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06-23-2016, 07:13 AM
a falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes
It seemed she had been just as unaware of his presence as he had been of hers; as his voice split the serene near-silence of the morning her head came up, eyes searching for him. The fact that she didn't instantly stare straight at him gave her surprise away.
She hadn't know he was there. So, he could've simply turned and gone back the way he'd come, and she would've been none the wiser.
Now it was too late for that, though, and it wasn't like he hated others, or company, just.. that he didn't know what to do with them anymore. Beyond saying hi and offering a sympathetic ear, what did one do with people? He had no orders to give, no things to speak of (for all his secrets are dark and dirty and nothing he wishes to spill on the pristine white of a stranger's lap), no.. reason to interact with anyone for more than two minutes. He couldn't even recall reasons from his past. He had always hidden behind duty, behind his role, being the King—or Queen—they needed to know. So now that he was supposed to do things for himself, he realized he just didn't know how, or why.
So, he might as well use this as practice. Trial and error, and hope there was no collateral damage as his brain exploded, which it probably would at some point. “Oh, uh, good morning. Mauja, right? It’s good to see you again.” Crap. She recalled both him and his name. No easy way out there. "Mmh," he rumbled, ambling a little closer, lest the soft tones of his voice be lost to her over the distance. "I'm afraid I don't recall your name, though I do remember greeting you. Ophelia brought you in." And that was an old, old wound, scabbed over and scarred a thousand times. It always surprised him how little it hurt these days.
“Don’t mind me. I just got promoted to Glazier and I’m trying to figure this whole thing out.” Ah, so that was what she had become within the herd—and the answer to his curiosity. She was glass-shaping. He opened his mouth to speak, but seeing something take shape within the mist he shut it again, peering curiously at her work.
It was like the mists themselves coagulated, growing denser and firmer, but before each shape had a chance to solidify it bled back into the fog. Strange. He had so readily thrown the job at Tembovu, but never cared to watch him work with it—or even ask him about it. And that was how it always went. He only remembered to check in on people five years later, or something.
"Interesting," he murmured after a moment. How long had it taken the Qian's glass-smiths to erect the wall? How long had they served, and practiced, before they were strong enough to undertake such a task? "Have you finished anything?"
[ @Glasgow ]
She hadn't know he was there. So, he could've simply turned and gone back the way he'd come, and she would've been none the wiser.
Now it was too late for that, though, and it wasn't like he hated others, or company, just.. that he didn't know what to do with them anymore. Beyond saying hi and offering a sympathetic ear, what did one do with people? He had no orders to give, no things to speak of (for all his secrets are dark and dirty and nothing he wishes to spill on the pristine white of a stranger's lap), no.. reason to interact with anyone for more than two minutes. He couldn't even recall reasons from his past. He had always hidden behind duty, behind his role, being the King—or Queen—they needed to know. So now that he was supposed to do things for himself, he realized he just didn't know how, or why.
So, he might as well use this as practice. Trial and error, and hope there was no collateral damage as his brain exploded, which it probably would at some point. “Oh, uh, good morning. Mauja, right? It’s good to see you again.” Crap. She recalled both him and his name. No easy way out there. "Mmh," he rumbled, ambling a little closer, lest the soft tones of his voice be lost to her over the distance. "I'm afraid I don't recall your name, though I do remember greeting you. Ophelia brought you in." And that was an old, old wound, scabbed over and scarred a thousand times. It always surprised him how little it hurt these days.
“Don’t mind me. I just got promoted to Glazier and I’m trying to figure this whole thing out.” Ah, so that was what she had become within the herd—and the answer to his curiosity. She was glass-shaping. He opened his mouth to speak, but seeing something take shape within the mist he shut it again, peering curiously at her work.
It was like the mists themselves coagulated, growing denser and firmer, but before each shape had a chance to solidify it bled back into the fog. Strange. He had so readily thrown the job at Tembovu, but never cared to watch him work with it—or even ask him about it. And that was how it always went. He only remembered to check in on people five years later, or something.
"Interesting," he murmured after a moment. How long had it taken the Qian's glass-smiths to erect the wall? How long had they served, and practiced, before they were strong enough to undertake such a task? "Have you finished anything?"
[ @Glasgow ]
I screamed aloud, as it tore through them, and now it's left me blind
