The man walking down this particular street, in this particular universe, was quite familiar to a lot of the residents- and yet he was a stranger. His boots echoed plainly on the cobblestones, relics of the pre-industrialized part of the city, and added to the notion that this figure was in fact quite corporeal. He smoked- filthy habit- and flicked his cigarette butts on the ground, dragging each tube of death dry with each long, calculated breath. He looked quite young, almost baby-faced, with a creamy complexion and long, white-blonde hair. His horn rimmed half-moon glasses were eerily familiar, the eyes behind them even more so.
This man was Asher Torstenn. He was back.
Sort of.
Had someone filed a missing persons report (obviously, no one had- to file one of those, you had to want the lost found) this man would have likely been dismissed on sight, based on obvious character flaws that the original Asher had, but this one did not. This is not to say that this Asher was a different soul, or even a different body than the Asher that we knew before; this is false. Truth to be told, even Asher himself does not know how this Asher came to be, even though he considers himself a demi-god in his own right. It seems to be a celestial joke, or a cycle that must be met- wherever there is Irelia, there is also Asher. To go further, perhaps these entities are not who they are now, but are older than time- the memories of their forgotten pasts lost to a universe before the library, before any civilizations.
Whatever the case, Asher-not-Asher is whistling and smoking at the same time (a mighty feat), a disarming smile on his face and his arms swinging gaily. He is happy, exuberant, cheerful- even Bea, who hates Asher with only the malice a mother knows when protecting a child, would approve of this Asher-not-Asher, as his tastes run to history and research, a love his previous foster daughter has come to share with him, though she hasn't the foggiest idea it comes from him.
He knows not what compels him to order a cabbage- maybe two- at the liberty center. He only knows its something he must do.
As he walks back to his apartment, two crates full of cabbages wheeled before him in a borrowed trolly, the only noise around him is the echoing of his boots on the cobblestones and his soft whistle, a mild humming sound that seems rather familiar, especially when he hums it softly to himself.
Away away on a pleasant day,
A mighty wind doth blow.
A tiny ship upon the sea,
Wherever will you go?
To the east, to the west,
To the frozen north;
A southern path lay blazing,
How will you make your course?
All the birds have fled. For this man is Asher, though he doesn't yet know what that means.
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