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teacuptempest
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[fancypost borderwidth=0; width: 410px; font-family: arial; font-size: 11px; margin-top: -12px; letter-spacing: 1px;][color=lightgrey]DEALING WITH THIS BREAK POINT COME DOWN[hr][/fancypost]
[fancypost borderwidth=0; width: 410px; margin-top: -10px; font-family: arial; line-height:100%; font-size: 9pt; text-align: justify;]Flower stalks tower high overhead, tall as trees and slender as ballerinas. They dip towards you as if they are bowing in greeting, soft petals splaying out in numerous chromes. You can see that in the center of each flower is a teacup, delicate bone china shaped into a simple cup with soft watercolors spreading along the whiteness. Stretching above you is a lavender sky, cloudless and tinted with subtle shifts of shades, from a deep indigo to a pastel violet.
The world is still. A sweet wind brushes past your cheek but makes no sound. You walk under bowing petals and antique teacups until you reach a table. Intricate swirls of molten gold travel along the ivory tabletop, clawed legs staunchly gripping the mint-grass ground. There are vintage plates and platters, trays and saucers, and above all, teacups, neatly arranged on top. On a milky brown cushion, a tiger cub sits.
{{ Teacupcub Darling-Harbringer-Graham-Harlow-Capone-Go deo-Euthalia-Prewett-Alastair-Meleinion-Muzikant-Aeternum-Silviance-Pendragon-Ignibus-Sharosi-Exilium-Bonaparte-Everharts-Titan-Starke-Walker-Beckoning-Becker-Fazbear-Xerses-Innocence-soler is a female tiger cub. She is aromantic asexual at the moment, and though that may change, it isn't likely to anytime soon.
She has a seemingly delicate frame, the svelte curves of her body subtly blurred by her thick coat of sleek fur, but upon closer inspection thin wires of muscle ripple under her skin. Her fur is white, like freshly fallen snow, or the whites of one's eyes when they roll up and glaze over. Like watercolors on a blank canvas, a floral design is embossed onto her pelt, depicting a spray of royal blue forget-me-nots gathered among slight green leaves and butter-colored wheat stalks. Each flower, each leaf, each stalk is carefully and artfully outlined, from the subtle mixes in color to the slightly blurred lines. It appears to be just the sort of motif that would appear on a generic teacup. Many mistake it as a tattoo of sorts, but it actually appears to be a part of her fur. Her eyes are a strange pastel spectrum, rippling with finespun hues that are set in a milky white.
Petite though she is, she holds herself with a polished poise faintly reminiscent of an aristocrat, or a duchess, or a governess from long times past. Though her presence is undramatic, there is an air about her that indicates gracefulness and prosperity. Her entire appearance is anachronistic, seemingly fitting in an era of Victorian dresses, throngs of lace, and, well, tea parties. }}
Pastel eyes flit towards you. She doesn't seem surprised that you're here, despite the obvious lack of other living beings in the vicinity. "Sit," she suggests, inclining her head towards a violet cushion with a golden trim on the opposite side of the table. You sit.
"Tea?" she inquires, looking back down at the cup before her. It is, perhaps unsurprisingly, a vintage teacup with a repetitive bluebell pattern scalloping the entirety of the sides. It looks fragile. Everything on this table looks fragile. This entire world looks fragile. You're almost afraid to breathe for fear that you knock over a saucer with an ear-splitting crash.
You nod. She nods.
{{ True to her name, Teacupcub is a fanatic about all things tea, teacup, and everything else related. Ceramic, glass, bone china, porcelain. Wedgwood, Adagio, Amsterdam, Royal Dalton. White, green, black, oolong. Her knowledge on these subjects is expansive and all-consuming, as if she spends every second of her life dedicated towards the art of tea and tea finery. }}
"Please, take a cup," she says. As if on cue, an African violet hanging over you bows down so that the indigo-painted teacup concealed snugly within is just within an arm's distance. You take it, and the flower releases it with little tension.
"Would you like some tea?" She looks expectantly at you. You don't particularly like tea, but you feel obligated to incline, so you say yes. "What kind?" You don't know much about tea, either. She notices you hesitance as you say green tea, but she doesn't say anything more as she draws a nearby teapot towards her. Generic roses are embossed on the ceramic.
"Then I suppose I will have some as well." Hot steam rises from both of your cups as she pours a steady stream of the green-tinted beverage into them.
{{ Teacupcub is a generally reserved and quiet person, rarely speaking up unless she is prompted to. She isn't shy, though, and will readily talk to anyone given she has good reason to. She's very polite, but often her suggestions feel strangely insistent, and you feel almost obligated to follow them out of courtesy. Maybe it's just the way she speaks. She has an expansive vocabulary that she draws upon and may unintentionally confuse others with her annoyingly Oxford professor-like words. In this way she comes off as pretentious and haughty, but otherwise she seems likable enough.
She is very knowledgeable and sensible, always keeping a calm and collected air to her. Though reliable enough, Teacupcub often seems to be far away, as if in a daydream. Scaring or surprising her is nigh impossible, and she's a little clueless when it comes to fun and games. She feels more comfortable keeping a serious presence, though she isn't strict at all. }}
You summon the courage to ask where you are, though you aren't sure why you would need bravery for such a simple question. For a moment she doesn't say anything, merely sipping at her tea. Then she replies, "The subtle, vegetative flavor and aroma of Dragon Well green tea is well suited to mild or subtly-flavored foods, such as seafood or fish, salads, and chicken." You just now notice a glass bowl of copious fruit salad on the table. You wonder if that had been there this whole time.
Both of you are quiet for a minute. Then: "You're in a dream."
{{ Teacupcub perpetually is detached from reality. Seeing life through warped lenses, she prefers the surreal environment of a dream or a spirit realm rather than the grounded world of truth. Despite appearances, she's severely sensitive to harmful words and actions directed towards, and so to cope with them she simply cuts herself off from the real world. Then she realizes that she likes the otherworldly realms much better than reality itself. She's creative and imaginative, but it's hard to see since she always seems so distant.
Talking to her can be dreary and drawn-out. More often or not, she gives vague and cryptic answers that only raise more questions before falling silent. She happens to be fond of riddles and mind games, which doesn't help the situation. Even under the most pressuring circumstances, she remains unfocused, which is, to say in the least, very frustrating. }}
You sense that she doesn't want to say any more on the subject, but you press on. She seems harmless enough, anyway. Tiredly, she blinks at you with a pastel spectrum of eyes. Somehow you almost regret asking, and you fork some salad into your mouth along with a sip of tea.
"Do you know what solipsism is?" You don't. "It is the theory that only oneself exists, or can be proved to exists. Everything around you--or me, rather--is the manifestation of your consciousness." She sips her tea as you struggle to make sense of this concept. "Reality is subjective to your perspective. Most of what is considered external reality..." Breathing out a sigh, she draws a bowl of rice towards her. "...is awfully crude. Here, in this reality, the surrealism, the warping of normality, comforts me."
You aren't quite sure what she's getting at here, and she doesn't seem to feel the need to clarify, as she falls silent once more.
{{ Teacupcub is living in a constant state of denial, and she knows it. She knows that escaping from reality the way she does is unhealthy, but she can't bring herself to stop. Here she feels free, unrestricted from the heavy laws of the universe. There she feels oppressed, suppressed, as if she is suffocating on ice. Here she is living in a vast fantasy, where anything really can happen. There she is cut with harsh lines and bleak forests. Here things are subtle and subtle, like the fragrance of a well-prepared cup of tea. There everything is forthright and deafening.
Teacupcub is weak. And she knows it, and she's ashamed of herself for it, but the only way she knows to deal with the real world is to retreat into a fantasy world to treat her own wounds. }}
You finish your tea. You have to say, it was enjoyable, but you can't detect the covert notes of aroma that she probably can easily notice. "If you are finished, you will find that you need only to pinch yourself to wake up," You sense that you are being dismissed, and you thank her for her time.
You leave.
You never see her again.
{{ She is alone. }}
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