"She doesn't like what I've become."
"Someone... with really good taste in clothes?"
L'yhta dropped her head back on the pillow of her bed -- well, not her bed, exactly, but the bed of the inn room she'd rented for the night at Camp Bronze Lake, as a way to just be alone -- and groaned as that particular exchange replayed in her head. The trip here had been a respite, after a fashion. Heal this cut, cancel that spell, purge that poison: the usual little requests that were made of her by the Foreign Levy and that she agreed to, sometimes for fun, other times (especially lately) to simply escape her mind with rote routine, insofar as any magic is truly "rote." Work is the best distraction, after all.
The miqo'te rolled on her side, her short dyed locks falling around her face. When she'd spotted The Girl in the crowd, she couldn't quite get up the nerve to go over there. Too many people around her, the show was already on, she'd just be getting in the way. And then, a cold brush of The Girl's hand -- Ice-aspected, as they found long ago, by candles, on tatami, amidst shadows -- and they were by the stage, the music washing over them like a Rhotano wave.
I'm going to go talk to them.
A friend of the band. Of course; you're loud. People actually like her. In the space between sets, rather than working up the nerve to ask the right questions, to say what needed to be said the way it needed to be said, L'yhta instead mulled over a geometry to deaden sound. Work is the best distraction, after all.
The miqo'te rolled back onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, noting reflexively the patterns in the wood, the slight offset of one of the bolts in a joint. She closed her eyes and the smile of The Girl looked right back at her, a smile she found herself once more missing, despite a hug and a promise of another meeting. It recalled a night of tea until the midnight bell, with secrets exchanged and an intimate closeness in a confused space between clear lines that she'd never knew existed.
L'yhta took a deep breath and sat up. Four bells since she laid down pronounced the chronometer. She crawled across the linens to her notebook and began to scan through a set of geometries for an upcoming experiment. Work is the best distraction, after all.
"Someone... with really good taste in clothes?"
L'yhta dropped her head back on the pillow of her bed -- well, not her bed, exactly, but the bed of the inn room she'd rented for the night at Camp Bronze Lake, as a way to just be alone -- and groaned as that particular exchange replayed in her head. The trip here had been a respite, after a fashion. Heal this cut, cancel that spell, purge that poison: the usual little requests that were made of her by the Foreign Levy and that she agreed to, sometimes for fun, other times (especially lately) to simply escape her mind with rote routine, insofar as any magic is truly "rote." Work is the best distraction, after all.
The miqo'te rolled on her side, her short dyed locks falling around her face. When she'd spotted The Girl in the crowd, she couldn't quite get up the nerve to go over there. Too many people around her, the show was already on, she'd just be getting in the way. And then, a cold brush of The Girl's hand -- Ice-aspected, as they found long ago, by candles, on tatami, amidst shadows -- and they were by the stage, the music washing over them like a Rhotano wave.
I'm going to go talk to them.
A friend of the band. Of course; you're loud. People actually like her. In the space between sets, rather than working up the nerve to ask the right questions, to say what needed to be said the way it needed to be said, L'yhta instead mulled over a geometry to deaden sound. Work is the best distraction, after all.
The miqo'te rolled back onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, noting reflexively the patterns in the wood, the slight offset of one of the bolts in a joint. She closed her eyes and the smile of The Girl looked right back at her, a smile she found herself once more missing, despite a hug and a promise of another meeting. It recalled a night of tea until the midnight bell, with secrets exchanged and an intimate closeness in a confused space between clear lines that she'd never knew existed.
L'yhta took a deep breath and sat up. Four bells since she laid down pronounced the chronometer. She crawled across the linens to her notebook and began to scan through a set of geometries for an upcoming experiment. Work is the best distraction, after all.
The Freelance Wizard
Quality RP at low, low prices!
((about me | about L'yhta Mahre | L'yhta's desk | about Mysterium, the Ivory Tower: a heavy RP society of mages))
Quality RP at low, low prices!
((about me | about L'yhta Mahre | L'yhta's desk | about Mysterium, the Ivory Tower: a heavy RP society of mages))
