Blue, Blue, Blue is My World

The muddy town of Mead. Its typical stench of stagnant water was haphazardly covered by the sweet scent of honey and apple pies on the breeze. The once-sleepy village had boomed with traffic already, but now? The streets ran rampant with travelers from all points of Ivras for the festival. Inns hung no vacancy signs in their windows, taverns opened up seating outside, stores and merchant cars buzzed with activity. 

It was a disgusting sight, really, especially for a man like Quillon. 

If he had a choice, he would not be here. If he had a choice, he would be at home, listening to the birds sing in his windowsill while he brewed tea for Wraith when she awoke - or returned - depending on what she had been up to the night before. He never really knew. If he had a choice, he would be anywhere but here. But Quillon had lost his choice the moment he had been born, his leash tight around his neck with the Order on the other end. And despite the very power to remove it, he never did. He limped to their beck and call at any moment, and found himself here.

Mead.

There had been a report that there was suspicious mage activity within the village. Anonymous, of course, they always were. There were times that Quil was convinced that these tips were made up, as a way to drag him out of the swamp long enough for the Order to get a good look at him. For them to make sure that he was still playing their games. Still following their orders.

Hiding his wings and the golden halo over his head with a flicker of his magic, the solar mage was able to slip into the crowd like just another traveler. Not a mage, but a soul with no magic, and the only thing on his mind was the need for a room for the night before heading to the festival. Or so, that was his guise, and everyone around him ate it up. They always did.

He wore the best civilian clothes he could find; a red silk shirt and tattered work pants, mud staining the heels of his pant legs. His shoes were flat, but sturdy, splashing through the various puddles in the streets. Over his shoulders draped a thin, tan jacket, just enough to keep the biting bugs off of his tanned, calloused skin. He had a dark hat pulled low over his eyes; an attempt to hide the scar that was in the place of what was once one of his crimson eyes.

Blend in... blend in... His attention whipped to the side as a merchant called out about her wares, snapping him out of the zone he has cocooned himself into. Suddenly, the world around him felt far more real; the sights... sounds... smells... The man paused, crimson gaze falling upon the cart of many drinks and snacks. Looking up, he found himself below a sign that waved slowly in the breeze; something Tavern. The words were too worn to read.

"Drink... sir?" The woman's voice brought his attention back, and he forced a small smile onto his lips.

"Oh, sorry." He shook his head lightly, blonde locks in a messy way atop his head. "I'm good, thanks." The woman rolled her eyes and went back to calling out for drinks as if he was no longer there. Brow quirking, Quil turned away from her with a sigh, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he turned back down the street. His gaze swept the crowd, the people, the shops... nothing. Nothing that he needed to be bothered with, anyways. His next sigh was one of relief, as he pulled his hands from his pockets only to push his thumbs into his temples and rub his eyes.

Good, he could go home.

Perhaps he should have thought before stepping blindly back, in an effort to turn back, as he found himself crashing into... someone else. Stumbling back, he caught himself on the side of the merchant's table, a wide-eyed expression on his face as apologies immediately started to spill. "So sorry, I..." He paused, looking down at the woman he had tried to run over, with a hand outstretched in case she needed help getting up or steadying herself. "I wasn't paying attention."