no fancy ride , [valen/closed]

[SEVEN]

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[atrb=style, background: #f6f6f6; border-bottom: 10px white solid;][classy=posting]He remembers the wise words of every adult who's ever attempted to control him: don't go too far into the forests, or you'll get lost, and we'll never see you again. And he remembers very carefully weighing these words around in his head before quickly deciding: no, it's not worth worrying over. The superstition? The rumors that Gravity Falls isn't 'all that it seems'? Seven could easily claim the same thing, no problem, but when it comes to defending, that's where things go wrong. Many-a-time he's seen people go speechless, their cheeks flushing and their eyes looking haughty, and that's because he always asks for proof. It's the first law of his Family, the intense researchers that they are: if evidence of it doesn't exist, then it isn't true. Witness accounts are only important if verifiable; every audio tape is false unless tried and tested more times than people have hairs on their heads. Seven believes in nothing unless there's concrete proof of it, and it's both a blessing and a curse. It's the former because everything has a sense of purpose. It's the latter because by association, Seven can't have dreams without questioning everything around him. Questioning is what got him here, too. His father's constant claims in his papers (which Seven's read more times than he can count) that Gravity Falls had mystical beings inhabiting the place are sketchy, at best. At worst, they're the ramblings of a delusional man, and though he died when Seven was a toddler, he's still got some paternal loyalty, and thinking of his father in such a derogatory manner is one of the most offensive things Seven could possibly do. He stands in Gravity Falls because his father liked to draw maps, putting details and demographics and population counts just because he could. He claimed there were gnomes here, that there were places where stone reflections of light made things shrink or grow; Seven's father claimed a lot of things, and Seven almost detests him for it, because it's made him the family pack mule. Meticulous work is something Seven does well; he doesn't try to hide it, either. Every report, every translation, every cipher and every piece of information that makes its way into his head--they're all segregated and categorized and expanded on until there's nothing left but the bare bones. He supposes he couldn't make a huge sweep of the area in one day. It's wishful thinking, even for someone with as many resources as he does. Still, he could go a little at a time everyday, and what with most of the town residents having already fallen prey to Seven's careful observations, he thinks it's a nice idea to give them a short reprieve from his watchful eye. It makes him sound like a stalker, he realizes, but in the end, the thought doesn't matter. What matters is the fact that he's walking, and that the tree bark feels rough under his skin, and that there's the sound of crunching leaves on his feet. What matters is that Seven's never been here for thorough investigation, and that he has to keep every sense he has preened and ready. He frowns a bit and lifts a hand, fingers fiddling with his bangs. This is going to take a while. for valencia • some words • barricade - stars this post is rambly and obnoxious and i should really sleep agh by rinne of gangnam style. [/style]

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[VALENCIA ROSEWOOD]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:350px;,bTable][classy=clothes][classy=records]decimate everything[classy=haircut][classy=shave] [/style] [/classy][/classy][/classy][style=width:340px; font-family:arial; font-size:8px; text-transform:uppercase; letter-spacing:2px; text-align: justify; padding:5px; border-bottom: dashed 5px c6c6c6; color:9b9b9b] break your records, burn your clothes, we will not grow old if we decimate everything. shave your haircut, smash your glasses, we will not grow old if this cold feeling passes. [style=font-size:10px; text-shadow: 1px 1px #ff0000, -1px -1px #6cefff; float:right; line-height:8px; opacity:0.9]decimate everything

[/div][/style][classy=smash]She never thought that she would have ever wanted to return to the forest that the people of Gravity Falls called mysterious. To her, it was her home. So to speak. She found herself wandering off more times than she could even begin to count and then often succeeded in wandering back into the small Oregon town. But that was far from aside the point. Point being, that she was home in her pleasant little log. Paws stretched out in front of her, the small feline stretched out her back in a small and mild attempt to make the tension flee from her mind. It always made her nervous to be in the forest at the same time. The creatures and mystical forces at work were hardly as forgiving as the humans were, she noted. They were a punishing sort of existence.

Valencia moved a bit slowly, sliding off of the log a bit quietly. Perhaps she could find something to do. Merely sleeping would not suffice after all, she thought. It would have been rather counterproductive wouldn't it? But she didn't exactly want to return to them either, she thought. Their mannerisms, how quickly they could change from indifference to anger. It was all too fascinating and confusing for the shapeshifter to even begin to grasp. It was frustrating enough as it was, she thought. A small, well deserved break fit right? Ugh. Who was she even trying to convince? Herself, evidently.

Her stomach groaned in agony, her fur standing on end at the sudden noise. ... was she hungry? Her black tail swept through the air a bit quietly, an annoyed meow escaping her lips. How irritating. She didn't have anything to eat either. She walked through the forest a bit quietly, eyes cautiously watching for signs of the creatures that she was sure would arrive. The snapping of twigs and the soft crunch of leaves became the only sound she could hear, ears twitching a bit as she continued on her path. If luck was on her side, she could go to the lake and make her catch. Something. Anything to get that growling to stop.

Then she heard it. The feline flinched where she stood, head swinging back and forth to catch sight of the maker of said sound. Her feet moved instinctively, the black cat quick to move across the forest floor and hide. Who was it anyway? Or rather, what was it? Valencia moved a bit silently, peeking her head out past the tree trunk as her eyes roamed over the form of the stranger. He smelled human, she thought. He probably was. He didn't look any less different in the end. What were humans even doing in the forest anyway?

The last time she had ever heard of them coming was when they arrived to scope out the territory or to chop down the trees. But he didn't look like one of those strange (well, they all were strange to her) men and he didn't look like he had enough upper body strength to even snap a toothpick. Humans really were so strange. But she supposed that she couldn't very well leave him here either. Someone would end up getting him. She merely sighed as much as felines were able, the cat's sleek form sliding out from behind the tree and her small paws pattering against the fallen autumn leaves.

Valencia hesitated for a moment - but for only a moment - before drawing a bit nearer to the human. She had seen him around every so often, she thought. Peculiar one. He seemed as confused and perplexed as she was. Sometimes anyway. Or perhaps that was in her own imagination? Who really knew. She moved a bit quietly, moving to sit down on the crackling leaves. Her tail wrapped around herself, the shapeshifter merely turned her gaze upward at the other as she rested her paws on the ground.

"Meow," She said simply.

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[SEVEN]

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[atrb=style, background: #f6f6f6; border-bottom: 10px white solid;][classy=posting]Seven ends up crouching, his index and thumb still fiddling with his bangs, his eyes downcast on the ground. The grass--for all he can tell--looks normal. He's no botanist; he isn't anyone with a degree in biology or science or anything remotely intelligent, but he's sure that it's supposed to be green. A brief sigh escapes him, and for a moment he has to ask himself what he's doing here, even if he knows the answer. Hypothetically, it sounded like a good idea. Familiarizing himself with territory his father claimed to be 'dangerous' in every single investigatory report he wrote had its roots in the area of intelligent choices. Now that he's actually here, though, he really has to wonder. Seven doesn't want to dismiss his father as someone insane; it's not only because the man's related to him and association is always cruel, but because what little memories he has of him are all full of love. It feels like betrayal, for lack of a better word, to throw his father's beliefs away so easily. He won't lie, though--it's definitely tempting. Seven's hand drops and his head droops slowly, shaking itself from side to side. "Get a grip..." he mutters to himself, the intention of 'getting his head back into the game' being pure, but half-hearted. He wishes he could remember his father. Hell, he wishes the man was still alive. But after he disappeared one night and never came back... Seven hasn't got his hopes up, that's for sure. Wrists gently touching his knees, he counts to three before getting back to his feet. He should take this venture more seriously. It would be an insult to both his father and his modus operandi not to. He's skeptic, and he's unsure, but that doesn't mean he can't try his damnedest. If just one sliver of evidence here could let him know that his father wasn't spouting mad, that his Family was wrong for once, that he'd finally seen something truly out of this world, then he had to put his best foot forward. So he takes a step with his right. And he's interrupted by a noise. His foot is still in mid-aid when his head tilts down, green eyes dropping to look at the cat curled up where he'd been about to step. Seven furrows his brows slightly--do cats live in this forest? I don't remember that in the demographics, but it's certainly not impossible--and for a while he stands there re-thinking things and going down paths that turn more logic-based and more logic-based as he goes along. He's silent; it's not important to speak when there aren't any humans around, he knows (if anything, to speak without any humans around is often mistaken for insanity, isn't it?). And when the cat doesn't move from its position, the creases in Seven's forehead relax, and he crouches down once more to properly examine the creature. He's not sure if he's allowed to touch, or if the cat will bite. His grandfather made him study a lot of things, but zoology wasn't as important as deciphering ancient texts. Seven presses his lips together, tongue peeking out slightly to wet them, and then, for the first time in a long time, a genuine smile curls. What a cute cat, he thinks to himself. The fact that it's docile only heightens the image. Seven thinks about the job he has to do, though, and that makes the smile slowly fade away. His mind runs through a couple hypotheses of what this cat might be, even if he hardly believed in the possibilities, and then he segregates those thoughts into little mental files for later use. Right now, he'll treat the cat as people normally treat cats. But he'll speak to it, just in case. "Meow," he says back, voice soft. "This is your home, isn't it?" Talking to cats might be another sign of insanity, he realizes, briefly. And then he pushes the notion away in favor of more positive thoughts. Though cats aren't expected to talk back, animals have intelligence in them, too. Who knows? Maybe the creature understands him. "Has anything strange happened lately?" Seven rests his elbow on his thigh, his hand propping up his cheek. "Tap your paw once for 'yes', and tap it twice for 'no'." for valencia • some words • an adept's home - golden sun ost i don't even have sleep deprivation to blame for my rambling by rinne of gangnam style. [/style]

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