1 Got Money? [Private] Sat Feb 25, 2017 1:23 am
Arthir
D-rank
His long red hair was tied into a small ponytail, the remainder going down to the bottom of his neck. One black shoe stepped forward, and then another, each belonging to a white pants legging. Accompanying the white pants is an open white suit, a hand tugging at the dark gray shirt underneath. The red tie just above the shirt flopped as the tugging continued. It stopped, as if it was making too much noise for the coming yawn. The yawn belonged to a young man named Arthir, his pink eyes fixated on a large building. But then, the very same eyes looked over to a nearby fountain. On the ground made of marble, he read something in gold text.
"Greg...Parlor," Arthir read aloud. Greg Parlor? He dismissed the name until he saw another. Then, one more name next to that one. Now that he had noticed one, he noticed almost an innumerable amount of names in gold writing! And then there it was again! Greg Parlor! "Huh. Whoever this 'Greg Parlor' is must've played a hand in constructing this place." Arthir turned, surveying the amount of names on the marble floor. "Did all of these people help?"
He marched on, tossing the thought away. The building, now close to the entrance, had even more names on the pillars. And low and behold, there the name was again. Greg Parlor. Wanting to say something about this, Arthir stared. However, nothing came to mind. So he walked closer to the glass doors. They slid open, Arthir feeling a significant change in temperature around him. The coolness from inside this building, the 'Golden Horn' as the large letters implied, made it seem like winter came early. He walked inside. His eyes checked, firstly, the colorful glass ceiling. Was it glass? He couldn't tell actually. Different colors that reminded him of stained glass was above him. Below him, there was beige marble with a unique design. A pale-green line coiled and bent, weaving into more green lines to form a strange symbol, like a snake. This symbol repeated again, per tile. The walls, made of some sort of smooth stone, had the same beige as the floor did. He took a deep breath, smelling what he presumed to be the freshness rising from said stone. There was an atmosphere that gave off a 'luxurious' vibe, that's for sure. His attention was pulled away from examining the insides of this building, hearing someone call to him with 'sir'. He looked over, and then smiled, strolling over to the person behind the desk.
He was a man, about middle-aged, probably just working here to get by in life. Didn't look like he had any kids, at least, not to Arthir. He looked to relaxed, and his hair wasn't showing signs of stress like most parents. The clerk, wearing a black suit that Arthir presumed to be the uniform for this place, bowed.
"Welcome to the Golden Horn." With that said, he rose from the bow. "How may I be of service?"
Arthir...didn't know where he was, so it wasn't like he had any already made plans. He stuck with being himself, asking the basics.
"What is this place?" he asked, shrugging as he did.
The middle aged man started to frown. "Are you lost? Only members are allowed entry way during this week."
Arthir stared before looking back to the amazing interior of the building. He wanted to explore deeper, but...he obviously wasn't a member of anything.
"Either that, or family members of Greg Parlor are allowed. I suppose I-"
Arthir took this as a chance to improve his, how he calls it, 'tactical verbal persuasion' skills. He got in character, thinking about most other rich kids besides himself. Spoiled. Loud. Obnoxious. He had this easy, scrunching up his face and raising his head whenever he spoke. "Of cooourse I'm part of the Parlor branch family tree!" he said, adding a posh British accent to his speaking.
The worker smiled. "A-ah, I see. It would be a pain to leave my station to show someone out. May I see your ID?"
"How dare you ask for my-...! M-my what?" Arthir broke character, staring.
"Your ID, Master Parlor. You...do have one, do you not?"
Arthir's eyes lowered, a hand coming to his chin to rub it. Out of all the situations his lying had got him in, not once had he hit an authentication roadblock. This... This may be more troublesome than he thought.
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"Greg...Parlor," Arthir read aloud. Greg Parlor? He dismissed the name until he saw another. Then, one more name next to that one. Now that he had noticed one, he noticed almost an innumerable amount of names in gold writing! And then there it was again! Greg Parlor! "Huh. Whoever this 'Greg Parlor' is must've played a hand in constructing this place." Arthir turned, surveying the amount of names on the marble floor. "Did all of these people help?"
He marched on, tossing the thought away. The building, now close to the entrance, had even more names on the pillars. And low and behold, there the name was again. Greg Parlor. Wanting to say something about this, Arthir stared. However, nothing came to mind. So he walked closer to the glass doors. They slid open, Arthir feeling a significant change in temperature around him. The coolness from inside this building, the 'Golden Horn' as the large letters implied, made it seem like winter came early. He walked inside. His eyes checked, firstly, the colorful glass ceiling. Was it glass? He couldn't tell actually. Different colors that reminded him of stained glass was above him. Below him, there was beige marble with a unique design. A pale-green line coiled and bent, weaving into more green lines to form a strange symbol, like a snake. This symbol repeated again, per tile. The walls, made of some sort of smooth stone, had the same beige as the floor did. He took a deep breath, smelling what he presumed to be the freshness rising from said stone. There was an atmosphere that gave off a 'luxurious' vibe, that's for sure. His attention was pulled away from examining the insides of this building, hearing someone call to him with 'sir'. He looked over, and then smiled, strolling over to the person behind the desk.
He was a man, about middle-aged, probably just working here to get by in life. Didn't look like he had any kids, at least, not to Arthir. He looked to relaxed, and his hair wasn't showing signs of stress like most parents. The clerk, wearing a black suit that Arthir presumed to be the uniform for this place, bowed.
"Welcome to the Golden Horn." With that said, he rose from the bow. "How may I be of service?"
Arthir...didn't know where he was, so it wasn't like he had any already made plans. He stuck with being himself, asking the basics.
"What is this place?" he asked, shrugging as he did.
The middle aged man started to frown. "Are you lost? Only members are allowed entry way during this week."
Arthir stared before looking back to the amazing interior of the building. He wanted to explore deeper, but...he obviously wasn't a member of anything.
"Either that, or family members of Greg Parlor are allowed. I suppose I-"
Arthir took this as a chance to improve his, how he calls it, 'tactical verbal persuasion' skills. He got in character, thinking about most other rich kids besides himself. Spoiled. Loud. Obnoxious. He had this easy, scrunching up his face and raising his head whenever he spoke. "Of cooourse I'm part of the Parlor branch family tree!" he said, adding a posh British accent to his speaking.
The worker smiled. "A-ah, I see. It would be a pain to leave my station to show someone out. May I see your ID?"
"How dare you ask for my-...! M-my what?" Arthir broke character, staring.
"Your ID, Master Parlor. You...do have one, do you not?"
Arthir's eyes lowered, a hand coming to his chin to rub it. Out of all the situations his lying had got him in, not once had he hit an authentication roadblock. This... This may be more troublesome than he thought.
766