Chapter 1: 50 Does your character have a base of operations between portals? A home, even? Draw or write about where your character hangs out during the downtime.
Art done by my friend: ghosmio (Instagram)
(SORRY I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THIS TODAY WHILE EDITING)
"Ugh, I need a breather." Roshin grumbled as he shrugged off his cloak, suspending it on the coat rack. He unfastened a few buttons of his azure shirt and slouched onto his favorite settee, arms and legs sprawled out in exhaustion. He exhaled heavily, a hint of dissatisfaction seeping through. Surveying the room, an apparent imbalance struck him. Rising from his seat, Roshin commenced a ritualistic symphony of reorganization. Guiding the coffee table slightly leftward, tilting the armchair at a calculated degree, smoothing out the creases in the curtains. With spatial harmony restored, he retired back to his settee, an undercurrent of satisfaction finally settling in.
He inhaled deeply, attempting to detach from the day's stressors. It was only a fleeting respite - it always is. Rest didn't come easy, not with a mind teeming with relentless streams of thoughts and concepts. He wrestled to disregard it, heeding the counsel of his friend who consistently reminded him to take a break once in a while, to let loose and enjoy life. Yet for Roshin, escape was elusive. His lab served as a siren, luring him back into its realm where he could conduct experiments. The experimenting ARE the breaks he gives himself, the moments where he can let his mind run wild and hopefully not accidentally cause his entire house to combust.
Roshin delved into the leather bag still looped around his shoulder, extracting a well-worn notebook and pen. The pages fluttered beneath his fingers, revealing intricate notations of proposed experiments for his adjoining lab. His dwelling was enveloped by silence, punctuated only by the soft ticking emanating from an antiquated grandfather clock tucked away in one corner - an object that instigated both irritation and solace within him.
Abandoning his scribbles for now, he placed them meticulously on the side table before standing again. His gaze roamed around the room – this living extension of his laboratory – laden with shelves bursting with dog-eared books, scattered documents, and diverse scientific tools. He sauntered towards the door leading to his sanctuary of science, cognitive gears already shifting towards future breakthroughs. A relentless quest for novelty was ingrained in him – after all, he had made miracles happen before.
Even before being able to travel through worlds, Roshin had always found his home a safe space for himself. The smell of old books would always comfort him, and the rhythmic drone of cogs whirring in diligence worked like a lullaby on his senses. His bed, however, was an oddity overwhelming his peace; thoughts of dismantling it had crossed his mind more than he'd admit.
He returned from yet another otherworldly expedition bearing fruits of knowledge, but the quest was far from over. Swinging open the lab door, the stringent sting of sanitizing agents greeted him - a solemn reminder that science doesn't pardon any compromise on cleanliness. Roshin wasn't just a tinkerer; he was a seeker of truths uncharted. This lab was not merely a space; it was where the realm of hypotheses collided with raw reality.