The Drowning Wench, Limsa Lominsa
Evening rain. The slow, weepy kind, that gets into your eyes but not in your way, as gnats which hover disinterestedly, persistently.
It needs to stop. My ferry to Costa del Sol - my next excursion - is due soon.Â
It seems the tavern atmosphere of the Quicksand is seeping into the Drowning Wench. It's taking its time about it, but the change is definite. There are even more non-Roegadyn adventurers here now, more travelers intent on a good conversation partner alongside their choice of drink, and Baderon is busier than usual - more, too, are beginning to seek his charms.
***
I've had company too, with J. on one occasion and one S. Grace on another. Miss Grace and I had a brisk conversation about my terms. Part of me still bubbles with amusement about this impulsive act (match-making - who'd have thought it? Jasper and the old ruffians would've laughed their heads off). The soberer part of me acknowledges the necessity of this beyond the practical importance of a traveling companion through difficult areas. There are the long campfire nights... I tire of keeping worlds to myself.
***
J. seemed happier, somehow. He had taken my advice, for which I am genuinely glad, and acquired a little coven of students. I must profess my excitement at getting to meet them.
In fact, the "Professor", as he prefers me to call him in public, had improved so much that I was given a rare treat of a sharp cackle of a laugh (Jig laughing!) and his ridiculous Highlander-walks-into-a-bar jokes - all composed on the spot. (All stereotypes, but Jasper, I know you'd have loved them.)
We spoke as friends, not colleagues, not employer and employee. After he left I continued sitting at the bar, smiling to myself.
I believe I am getting over-fond of this little fellow... especially since absence makes the heart fonder. His Royal Crankiness would not do for a regular traveling companion - we might end up roasting each other.
***
For, like Jasper, I love fiercely, in spite of myself, and freely; friends, lovers, are not to be chained.
Evening rain. The slow, weepy kind, that gets into your eyes but not in your way, as gnats which hover disinterestedly, persistently.
It needs to stop. My ferry to Costa del Sol - my next excursion - is due soon.Â
It seems the tavern atmosphere of the Quicksand is seeping into the Drowning Wench. It's taking its time about it, but the change is definite. There are even more non-Roegadyn adventurers here now, more travelers intent on a good conversation partner alongside their choice of drink, and Baderon is busier than usual - more, too, are beginning to seek his charms.
***
I've had company too, with J. on one occasion and one S. Grace on another. Miss Grace and I had a brisk conversation about my terms. Part of me still bubbles with amusement about this impulsive act (match-making - who'd have thought it? Jasper and the old ruffians would've laughed their heads off). The soberer part of me acknowledges the necessity of this beyond the practical importance of a traveling companion through difficult areas. There are the long campfire nights... I tire of keeping worlds to myself.
***
J. seemed happier, somehow. He had taken my advice, for which I am genuinely glad, and acquired a little coven of students. I must profess my excitement at getting to meet them.
In fact, the "Professor", as he prefers me to call him in public, had improved so much that I was given a rare treat of a sharp cackle of a laugh (Jig laughing!) and his ridiculous Highlander-walks-into-a-bar jokes - all composed on the spot. (All stereotypes, but Jasper, I know you'd have loved them.)
We spoke as friends, not colleagues, not employer and employee. After he left I continued sitting at the bar, smiling to myself.
I believe I am getting over-fond of this little fellow... especially since absence makes the heart fonder. His Royal Crankiness would not do for a regular traveling companion - we might end up roasting each other.
***
For, like Jasper, I love fiercely, in spite of myself, and freely; friends, lovers, are not to be chained.
[sub]Avis Inkwood | Qara Qalli
journal/tumblr[/sub]
journal/tumblr[/sub]
