ind. dustfinger from cornelia funke's inkheart. a part of your childhood you've nearly forgot. oc, multi, au friendly. personals may interact through asks. character portrayed by heather, a twenty two canadian from the east coast. billingue.
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The person I reblogged this from is awesome as fuck.
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like this for me to write you something. u will have no say in what it is but i am in the mood for some random threads out of nothing that develop as we go. **only for 18+ muns and muses because children and I don’t mix
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naedine·:
There was obviously some piece of the puzzle that Nadine was missing here. She was trying to understand what he was saying, and she thinks that maybe she gets some of it, but other parts don’t make sense to her. This is probably what she should’ve expected from a conversation with a stranger at a party, but for some reason, she’s still interested. After all, she was out here, instead of inside. She could leave at any moment, and instead, she keeps asking questions.
��No offense to your friend, he sounds kinda shitty.” Which seems like quite the conclusion to jump to, after a story that she only really understands bits and pieces of. “So like, is he gonna run off with Inkheart without you? Is he trying to sell it, or something?” She’s never heard of the book before. While she read quite a bit, a lot of it was books that were easy to get her hands on, and she’s not sure how she would have ended up with one so rare.
“Does it have like, sentimental value to you?”
The comment about Mo made Dustfinger give a dry laugh, nodding ever so slightly in agreement at the girl’s surface understanding of his plight caused by the silvertongue who refused to fix it for him. “ He would take it and run to the farthest edges of the earth so that I could never see it. I’m sure he has his reasons, of course, but they are hardly good ones seeing as he is the only reason I have to look for it in the first place.” Nadine’s company was good, he decided, as she hardly judged him for the scars on his face nor the way that he spoke of the one thing in this world he needed most. “My entire world is in it.” The answer was cryptic to anyone who did not know Dustfinger but very obvious to those that did, his wife and child trapped within the pages in the world he had known his whole life to be his own up until a decade ago. He had never truly fit in in the world of fast cars, internet celebrities, and cityscapes full of sky scrapers and sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the throngs of people. He had a few dollars in his pocket from street preforming and gwin sleeping snugly in the black leather bag that held the tools of his craft but those were his only worldly possessions in a reality of excess. He wanted for nothing materialistic but one book that he had nearly no way of tracking down until he found Silvertongue again, and scarcely could relate to the men buying fast cars they hardly drove and sneekers left in boxes and wrapped in plastic before they venture outside. He came from a world of well loved leather boots oiled frequently to extend their lifespan, small villages and small cities for trading and buying in which he would preform and make what little money he had. “ It is the most important thing to me in this one.”
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naedine·:
inkburnedheart·:
The blonde shook his head ever so slightly, elbows resting on his thighs as he hunched over. “No, I’m not a book salesman.” blue eyes flicked over to the brunette, trying to read her expression to the best of his ability. the light from the porch cast long shadows on the walkway, moths flying about like bundles of ash around them. “More of a collector. I’ve been looking for a book for nine years, I haven’t had any luck finding it.” It was still warm out, the muggy summer night causing him to once again reconsider the idea of cutting his hair even just a little bit to avoid it sticking to the back of his neck. “Books are usually just a good way to start a conversation. “
Okay, not a book salesman, but someone who thought that a good way to start a conversation was books. Still a little strange, but she’ll roll with it. It wasn’t as if Nadine’s life was normal, in a lot of ways. “Well, what book are you looking for? Is it like, worth a bunch of money, or something?” It seems like her brain keeps going right back to money, but she doesn’t really collect things, and she assumes that’s generally the point. “Probably pretty rare, yeah?” Which is why she’s currently interested.
“It’s worth both nothing and everything.” it wasn’t as if Inkheart was in print anymore but still it was not a novel that was highly sought after either. There was a reason it had been out of print for so long and as the years dragged on the numbers of copies out in the world dwindled as Capricorn and his men tracked each tome down and fed it to the flames in the rather large fireplace in the decrepit castle that the black jackets called their home. The flames which Dustfinger cared for so fiercely ate at the world he loved more than anything else like a pack of rabbid dogs devouring the remains of one lone rotissery chicken. “ There are only a few copies left in the world and the author is clearly not planning on printing any more, but it’s called Inkheart and it is more than imperative I find it.” He spoke with a thinly veiled urgency, rough hands pushing hair out of his eyes and tucking it behind his ears despite the curls sticking out at odd angles and making it seem as if he had been in a fight with some brambles. “I have a friend who is also looking for the same book, but he’s run off without me and if he finds it before I do I may never see it again.” There was a small part of the man that wondered why such information was safe with a young girl, but in the most severe case she would just think him mad and likely shrug the interaction off as the ramblings of a drunk at a rather rambunctious party near some sub-par university that hiked up tuition every year drastically and yet had the same broken chair-desk combinations from the nineteen sixties. Asking around was the only way he had any hope at all in finding what he was looking for before the bastards who would just burn it did, or Mo who would try to read his wife out only to realize she wasn’t there and the tome would never be seen again and Dustfinger never sent home. And he had to be sent home.
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*puts lit match in mouth* It’s a metaphore, mo flochart.
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naedine:
inkburnedheart:
Dustfinger rolled his eyes, though he sat himself down beside her on the front steps of the home, rented out by college kids with music seeping out of every crack into the dark night. “ Well. Ok then.” he rubbed his hands together gently, enough to create heat though not exactly enough to create more than a dull glow within them. “ Do you like books?” There was something about Nadine that reminded him of Mo, someone who had exceptional power and yet kept to shadows as if not wanting to be noticed. He could not relate to such a thing as not wanting to be noticed, he felt most alive while juggling live flames with a building crowd watching him with baited breath.
A raise of her eyebrows. Not exactly a question that she was expecting, but then, she wasn’t quite sure what to expect from him. “Books? Well, yeah. I guess I read here and there.” She didn’t read as much these days, it was harder to do with life getting in the way, but as a kid? She was obsessive. She never put books down until they were finished. “Are you trying to like, sell me books, or something? Because I appreciate it, but I’m broke.”
The blonde shook his head ever so slightly, elbows resting on his thighs as he hunched over. “No, I’m not a book salesman.” blue eyes flicked over to the brunette, trying to read her expression to the best of his ability. the light from the porch cast long shadows on the walkway, moths flying about like bundles of ash around them. “More of a collector. I’ve been looking for a book for nine years, I haven’t had any luck finding it.” It was still warm out, the muggy summer night causing him to once again reconsider the idea of cutting his hair even just a little bit to avoid it sticking to the back of his neck. “Books are usually just a good way to start a conversation. “
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naedine:
@inkburnedheart gets a lyric starter - this must be the place. talking heads.
“Oh, I’ve got plenty of time.”
Dustfinger rolled his eyes, though he sat himself down beside her on the front steps of the home, rented out by college kids with music seeping out of every crack into the dark night. “ Well. Ok then.” he rubbed his hands together gently, enough to create heat though not exactly enough to create more than a dull glow within them. “ Do you like books?” There was something about Nadine that reminded him of Mo, someone who had exceptional power and yet kept to shadows as if not wanting to be noticed. He could not relate to such a thing as not wanting to be noticed, he felt most alive while juggling live flames with a building crowd watching him with baited breath.
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The sunlight shone like liquid gold in the sky, draping the meadow in which Dustfinger found himself in a sheet of yellow light that gave the scenery a familiar warmth that had almost been forgotten in the near decade in which he spent in another world; one that was cold and dull compared to his own. Mammoth sunflowers grew tall like giants towering above him, heads bowed as seeds weighed them down, ripe for the taking. the man reached out with scarred and calloused fingers to pull a handful off of one of the drooping plants and store the seeds safely in his pants pocket. Dustfinger was a scavenger at heart, a wanderer who wanted for nothing because in his heart he truly in that moment had everything. The home of his beautiful love, his Roxanne was visible among the trees in the distance, smoke billowing out of the chimney signalling that despite the years that had passed and the misfortune that had befallen his own life she still had remained safe and good and right. light eyes closed to listen to the sounds of home, the chirping of crickets and fluttering of hummingbird’s wings filling the evening air. Perhaps after a decade his reception would not be a warm one but regardless his heart yearned to be with hers once again. A hand dipped into his nearly overflowing pocket and brought a seed to his mouth as he began trudging through the knee high grass towards his fate with a determination he had never experienced before. It was time to be his own god and write his own fate, starting off with being happy with his wife if only for a short time.
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