The children she had borne, the ones she had raised, and the countless others who had passed through her care would carry that light forward. That was her legacy, not born from war or sorrow, but from quiet love that refused to fade.
37faa Celine Whitewolf: Celine knew the moment the portal was used. The faint tug in the air told her it had opened—and closed—exactly as she intended. A single use, nothing more. She’d forgotten about that old apartment and the mirror she’d left behind, but once he stepped through, she made certain it shattered. No one would be trapped here. No one else would come searching for her. She didn’t want to face any more goodbyes. As she walked through the forest, the ache returned—the familiar sting of memories that weren’t quite hers. They drifted like ghosts at the edges of her thoughts, echoes of pain and loss she had long since tried to bury. Still, she felt them as though they were her own, and each step was a reminder that she carried more than just her own history. Breaking through the tree line, the orphanage came into view, bathed in the soft morning light. A small smile found its way to her lips. For all the weight she bore, there was still hope—still laughter and life within those walls. And for now, that was enough. It was purpose. It was distraction. It was home.
0eccb Giger Van Gogh 
: [He had awoken to the same room which he had been allowed to stay in as of last night-- and for a moment he had pondered if he was dreaming or not. He moved his hands up and he slapped his cheeks with an audible clap-- and then realized that he wasn't dreaming. So he was still in this very world for the time being, and the black masked ninja now was licking the front of his teeth and gums, sorely wishing he had a toothbrush and toothpaste right about now. He figured that such things didn't really exactly existed. Oh well, he can do that later when he would get back home. Giger pushed himself up out of the bed and he planted his two toed feet down onto the wooden plank floor and he pushed himself to his feet. He stepped his way over towards the door of his room, and he moved his right hand out only to grab a hold of the door handle, twisted it and he was met by a young boy. Giger blinked in a moment of surprise, but he nodded his head in acknowledgement. Non-verbal communication seemed to be one way the Turtle communicated, and he did so more often than he used to compared to when he was younger. He stepped on over to where the boy seemed to be leading him for breakfast-- and the black masked ninja looked ahead to where the table happened to be and there was a solid full course breakfast meal. The ninja blinked his eyes at this and he faintly smiled at it. He stepped forward and approached a seat-- moved his hands out to grab a hold of it by the top, pulled it back and then he sat himself down. Giger Van Gogh moved his hands, took a hold of the fork and knife-- and then worked on his meal. Giger would calmly and precisely cut, stick and pop whatever food into his mouth quietly and he even chewed slowly and softly. Moments passed and it wasn't too long until he was finished. When the boy asked to follow him, he stood up from his seat and then pursued after him. He stepped down the stairs which seemingly lead to a basement and he paused in his movements, only to look upon the mirror and he blinked in a moment of curiosity before he looked to the boy, who had said that there was something for him. When the boy had offered the shard of crystal and said it was for a one time use-- he blinked at it and he moved his right hand out, took a hold of it within his grasp, and then moved it down to his utility belt only to stuff it into one of the few pouches he had. Use when ready. Giger nodded his head at that, and he had pondered-- was he ready to go back yet? Would it be a good idea to go out and see WHAT is out here? He didn't know. He looked to the boy, nodded and then stepped on ahead only to then move up the stairs and he found himself back in the main area, and he peered out the window-- he knew he didn't exactly belong but... would it hurt to stay a little longer? Apparently-- it wasn't safe for him. Giger nodded. He didn't belong, he couldn't stay and risk his presence being found out-- with this, he turned around and then stepped down the stairs to the basement and he moved towards the mirror and then moved through the reflective surface. Light enveloped him and soon, he found himself back on Earth-- his universe. Back in the vacant apartment which Celine once stayed. Now-- he had to get back to work in keeping Philadelphia safeguarded. And maybe he could teach Rika a few things]
37faa Celine Whitewolf: The morning light filtered softly through the orphanage windows, painting long golden lines across the floor. The house was quiet—too quiet for how lively it usually became once Celine was present. But this morning, her chair by the hearth sat empty, the faint lingering scent of lavender and smoke the only sign she’d been there at all. Instead, a small boy waited patiently at the edge of the hall. Barefoot, tousled-haired, and bright-eyed, he carried himself with the sense of purpose only a child trained by Celine could have. “Miss Celine said to make sure you eat before you go,” he said with a shy smile, gesturing toward the kitchen. “She already knew you’d be leaving today.” Breakfast was simple but hearty—scrambled eggs, seared meat, and freshly baked bread that still carried the warmth of the oven. The boy sat across from the turtle, quiet but watchful, as though fulfilling his task was both duty and honor. When the meal was finished, he stood and motioned toward the hallway. “This way, sir. She left something for you.” He led him down the winding stairs beneath the orphanage, the air cooler and filled with the faint hum of magic. At the center of the basement stood the mirror—a tall, ornate frame veined with blue crystal, its surface rippling faintly like water touched by moonlight. The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a small shard of crystal, no bigger than a coin. “She said to use this when you were ready,” he explained, holding it up toward the mirror. The moment the shard touched the surface, light spread outward in elegant fractal patterns. The mirror shone brilliantly, humming with restrained power. The boy took a small step back, watching in awe as the crystal disintegrated in his hand, scattering like stardust. The mirror pulsed once—alive—and then stilled. “One time only,” he said quietly, echoing Celine’s instruction. And as the portal shimmered, the boy added, almost hesitantly, “Miss Celine doesn’t say goodbye. She said people who walk different roads always meet again somewhere.” When the mirror was finally used, it crumbled into shards of blue light, fading into nothing—leaving no trace of the magic that once bound it. The orphanage above remained undisturbed, safe, and still under Celine’s unseen watch.
0eccb Giger Van Gogh 
: [He rose up from his seat and then nodded to Celine when they had mentioned that it was getting late-- and he now stepped forward and began walking in a calm and unrushed pace as he followed after her now, and he looked all around with his eyes as he noticed the lights. When he had entered to the room which she had been leading him-- he peeked inside for a moment and blinked. This was a lot nicer than where he usually slept-- which more than often was the abandoned car of a forgotten SEPTA transit trains. He stepped into the room and he approached the bed. He moved his hands out and then pressed down onto the mattress and felt how plush and soft it happened to be, and he slowly then had sat himself down onto it. He moved the sheets up and over himself-- and the black masked ninja now stared ahead of him as he peered to the window and noticed how pitch black it happened to be-- save for the stars and the moon out there, something which he had seldom noticed back home. It was so strange for him to be in a proper bed but he wasn't complaining. It definitely was more comfortable than a bench in a transit car. Giger Van Gogh was already imagining the lights from the skyscrapers and the sounds of the hustle and bustle of city life-- from cars and motorbikes moving down the streets, to people walking and holding conversations with each other. The quiet was... new for him to try and get used to. The city is loud and fast paced, but here everything is slower and silent. Sleep wouldn't come too easy for him. Not without the noise of the city. But he would eventually sleep. Giger closed his eyes and he just let his body shut down on it's own. Darkness soon enveloped his vision and he drifted off into sleep. It was good to be in the company of a friend again]
0eccb Giger Van Gogh : [He moved his hands out and he took a hold of the bowl with reverence and respect-- and he moved his right hand up, holding the bowl within his left but the way he did it almost seemed reminiscent of practice-- as if he had done the Japanese tea ceremony over and over again. He had to, mostly when meeting with the New York Turtles and Master Splinter-- but this was no Japanese tea ceremony but the practice is there. Every move, every gesture is done with a deeper meaning and grace. He moved his right hand up and he stirred the spoon within his right hand, swirling the stew about gently as he looked at it rather intently before he then scooped some of the liquid and the meal in the spoon. He brought it closer to his mouth as he then gently bite down onto the stew-- and he blinked at the taste of it. There was definitely an earthy taste to it. He wasn't used to it-- mostly because the preservation techniques and the cooking methods are different here then they are on Earth. Still, with practiced reverence and genuine gratitude-- he would swallow the stew in his mouth down and he stirred the spoon around with his right hand, brought it to his mouth and bit down onto it once more. He swallowed, and repeated the process over and over-- until he was done with the meal. And it wasn't rushed either-- it was done with time taken and every movement done to reflect his gratefulness for the hospitality offered and given. When Giger finished his meal, he rested the spoon on the edges of the bowl, and he moved his left hand down and placed the bowl down onto the table in front of himself. A stark contrast from what he had been before-- this is likely as result of his training being overseen by Leonardo, not so much as Raphael anymore. Giger then nodded his head once with a warm smile on his face, reflecting his enjoyment of the meal and the gratitude he had for it. He listened to what Celine had said, and the black masked ninja had pondered-- Rika was only a small girl, she knew nothing of the way of the ninja. But then again, the Iga and Koga clans started their training young, and the Foot clan did as well. However, Giger more or less knew the path of the ninja is not one for the tenderhearted. And if he is to teach Rika, he could teach her how to defend herself if the situation came to it-- he tilted his head from side to side as he considered the thought]
37faa Celine Whitewolf: Celine gave a quiet laugh, the kind that came from somewhere deep and genuine. The sound mingled with the faint crackle of the fire and the hum of the orphanage settling for the night. “No one’s ever really ready to teach,” she said softly. “Or to parent. It just happens, and you learn as you go—usually by stumbling first.” Her lips curved into a knowing smile as she motioned toward the bowl before him. “Eat. You’ll think better on a full stomach.” She leaned back in her chair, letting the firelight dance in her eyes as he spoke of Rika. “Rika,” she repeated, tasting the name with a certain fondness. “Six years old and already chasing the way of the ninja. The world still finds its dreamers.” Her gaze lingered on him, thoughtful. “You may not think you’re teacher material, but that’s exactly what makes you one. The best guides are the ones still learning themselves. You understand the struggle, the doubt, the work it takes to keep standing.” She reached for her own bowl, stirring the stew once before adding quietly, “Protecting a city, keeping others safe—it’s not so different from raising children. Neither ever really stops asking for more of you.” A faint smirk ghosted across her lips. “And even when you think you’ve got it figured out, something new will always test you.” Lifting her bowl slightly, she gave him a small, approving nod. “To strange lives and stranger callings,” she said. “And to the ones who keep going, even when the world still surprises them.”
0eccb Giger Van Gogh : "Kid's name is Rika. Six year old Japanese girl. Though I think she was born in the States. But... I am definitely not teacher material. I'm still learning and developing things on my own time, and doing my best to keep Philadelphia safe-- coordinating patrol areas and that kind of gig. Still see weird things happening here and there. Even by mutant Turtle standards."
37faa Celine Whitewolf: Celine watched as Enilec set the bowls before them, steam curling upward in soft ribbons that carried the scent of herbs and roasted root vegetables. With a faint nod of thanks to her counterpart, Celine waited until Enilec slipped down the hall—her form fading quietly into the deeper shadows where the children’s laughter still echoed faintly. “Nothing wrong with letting them dream,” Celine said at last, her tone quiet but firm. “Even if the dreams are impossible ones. Especially then.” She stirred her stew absently, eyes reflecting the flicker of the fire. “Dreams keep the heart from turning cold, no matter how harsh the world becomes.” She looked to him again, the faintest ghost of a smile returning. “A child who wants to follow your path, hm? I can see why that might unsettle you.” There was a softness in her voice now, an undertone of fond amusement. “Children have a way of seeing the glow in things before they notice the shadows. To her, you’re not just a fighter—you’re something larger. A symbol. Someone who stands between danger and peace.” Celine leaned back slightly in her chair, resting her hands around the warm bowl. “And perhaps she doesn’t need a teacher,” she added. “Maybe she only needs someone to remind her that strength isn’t about fighting—it’s about protecting. If you’ve shown her that much, then you’ve already taught her more than most ever will.” Her eyes glimmered faintly blue in the firelight as she offered a small, knowing smirk. “Though I’ll admit,” she said dryly, “the image of you teaching flips and kicks is rather entertaining.”
0eccb Giger Van Gogh : ''It's... still as it was back home. Still a lot of danger. Still a lot of problems which need to be solved. But... I've got a little kid who's... I've had to learn to let my guard down with. Cute kid. Wants to learn to be a ninja. But I'm not teacher material. She wants to learn but... the eighteen paths of the Ninja are not an easy thing to master. Kids have this idea it's all flips and kicks."
37faa Celine Whitewolf: Celine settled into her chair with a soft rustle of silk, the firelight catching faint glimmers in her white hair. She watched Enilec for a moment—the other half of herself moving smoothly through the motions of setting bowls, checking the stew, completely at ease within the space they both called home. “Enilec and I are as one,” she said, her tone calm and even, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “But we can separate for long periods when needed. My brother has a way to divide us completely if it ever comes to that.” Her gaze drifted briefly toward the fire, thoughtful. “I’m not sure there’s a need for that yet… though perhaps someday, if certain things come to pass.” She gave a small shrug, the kind that carried centuries of patience. “But who really knows?” Her eyes flicked back toward Giger then, catching the subtle, bashful smile before he could hide it. For a heartbeat, something old stirred in her expression—an echo of memory, of battles fought and strange days shared in a world far behind her now. She saw the flicker of remembrance in him too and recognized it for what it was. But she let it pass. There was no point in opening doors she had long since closed. Instead, she leaned back slightly, the faintest trace of amusement curving her lips. “So,” she asked lightly, as if they’d never once walked through war or chaos together, “what else is new in your world?” Her voice was gentle, carrying an easy familiarity—like an old friend testing the temperature of a bridge long rebuilt but never quite the same. “Still playing hero in the shadows, or have you finally learned to rest once in a while?”
0eccb Giger Van Gogh : [The black masked ninja had looked to Celine when she had motioned her hand and a shadow formed and Enilec had formed-- and there was a momentary awkwardness as Giger more or less recalled Enilec. He had remembered when Celine had been seriously imbalanced and more or less had become a danger to the city of Philadelphia and Giger-- had to find ways of keeping Enilec from going out there and causing havoc. It was a good thing that his shell allowed him some measure of superhuman durability, because he remembered the bites which Enilec had put onto his shell. Even though his shell held up, it still hurt to experience. Oh, he hadn't forgotten Enilec-- but did she remember him? Probably. Maybe. He just leaned into his seat and allowed the ambient heat from the fireplace to brush up against him-- it was a good thing too because the Autumn air was affecting him a little bit, on account that he is a Reptile, even if a mutated one for that matter. Giger just now folded his hands together as he rubbed the knuckles on his hands with his thumbs-- feeling how calloused they are from years of training in Ninjutsu and learning various other Martial Arts. This was very different for him-- so different than sneakin into a library and sitting down in a seat before he had to hop out into the city. He felt like as if he didn't need to be constantly in vigilante mode all the time, and he briefly pondered what it was that had his counterpart one edge here. He shrugged his shoulders and then returned his attention to Enilec and then over to Celine, then back to Enilec. He couldn't help but smile a bit bashfully as he recalled the moments he experienced with Enilec. He suppressed that smile quickly though but there was a chance someone caught it]
37faa Celine Whitewolf: Celine ushered the children forward as they crowded the doorway, their voices rising in a dozen overlapping questions, laughter echoing through the hall. “Alright, that’s enough,” she said with a calm but commanding tone, though amusement flickered at the corner of her mouth. “Let our guest breathe, hm? The rest of you—off to finish your evening work. Get ready for bed, tidy up the kitchen, and mind the little ones.” A soft chorus of “Yes, Miss Celine” followed as small feet scattered across the floorboards, the older ones herding the younger toward their rooms. When the last few stragglers disappeared up the stairs, the orphanage fell into a quieter rhythm—the crackle of the hearth, the faint clinking of dishes being washed, the heartbeat of a home settling for the night. As Celine turned back toward Giger, her shadow stirred and twisted unnaturally across the floor. From it stepped a woman—identical in every detail save for her long black hair and red eyes. The woman stretched as though shaking off a layer of sleep, then smiled faintly and gave a small wave to their guest before slipping silently toward the kitchen. Celine’s own eyes shifted, both now a clear, cool blue. “Enlic,” she explained with a quiet smirk. “She handles the evening meal when I’m occupied. Another part of me, you could say.” She motioned toward the sitting area near the hearth, where soft chairs and a well-worn rug surrounded the fire’s glow. “Take a seat,” she said gently. “You’ve had a long walk and an even longer journey. The children mean well—they’re just curious. Most here have never met someone quite like you.” She lingered for a moment, watching as he settled near the fire. The flickering light danced across the walls, catching on the faint blue wards etched into the beams above. For a heartbeat, the scene felt almost ordinary—warm, peaceful, domestic. Almost. “Rest while you can,” she murmured, her tone softer now. “The world outside may change, but within these walls, you’ll find no harm. Not tonight.” Then she turned her gaze toward the kitchen, where the smell of stew was already drifting through the air, and allowed herself a faint, contented smile.
0eccb Giger Van Gogh : [The black masked mutant Turtle moved his right arm up and he took a hold of the black braided handle of his ninjaken and he tried to pull it out-- even with his mutant Turtle physiology granting him above peak human strength-- he wasn't able to pull the blade out. So the place is warded, so to speak. He nodded his head in understanding of it-- and he just left it at that. No questioning, no pushing to get an answer, no debunking with science-- just sheer acceptance of what is and without doubt. He isn't in the same world which he knows, so the physics are different. Giger Van Gogh chuckled softly as he listened to everything which she had mentioned and nodded-- why would he have any reason to doubt her? This world is more or less her speed and she knew more about it than he did, so he wasn't going to push anything to test it. Giger knows better than to try and be rude, and poke at things which shouldn't be poked or prodded. He stepped on ahead, moving in a calm and unrushed pace and as soon as he had gotten to the door-- it had opened, causing him to blink and he moved his eyes down to see the first of many children. Giger nodded his head to the child, who appeared to be a small girl who might be no older than maybe eight or nine-- maybe ten if he was going to be generous with the age. After having spent some time with Rika back home, the Turtle had to learn to be patient with small kids. He held his left hand up, and gave a wry smile as he tilted his head from right to left. Soon several more kids approached the door, and were bombarding him with so many questions. "Does that shell come off your body?" -- "Can you pull your head, arms and legs into your shell? -- "Are you a good swimmer? Can you hold your breath underwater for a long time?" And Giger would do his best to answer these questions. Yes, he can pull his extremities into his shell-- and he even did so by pulling his head down into his plastron and carapace. Yes, he can hold his breath underwater for a long time and is a natural swimmer. Any questions they had-- he would answer to the best of his ability. He was none the less surprised to see the amount of energy each of them had. Giger couldn't help but ponder how Celine is able to keep up with each and every one of the kids. He stepped into the orphanage, and then approached the hearth and he sat himself down on a nearby seat]
37faa Celine Whitewolf: As Celine stepped through the gates, the blue stones embedded in the path began to glow faintly beneath her feet, the light spreading outward in gentle ripples. She smirked, glancing toward the shimmering aura that followed her movement. “Early alarm system,” she murmured, amusement threading through her tone. “I can sense who comes near my gate—near my children—even when I’m not here.” Her gaze shifted slightly as she felt the air shift around him, testing his presence. “If they are a threat,” she continued softly, “they’ll find something interesting waiting for them.” She turned her head, the faintest smile touching her lips. “Try pulling your sword.” When he did, the response was immediate—the weight in the air thickened, the energy of the wards pressing down like invisible stone. The blade refused to move, bound by unseen hands and judgment far older than either of them. Celine’s expression didn’t change, though her eyes gleamed faintly red and blue in the light. “See?” she said, voice calm but edged with quiet pride. “No one can do harm within these walls. The sanctuary itself knows intent—it reads hearts faster than blades. Anyone wishing harm would feel that weight first. And if they tried to hide it…” Her smile deepened, faint but unmistakably dangerous. “Well. They’d have to be very, very good at pretending.” She turned back toward the path, the soft glow of the stones lighting their way home.
0eccb Giger Van Gogh : [Giger Van Gogh then moved his hand off from the tree and then watched as Celine would lead the way for him-- and he stepped in a calm and unrushed pace for the time being as he listened to everything which he had to say. The black masked Turtle had looked all around himself with his eyes, and he even looked up and for the first time since his arrival here-- he had noticed the stars in the veil of the night sky and that was something which he didn't get to see too much of back home in Philadelphia, if only because of the light pollution at night which was a common thing in major metropolises. Only when he would leave Center City Philadelphia, or even go across the Delaware and stepped into New Jersey where there was more suburban areas and less light pollution, did he happened to look at the stars. But the constellations are different here, none of which he knew and he pondered which star in the sky happened to be Earth, if it wasn't too far off from whatever planet he happened to be on right now. He moved his head down and looked ahead of himself, following on after Celine and he turned his head to the left to look in her direction. He formed something of a soft but warm smile on his face, and he chuckled when she had mentioned that someone might attempt to braid his bandana. Ironic, as one of his sisters had that going for her bandana of course. As for kids, well... Giger seldom had a few interactions with them but he knew ONE back home in Philadelphia-- a small Japanese-American girl who went by the name of Rika Mochizuki, a girl no older than six years old and she seemed to have taken an interest in him when he had saved her life after she had gotten lost in the city, and he returned her to her parents. She had wanted him to teach her ninjutsu but the mutant Red Ear slider declined, often saying that he is no master to teach it. He looked to Celine once more, and a small part of him wanted to reach out and take her by the hand but... he resisted the emotional urge, and instead kept his hands to his side as he followed on after her towards the orphanage. As he got closer, he looked ahead, seeing the orange glow of the fireplace from the windows. It looked... cozy]
37faa Celine Whitewolf: Celine gave a soft, almost knowing chuckle at his words, the sound light but carrying that familiar, ageless calm that always seemed to follow her. “Then you’ll fit right in,” she said with a faint smirk, turning toward the forest path. Her silks whispered around her ankles as she began to walk, the moonlight painting the leaves in silver and gold. “The children are a wild mix—some shy, some bold, all too curious for their own good. They’ll circle you like little wolves until they decide you’re harmless.” She glanced over her shoulder, a glint of teasing amusement in her mismatched eyes. “And don’t worry about awkwardness. They’ll sense your heart before they judge your size. They’re good at that… reading what’s beneath the shell.” The trail wound between tall trees, their leaves tinged with the deep reds and amber of autumn. The air was crisp and sweet, carrying the scent of earth and woodsmoke from distant hearths. “You’ll find this world quieter than the one you know,” she continued softly. “No steel towers or buzzing lights, just the hum of things that grow and the echo of time moving slowly. It unsettles some, but… it heals others.” As they stepped out of the trees, the faint glow of lanterns came into view ahead—warm light spilling from the windows of the orphanage, laughter drifting faintly on the breeze. “There,” Celine said, her tone softening. “Whitewolf Sanctuary. Home to thirty little storms that never quite stop moving.” She looked at him again, her expression gentle. “Come on, city turtle. Let’s see how you handle a dinner table full of questions.” The faintest smile curved her lips. “And don’t be surprised if one of them tries to braid your bandana before the night’s through.”
0eccb Giger Van Gogh : "Lead the way then, Celine. And... I guess a change of pace is needed. Being in a city of skyscrapers of glass and steel, maybe seeing the Autumn trees and feeling the Autumn air is something I needed... Something more rustic. As for the kids.... I'm not used to being around them, so uh, you'll have to excuse me if I'm like a big dog being awkward around small puppies. But... I'm game."
37faa Celine Whitewolf: Celine’s mouth softened into a small, genuine smile at his words, the moonlight turning her white hair to silver. She stepped closer, the night air cool around them, and there was an ease to her now—less the ancient sentinel, more the woman who kept a home for the lost. “You’re welcome to stay,” she said simply. “There’s always a spare room at the orphanage, and there’s never a shortage of food. Tonight will likely be stew—roots, game, and whatever the older children learned to forage today. Thirty children means thirty different appetites and twice as many stories. You’ll fit right into the noise, whether you like it or not.” Her tone softened with quiet warmth. “We don’t take in strangers lightly, but you’re not a stranger. Come see the children. Sit by the hearth. Let them remind you that not everything in this world is darkness. If you prefer quiet, there’s a small room by the back garden—you’ll find peace there.” Her gaze drifted to where his hand had rested on the tree. “As for that sense you felt—this place is old and curious. It will prod at what it doesn’t understand. Stay open, and don’t force answers where there are none. If you want, I can teach you a few things to help you tune to it—to listen rather than resist. Ki and this world’s energy can coexist if you let them.” She paused, her voice softening further. “When you’re ready to go home, I’ll see you there. I’ll send you back. But for tonight—stay. Let the stew warm your hands, and the laughter of children remind you that not all battles are fought with blades.”
0eccb Giger Van Gogh : "I don't know what my counterpart here has been through. I don't know who hurt him and I don't know what they did to him... But... I'm glad I came across you first. Like I said, I'm going to trust that you can send me back. I don't really know how long I can stay here but... If you'll have me, I can spend the night. Catch up. Maybe have something to eat. As for me feeling it... There's... something. But... I don't know what it is exactly. Like I said, I didn't come here looking for a fight... but... I have no problems putting fists, feet and blade to work if I have to. But not if it can be avoided."
∞4:17pm, December 15 (1)
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