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BARBERMONGER is a site designed to help roleplayers find other roleplayers, specifically one-on-one roleplayers, as opposed to larger roleplay games. Functioning like a pinboard, BARBERMONGER allows users to create advertisements, bump advertisements, and respond to other advertisements, without requiring them to register an account. However, registering an account will allow you to edit your posts, find your own topics, and use the private messaging system.
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Posted: Sep 9 2015, 08:12 AM
Joined: 21-February 11
You should always say good morning. It's like missing a beat in 'I love you too'—not even an 'I know' or a 'that's nice' to humour Atlas.
He frowns. It is a terrible thing. His copper-colour eyes turn hard and bright. The tattoos seem to roil on his arms, but that's impossible, and they're covered up by the sweater sleeves besides. It's just a weird-feeling morning, that's all, in a place that they weren't before and are now.
"Don't rightly know." He shrugs, then makes the cursory gesture of leaning over the desk and gazing out the grand lobby windows. Floor-to-ceiling panes that are framed in white to match the brick. They look out onto the hills. "Looks like Ireland? Or Scotland? I'm always mixin' them up."
Keaton is wearing down the parquetry now. Back and forth, back and forth.
"You said," Atlas slows down his words to a drawl, as if by making it real simple, he can explain this whole mess, "that you didn't know where you were going. Didn't say you needed to be anywhere. So. You basically did it to yourself."
He frowns, this time in thought. Keaton's confusion seems genuine. What—?
"You've never been to a Traveller's Inn before?"
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