Share a Photo/Memory with the Above OC

19 approached to see the stranger's photograph, examining it with silent wonder. Being from a different species altogether, a more advanced one than humans for that matter, this was like an ancient relic to her, of an age thousands of years before she was even created. She struggled not to take it from his hands, but she managed.

She noticed the resemblance. He'd been a soldier? And he definitely seemed much more peaceful and warm now... 19 did get gentle giant vibes from him.

"I think," 19 started. "That you should be honest with her. Especially if you think she'll understand." She's not terribly sure what a daughter is, the term is rather loose in her head still- she's more familiar with siblinghood if anything- but she pays that no mind. "I'm a war veteran myself. I don't think it's something to be ashamed of or something we'd have to hide away. It's scary and it leaves its mark, but... I don't know. That's just my take."

"Uh, memories." 19 thinks some. "I don't have much, really. I'm only a hundred years old or so, and much of that was spent in Lunar doing the same tasks for decades."

The gem shakes her head, avoiding eye contact. "But, I do remember when I first met Armada. A very good friend of mine. It wasn't terribly long ago, within the past number of months too. I was on a rare break, and decided to visit the Abalone Reef..."

Finally, she looks up. "And she approached me as I was looking out at the sea. Little 3 foot tall thing. I didn't know what to say, she's an Amber after all, so much higher in ranking than me or any gem I knew prior. But... we talked. She was troubled, and I offered my help. That day changed my life." She sighs. "I hope she still likes me, after I hurt her. I worry about that. Armada's very important to me."

  While listening to this gem, Morgan kept his gaze low. He stared at the sheathed knife in his hands, perhaps to avoid seeing any stray spirits. Contrary to what others assumed, it was not something he could control. Something about this story seemed... vaguely familiar. He'd heard guilt from said spirits spoken in whispers, or felt the oppressive nature of it rolling off them. 

  "I... am no counselor. Far from it-" the thought brought a dry smile to his face, though fleeting, "-but... I've heard it. You say hurt. Now... I'll take your word for it, once, and consider that whatever you did wasn't atrocious. Someone... would probably be too invested in you to let you go. Especially if you came to them at a time of need...

  "You know what I mean," Morgan said, more like a statement than any question. He didn't think he could elaborate any more on it than that without hurting his own feelings. How selfish, he thought- and bit his lip for a moment. He began rolling his thumb over one of the nicks in the leather sheath, considering his words more carefully. "I don't know if I believe in reciprocity. But... a day that you claim changed your life must be worth something- yes? I know... that I think you must be valuable to that person you care about." 

---

  "Something I remember... something..." Morgan muttered under his breath, repeating it again and again. Then- he held up the sheathed blade he'd kept in his lap. Its leather sheath was nicked and bound with old bandages marred in dirt, as though it would not last for much longer. 

  "This was my father's. He died when I was still an infant. And his spirit has passed away for some years now. I could tell you what he looked like though. He was kind of light-skinned, like me- but his hair was dark, dark brown. Like the wood that holds up buildings. His hair was short too, but straight. And his eyes... they were... light. Light red. Like... some of the sweets you could find in the shops. These clothes, what I'm wearing, I... took? No. I... based these off of. I suppose. He wore clothes that looked like these."

  He rapped his fingers against the knife in his hands still. "He was left-handed. The tattoo on his face- it was purple- and it was on his left. He wasn't evil. He was... kind. He liked to call me things. In the Iltan language- he didn't like to speak in this one. He was always sad. Not pity, ever. Just... sad. I could feel it, even if I didn't want to, and he didn't tell me. I suppose that was natural. He told me once though... it was because he couldn't hold me now. Imagine hearing that... "

  Morgan was quiet for some time, and finally huffed, "I don't have anything else to say. Do you think me some bard?"

Aiden glanced over to his shoulder and frowned. After struggling to figure out what to say, he muttered,

"Damn, t-that sucks." Aiden turned back over to the wall and blinked slowly.

"I-I hope things g-get better for you a-and all, b-but, uh, wanna know w-what I-I think? Y-your relationship with your, uh, w-w-wife is getting r-r-r-really unhealthy. She shouldn't be-be-be lying about you or-or-or whatever. I-I understand that she loves you, b-but t-that is not a-a proper way to-to show it."

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"Oh-oh-oh my-my-my God, b-babies are so cute," Aiden chuckled, running his fingers through his hair. He then turned over to the other party, then returned his gaze to the wall.

"W-wanna know w-what P-p-penny loves the most? Cows. T-they're her absolute favorite animal." He briefly smiled upon letting the words slip out of his mouth before quickly returning to his straight face.

"Okay, so-so-so, every evening, I-I'd let her watch T.V. while I-I'm making dinner, and the first show she always w-wants to-to-to watch is-is-is, uhm, t-this same old episode because it-it-it has these cows in-in-in it at-at-at some point. Anyways, I-I'd be standing at-at-at the counter d-doing whatever I-I'm doing, and then—boom—here c-comes this t-t-tiny little thing, running full-speed into the k-kitchen. She'd—she'd grab on my shirt and tug on-on it, and she would just be-be-be standing there and yelling, 'Dada! Look! Look!'. T-then, I-I'll just, uh, stop whatever I-I'm doing and let her pull me-me into t-the room. She would k-keep on pointing at the T.V. screen and there they are: cows. As-as-as soon as I-I react to-to-to the cows, she'd just—she looks so-so-so happy. That a-adorable scream she'd make, I-I just, I-I love it-it-it so much." He blinked slowly as he hung his head down and stared at the table.

"Anyways, I-I was shopping earlier b-because I-I needed to-to-to get some food. I-I passed by-by-by t-the you aisle and, well, I-I bought her some of those, uh, small cows. T-the soft ones, four of them. I-I want P-p-penny to-to be happy." He paused and glanced over at the other party and held out a bag. He pulled it open and revealed an bunched-up pile of stuffed animals.

"Do-do-do you th-think she'll like them?"

TLDR: Teenage boy casually has a sentiment over his daughter and cows

Noel looked over Aiden, his eyebrows furrowing upon hearing his words. He had to take a double take, a second examination of the young man before him, as his frown worsened, though he wasn't sure if he had much room to judge.

More time of his life to give, I suppose... Noel thought glumly. He assumed he wouldn't be around for his own daughter for very long, and as cynical as it sounded, he would give himself five years. He would also like to assume that Aiden was older than he thought of him to be, though nevertheless he couldn't help but to be on edge, he decided to listen instead. Babies, daughters watching TV, whatever TV was, and liking cows. If only for a second, the elderly man offered a faint smile, but as soon as it disappeared he was right back to appearing as though he hated the world.

He glanced down at the bag held out to him. He stirred uncomfortably in his seat for a moment as he took in the sight of the plush cows, before turning away. If the girl was as obsessed with cows as Aiden made her out to be, then there shouldn't be any doubt about her adoring the damn things, right? It was with that, however, that he sighed and nodded.

"She will, surely." He uttered, though refusing to face the boy. He let out a sigh, and then added, "I never bought toys like that for my nephew's children... Rather, I had them commissioned to be made, but I suppose that's not too different from buying them. But, maybe you don't have the money for that, or the, ah... Perhaps you don't know anyone who will do that for you, which isn't too rare. It would be easier to just go to a shop, then."

Maybe he shouldn't judge another's choice in gifts. It wasn't like children were super picky about gifts, right?

..Right???

"Just... hand them over to her, I guess." he concluded, "She loves cows. She loves you. I know that things like that mean the world to little girls, so it's best if it's..." He paused for a moment, his expression softening. "..You."

"When I was younger," Noel began, resting a faded, leatherbound journal between them, "I used to write lyrics... I still do now, but not as often. In fact, the book here doesn't really have too many of my old songs from before I started living back with my nephew. I lost all of them just as I also lost the war, and..." Trailing off, the old man blinked, and then frowned. He didn't have much, looking back on it. He was uncertain of how filled-out this notebook was.

"I wrote songs for them, I wrote songs for the children." he said, "The girls, especially, since they just liked to be sang to... They weren't very big or anything, not something I worked hard on, but they liked them nevertheless." His eyes studied the notebook for a second, and with a deep breath, he reached a hand back and scratched his hairy jaw. It was then, he hesitantly added, "Of course, I didn't just use this book for that. I wrote down recipes. I drew birds. I taught them to draw birds."

Life was miserable in Sauveterre. He supposed it was the least he could do for either of them.

"..I don't talk much about Melantha." he murmured, "I have Maribelle with me now, and that's good, I'm sure, but I can't help but-- I can't help but think about her every now and then. Melantha, I mean. I feel... a bit worried for her. I've no idea what's happened to her after I left."

Rowdy crept up to the book, slowly tilting his head. His eyes focused upon it, and he sat down on his back haunches. The segmented pieces of his mask-like face twitches around a bit, making a few noises before he finally spoke, in a very accurate, though hollow-sounding, imitation of Noel. “Ooh! A book! I’ve heard a lot about these!” Rowdy looked down at the book, opening it gently before flipping through a few of the pages. “Oooh! It’s got music! And art! And songs! And drawings!” Rowdy kept flipping through, his eyes focused right onto it, like a parrot or macaw curiously flipping through something or toying around with it. Rowdy finally closed the book, pushing it back towards Noel.

“Now... onto my stuff and things!” Rowdy scuttled along the ground before coiling his long body in a spiral on the ground, sitting upon it. Rowdy pointed at his face. “I’ve got baby pictures! This is what I looked like as a baby! Babies are cute! I like babies!” Whether or not he actually liked babies or was trying to blend in and seem innocent was debatable. Rowdy reached into a pouch on his side, pulling out some photos.

 He showed the first, which was a picture of a mask, which looked exactly like his current face, lying in the snow. He pointed at it multiple times. “Baby picture!” He barked out, still in Noel’s voice. 

He grabbed the second, holding it out, which was the same as the first, save for a scaly arm reaching towards the mask, and was a little closer and shakier. 

Rowdy grabbed the third picture, which was just a blurry shot, as though the camera was falling. “Babyyy!” Rowdy murmured, tapping the picture. 

He grabbed the fourth, which was sideways, of a dark figure in a tundra, who seemed to be that of some sort of Eastern Dragon, writhing in pain on the ground. Some parts of the picture were damaged or scratched in some way or another, the damages seemingly conveniently blocking out spots on the picture which may have held some... bloodier or gorier details.

 “Those were my baby pictures! Yay!” Rowdy chirped, before putting all four pictures back in his pouch.

This was a pretty unique situation. It wasn't often that Ace wasn't at a cafe working, but it was a rare occasion where all of his schedules aligned into one actual day off, and he wanted to talk a walk around places, maybe visit other cupids to see how they were handling work. He thought he'd heard one, but it turned out to be this... dragon...? Who was pretty eager about showing him "baby pictures". He was only a cupid, but even he could sense the powers emanating from the creature, so it'd probably be best to play along for now.
Ace leaned in to look at the pictures, raising an eyebrow. The mask itself was the baby picture? Or was it like an early memory? That dragon in the last picture was a little similar to this guy, were they connected? Or was that an early memory, too? Either way, it creeped him out.
"Okay..." he drawled before giving Rowdy a smile too big to be convincing. "Okay! That was... interesting! Thanks for sharing it with me, I really appreciate it! But I'd better get to, uh, work! Real quick! Or else I'll get in some serious trouble!" He spun around and walked as quickly as he could away, trying to avoid becoming lunch.

"Look!" Ace held up a photo. It's... you! "It's the first time you came into the cafe! Do you remember that? It's one of my favorite memories here, honestly." He sighed dreamily while looking at the picture before smiling at you. "Sorry, I got caught up in the memories. It's been a long time since you've started coming here, and it makes me happy each time I get to see you! Anyways, would you like some lunch? I can make your favorite drink for you, if you'd like?"

Wraith turned to the person who was calling him over. This better be important He thought as he walked up to Henry, looking up at the tall man. I've always hated people taller than me. He thought bitterly. His one good eye then focused on the picture. Tilting his head slightly he listened to the mans story, but his eyes didn't leave the picture. They look happy...he really sounds like he loved her. Wraith blinked a few times and then back to the man who was now apologising for the sudden conversation and memory sharing. Wraith gave a nod in response before going about his business. Having someone you love and miss....how could I ever be expected to know what that is like... He thought.

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Going to black some things out just in case.

Wraith was walking through the cold streets at night when he saw a figure staring at one of his artworks on the side of a wall. Approaching quietly, he turned his head towards the artwork. A dark haired child was painted, hands gripped into their hair screaming, one half of their face was a angry black panther with nothing but rage and anger in it's face, whilst the human half looks terrified and sad, a reflection of a knife could be faintly seen in both iris of the painting, the word father being etched into the blade. Both halves of the painting had bruises and cuts across them, the most prominent was the large cut running down the left side of the childs face. Below the face was a realistic looking heart, though black tainted veins were wrapped around it, almost like it was choking it of life.

"They say a painting can speak a thousand words....tell me...what is it saying to you?" Wraith said stepping out of the shadows, the light showing his scarred and blind left eye.

(This is the only way someone would find out something about Wraith's past xD )

Philomena was quite unfamiliar about the concept of chess. She never heard of it, focused more on her career. There's just too much demand for her to get some peace and quiet.

"So...this 'chess' thing... show me it!"

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Philomena smirked as she turned to the other party.

"That was a sweet concert. You know, I saw them first when I was...was...14. Hoo, boy, I was so awkward. I had a massive crush on the drummer. You know, they kinda aged well! I like that new grunge style they're doing; kinda hard to get a fan base when you're strictly a pop group, huh?"

Celeste grinned, not having been to a proper concert in months. "Yes, that was quite an experience!" She chirped, floating off of the ground.

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Celeste brings you to a tall, old looking tower, flying you directly to the top. the bright lights of the famed aurora borealis shining only a few more steps above you. "This is where i died." Celeste speaks up, breaking the silence. she tilts her head up, taking in the view. "Or at least, half died. the stars... these lights... they are FULL of magic. Spectral or not." she floats high enough to drag her fingers through the lights, causing a small part in the supposed 'fabric' of it all. "i was young, and curious. after all, i was named after whatever these things symbolized. i was also stupid. i found this tower, and i started climbing. i climbed till my lungs burned, and as i reached the top, i stood in the lights, and then there was darkness." she lowered herself, sitting on the edge of the tower, turning to look back at you. "When i awoke, i was at the local hospital. my father had been looking for me for DAYS, finding me at the bottom of the tower, near the ladder. i was covered in snow, my lips were blue and i had frostbite in several different body parts. when i found out the truth about what i was, i ran. i ran away from my father, my home, and i never looked back."

Poe's ears droop, though his face is neutral, not sad. "I'm so sorry to hear that. It must have been a very frightening, if not traumatic, experience," he respectfully nods.

The following silence is awkward and bloated.

He clears his throat, then continues with a dark chuckle, "I suppose there's worse places to die- er, half-die? -though. I probably would have picked something much more pedestrian, like an underpass..." His gallows-humor laugh turns to a gentle sigh. "Either way, this is a very special place. I certainly can't blame you for being so desperate to get up here."

After a moment, he begins to quietly hum to himself, seemingly content just to watch the lights and enjoy your semi-spectral company.

Abruptly, he interrupts his humming, turning to face you. "Thank you for bringing me here. Thank you for sharing this with me," he returns his gaze to the sky, "I really appreciate this. Thank you."

--

You find yourself standing in the doorway to Damien Poe's bedroom. It's a tremendous mess, though it smells very clean, like lavender and sandalwood, in spite of the clutter. Otherwise, it's a fairly standard room: beige carpeting, cream walls, Ikea dormroom decor.

The wolf himself stands a short way off, garbed in a thrifted orange sweater and yoga pants, muttering to himself. It seems he's looking for an object to present to you.

"Memory, memory, memory... Oh, ah-ha!" He seems to have a moment of inspiration and bounds, like a deer, over piles of clothes to his dresser, from which he plucks a pair of beaten-up wooden drumsticks. As you idly wonder how on earth he managed to find those in the mess, he explains, "These are the first drumsticks I ever owned! My parents bought them for me from my favorite amusement park-- see? They've got the logo and everything. That was when I was thirteen, before..." he pauses for a moment, thinking. "Before my mental health declined, shall we say."

Jey was hesitant about entering the messy room, and the fact that it smelled clean made him all the more cautious. But Poe was his current best lead for a thief around the neighborhood, so any clues he could get, he'd take.
After a moment, Poe returns with something in hand. The detective glanced at it, blinking. Drumsticks! He listened to the story behind them, finding himself smile. "Ho ho! What a remarkable memory," he said. "It's good to see that you had a supportive upbringing, though I bet they regretted it when you started playing on them, ho ho ho! Ah, but it's good to see that you've taken care of them after all this time." And in a room like this! Jey gave the wolf a softer smile when he mentioned his health. "Regardless of what happens, the fact that you are still here moving around is good. I'm sure your parents would be proud! Now, I know you told me something important about these, but we'll need to use them to lure out the thief. They seem to like taking people's treasured items. This will surely pique their interest!"

"Why look!" Jey beamed as he held up a picture of a little boy and a little girl at the kitchen table. Both had oversized chef hats on as they tried to mix a bowl full of cookie dough, but the bowl was too big for the boy, and the hat covered the girl's eyes so she couldn't see the crazy amount of chocolate chips she was adding.
"Aren't they just the cutest?" the detective cooed. "I taught them how to make cookies last month. They're naturals, ho ho! Well, when they can see. But I think they have real potential! I think we'll try pastries on my next day off, ho ho ho!"

"Oh! They! Are! So! Cute!"

Don't talk like that.

Shrike kicked her legs out, posing a bit too dramatically in the leather chair where she sat in the detective's office, her ass planted at the top and the rest of her balancing precariously there. If she fell, she would certainly smash her head open, and she would die, or something like that. But she didn't fall. Not yet.

Instead, excitably, she continued to speak to Jey in a high-pitched tone. "Kids are super adorable! And so funny!" she exclaimed, "I do like it whenever I speak to a child." Except for babies. Not that she hated babies, and in fact, she thought they were quite charming in a freaky way, with their mushy, potato-like faces and squinty eyes, but children... Three and up... "They are not very dumb, but they are children! And I think children are naturally dumb, but also smart, so it is weird. A weird thing to discuss! I do wonder sometimes if..."

Trailing off, Shrike shrugged at Jey. "They will get even better as they become older, definitely." she said, voice calming into something far more relaxed, "I think it is good you are involved in their lives. Not many would! It is a shame, really. A shame. You are a wonderful grandfather, Sir Walker! Beyond amazing!"

Now. If only Jey's wife was alive to be a grandma... And, like, for Shrike to hit on. Goddamn it.

"Look! Look at this-- aww!" Shrike, spontaneous as ever, whipped around to face the other party, and in her hand... Was a Hello Kitty doll. It was quite old, and a little dusty, and reeked of the 90s. Despite its age, however, it seemed well taken care of, if not also well loved. And, of course she loved it! Who wouldn't?

"This is my first Hello Kitty plush! I was gifted it when I was three, and I have kept it since then!" Who gave it to her? It wasn't important, apparently, as she never mentioned who the other person was. That did nothing to diminish her excitement, anyway, as she bounced closer to her guest and offered the doll to them.

"Feel her!" she commanded, "She is still so soft! So soft!"