3 Jul 2020, 13:34
Solitude
Backdated: 2nd of July
Tenants: @Sylvain Indarys
Tent is closed to further Tenants
Wandering his way past the sea of tents, a veritable breeding ground for disappointment and heartbreak, Sylvain arrived in front of the tent he'd been assigned to. Simple and plain on the outside, Sylvain pulled on the flap to reveal a space he was more than anxious to get well acquainted with.
"Hello? Anyone else in here?" Sylvain called out as he began to explore the cozy living area of the tent. He noted a wide table with plenty of room for breakfast and books, as well as a small closed fireplace that would be easy to keep an eye on. Furs covered much of the seating, so that no matter where you sat, something fluffy, fuzzy, or otherwise soft would keep you company. There was a small basin for washing up, which led him to assume he would have to retrieve water from somewhere within the main camp.
Setting his bags down on the table but keeping a good grip on his wand and trunk, the shy and cautious boy was vigilant for strangers. "Is there anyone else here?" He called into the back side of the tent, while warily stepping into the passage between the rooms. "Am I here alone, am I all by myself?" Nobody called back. It appeared as though Syl was going to spend the summer in solitude.
"Just as well," he muttered thinking aloud. If he was going to be spending his nights alone, he was going to make the best of it. He acknowledged that he could have just as easily ended up in a tent with people he didn't like, or forced into living with people who expected him to be there for them during their worst moments, or even people who didn't like him in any capacity. He hadn't made enough friends yet to earn a place in anyone's tent, but he had really started to like the thought of being his own friend.
Moving back towards the resting area of the tent, Sylvain made note of a large tub beside a clothing rack, and an enormous bed in front of which a wicker trunk sat open ready to receive his gear. The bed had to be a queen sized mattress, and the trunk at the foot of the bed was more than grand enough to store his clothes and collections for the next several weeks. Tossing his shoes off, and kicking them over to the side of the tent, Sylvain pulled his shirt up over his head and off of himself. Then, he changed into his summer clothes. A nice cool soft cotton shirt with a blue floral pattern, some cargo shorts and a pair of flip flops. He loved flip flops. Most importantly, he put on his sunglasses.
Dressed in the latest summer fashion and with his stomach growling a bit, Sylvain mosied over to the clothes rack just inside the restroom area and tossed his dirty clothes in the hamper beside it. Getting ready to leave the tent was going to be an ordeal for him. Just in the few short minutes that Sylvain spent unpacking, he had become quite attuned to the tent. This sudden fondness created a sort of atmosphere of safety. The reserved lad almost felt hidden away from the world, it was almost ideal.
He had questions of course. Questions like "Who set this tent up?" and "Why isn't anyone else here?" Those questions were also reasoned out to the best of his ability, and eventually discarded as pointless ponderings. As much as the curious scholar loved to ask questions and find their answers, he had decided that the answers to those questions wouldn't be of much benefit on his first day in camp. He'd just have to be brave enough to confront whoever came his way, if anyone did. For now, Solitude was his.
Last edited by Sylvain Wyllt on 26 Aug 2020, 12:54, edited 2 times in total.
"Things are never so bad they can't be made worse." -Elim Garak
18 Jul 2020, 19:35
Solitude
Sylvain spent but a mere few seconds with a hot stomach, before arriving full stop to the conclusion that staying up late last night was a vital mistake. Leaning forward in the large and pillow laden mattress, he rolled off to the left and feebly crawled to the edge of the tent toilet. As the sickened scholar prayed to the porcelain gods for relief, like a belch of toxicity, last night's poisonous concoction clawed its way out of his throat and dove into the furthest reaches of wherever this tent's plumbing disappeared to.
A bit of toilet tissue applied to the corners of his mouth started a process that a swish of water from a crinkled bottle ended. Syl spit the mouth rinse in the toilet bowl and flushed. Refuse littered the tent, and among the trash included were a half dozen chocolate frog boxes. All the frogs were eaten while he read Moste Potente Potions. The curious scholar was thankful for the suggestion from Santario, the book was definitely an interest now. As the lad became so engrossed with instructions, which were still quite just a bit beyond his level, he'd made a mistake while reheating the leftovers tucked away during lunch. Santario had also suggested he make stir fry, and he tried to do just that. Having found a recipe for a shrimp and raisin stir fry that made him curious, the lad had mixed some grapes he had purchased in Diagon alley with a bit of grilled shrimp, only he didn't actually use grapes.
Lurching forward as another bout of bile ushered itself to the deepest fathoms of nowhere, a disgusted concern rode across Sylvain's forehead. A distinct lack of last night's events after dinner made him all the more terrified that a mix up with an ingredient had happened during his focused reading. Crawling to his satchel, the boy searched for the supposed culprits. Removing grapes, but no mistletoe berries it was clear to piece together what had happened. Thankful that his appetite wasn't all too heavy after the all the chocolate frogs before his failed attempt to cook, Sylvain knew that he wasn't in any perilous danger but rather was in for a miserable morning due to his negligence. Food poisoning was hardly a fun way to spend a summer day in bed.
Grabbing Moste Potente Potions and feebly crawling back onto the bed, the weakened lad tucked only his feet beneath the blanket at first. Sylvain settled in for a grueling morning. Shortly after setting his cloudy mind to the minute scale of the text within the voluminous manual, Sylvain let out a queasy sigh. Pinching the bridge of his nose and elevating his chin to help clear his airway, he set the book on the bed to his left and retrieved a book from the headboard. The spine and cover were worn and familiar to the touch. A book Syl had read over a half-dozen times since he found himself capable. The young wizard's adoptive mothers had purchased it for him after he'd pointed it out at a garage sale when he recognized the name on the cover. Merlin. It was a muggle story about a boy named Merlin who found himself cast away on an island, desperate to discover his forgotten past. Sylvain had always felt like the story resonated with him.
Reducio
Setting himself up, water within reach and the path to the lavatory clear, Sylvain began to read the book again. At this point it was an exercise in recitation, the words had nearly lost their meaning as he'd repeated them so much. Still though the text itself made him nauseous to look at. A heavier sigh was loosed as Sylvain let himself slide down in bed. Frustration mounted as he pulled the covers over himself. With one last exasperated sigh, Sylvain chucked the book from his prone position in bed, feebly targeting the tent door.
Mentioning: @Santario Martin
@Caradoc Browne
"Things are never so bad they can't be made worse." -Elim Garak