03-04-2019, 09:43 PM
Time keeping was not the foremost of Thalia’s skills, and since Nox seemed in no hurry she was even less inclined to measure the tick of time. She was a happy conversationalist, meandering in her own stories and rapt when she listened. Aylin would probably call such earnestness simply gullible (mental note: call your sister) but even if it was it hardly bothered her.
She squared the bill when prompted by the pup’s needs, ruffling his head with a grin. “I live near Filevsky Park,” she said to Nox. “Have you been before? Nova will love it.”
Thalia chattered most of the tube journey, abruptly remembering an older trip, when the carriages had ground to a stop in the darkness below, and Katya had died. The memory felt removed and strange, though that didn’t stop her sharing. Not for a diagnosis, though she did not doubt Nox’s mind would pull apart the detail for potential threat, but simply because she realised she would be believed.
As promised, her apartment block stood not far away from the park. Though she’d returned several times the past few weeks, she hadn’t slept here since the intruder broke in months before. It was modest within, though crammed with books and trinkets, an eclectic mix that didn’t really conform to fashion or style. She dumped her sketchbooks on a sideboard, unceremonious, and waved them in with a beam. “Home sweet home.”
[[continued here]]
She squared the bill when prompted by the pup’s needs, ruffling his head with a grin. “I live near Filevsky Park,” she said to Nox. “Have you been before? Nova will love it.”
Thalia chattered most of the tube journey, abruptly remembering an older trip, when the carriages had ground to a stop in the darkness below, and Katya had died. The memory felt removed and strange, though that didn’t stop her sharing. Not for a diagnosis, though she did not doubt Nox’s mind would pull apart the detail for potential threat, but simply because she realised she would be believed.
As promised, her apartment block stood not far away from the park. Though she’d returned several times the past few weeks, she hadn’t slept here since the intruder broke in months before. It was modest within, though crammed with books and trinkets, an eclectic mix that didn’t really conform to fashion or style. She dumped her sketchbooks on a sideboard, unceremonious, and waved them in with a beam. “Home sweet home.”
[[continued here]]