05-12-2020, 02:45 PM
Thalia followed him back into the church, watching a little wide-eyed at the resultant exchange, though her sensitivities did not include turning away despite a twinge of awkwardness. In fact she rather absorbed it all, reflecting on the absurdity of herself caught like debris in the current.
Colourful, indeed.
When his attentions returned, she seemed to have recovered her equilibrium. If she was awed by her strange position or the eminence of his company it did not appear to bow her with the burden of any weight. He felt familiar, and Thalia was warm with even strangers at the best of times.
A smirk stung her lips for his quip, and she did not bite down the laugh that followed. It echoed around them. You probably couldn’t ask the Pope his name twice, and she didn’t want to betray her ignorance given it was very likely public knowledge. So, fine, she would just google it later. “Of course, Your Holiness.” She rippled the skirts of her sundress in something of a curtsy, not mocking, but blithely playful. The shine of her smile was effervescent. Something else in what he said amused her greatly; the inference she knew where she was going. It couldn’t possibly be further from the truth. “Is that what I call you? In, the, uh… That’s what she calls you, I mean?”
Though trees crowded the church’s entrance, its grounds were not much more than a dusty yard. Unkempt vines swarmed the chain fence, a little wild, but the sort born of neglect rather than freedom. Despite the girlish dress and ribboned sunhat, Thalia’s boots were sturdy and made for walking. She was a creature appreciative of aesthetics; beautiful things drew her like flame, but the disparity did not seem to bother her either.
“It’s lovely by the riverside, the river itself cuts right through Tartu’s heart. Ah, the Emajõgi…? Though I’ve probably butchered that. Before here I stayed in a town further west -- it turned out to be why I made the journey, though that’s another story. I usually live in Moscow, it’s where my sister is. Did you know the university library here has a whole wing devoted to semiotics? Though I haven’t really had the time to study properly. I do know a lot about pine cones now though.”
She didn’t imagine he was very much interested, and she also assumed he had something of his own to share given the apparent oddity of him having left Rome, but the words spilled out pleasant as the warm afternoon sunshine almost the moment they left the shadows of the church. It also gave her a moment to sort through the shiny pebbles of her own thoughts, for it already did not seem he would be willing to hand out answers she did not work for.
The man on the tube had called her Nimeda. So had Calvin when he’d seen her winding through the open air stalls at Izmailovsky, a novelty she had never asked him to explain and that he had never pressed (yes, he did; he told you everything). Work kept him busy these days, a little regrettably, though not surprising given the new beginning of his career. And now knowing what Nox revealed lurked in Moscow’s shadows, maybe the CDPS had more to contend with than a surface glance revealed...
She reigned herself in. Made herself confront the idea circled. A Dream Walker. Nox’s term, and Calvin’s explanation. And no memory of it either; it seemed she breathed whole new worlds unknowing. She had no reason not to believe it, not with the evidence all stacked finally in a neat pile, but it filled up her chest with enormity too.
Colourful, indeed.
When his attentions returned, she seemed to have recovered her equilibrium. If she was awed by her strange position or the eminence of his company it did not appear to bow her with the burden of any weight. He felt familiar, and Thalia was warm with even strangers at the best of times.
A smirk stung her lips for his quip, and she did not bite down the laugh that followed. It echoed around them. You probably couldn’t ask the Pope his name twice, and she didn’t want to betray her ignorance given it was very likely public knowledge. So, fine, she would just google it later. “Of course, Your Holiness.” She rippled the skirts of her sundress in something of a curtsy, not mocking, but blithely playful. The shine of her smile was effervescent. Something else in what he said amused her greatly; the inference she knew where she was going. It couldn’t possibly be further from the truth. “Is that what I call you? In, the, uh… That’s what she calls you, I mean?”
Though trees crowded the church’s entrance, its grounds were not much more than a dusty yard. Unkempt vines swarmed the chain fence, a little wild, but the sort born of neglect rather than freedom. Despite the girlish dress and ribboned sunhat, Thalia’s boots were sturdy and made for walking. She was a creature appreciative of aesthetics; beautiful things drew her like flame, but the disparity did not seem to bother her either.
“It’s lovely by the riverside, the river itself cuts right through Tartu’s heart. Ah, the Emajõgi…? Though I’ve probably butchered that. Before here I stayed in a town further west -- it turned out to be why I made the journey, though that’s another story. I usually live in Moscow, it’s where my sister is. Did you know the university library here has a whole wing devoted to semiotics? Though I haven’t really had the time to study properly. I do know a lot about pine cones now though.”
She didn’t imagine he was very much interested, and she also assumed he had something of his own to share given the apparent oddity of him having left Rome, but the words spilled out pleasant as the warm afternoon sunshine almost the moment they left the shadows of the church. It also gave her a moment to sort through the shiny pebbles of her own thoughts, for it already did not seem he would be willing to hand out answers she did not work for.
The man on the tube had called her Nimeda. So had Calvin when he’d seen her winding through the open air stalls at Izmailovsky, a novelty she had never asked him to explain and that he had never pressed (yes, he did; he told you everything). Work kept him busy these days, a little regrettably, though not surprising given the new beginning of his career. And now knowing what Nox revealed lurked in Moscow’s shadows, maybe the CDPS had more to contend with than a surface glance revealed...
She reigned herself in. Made herself confront the idea circled. A Dream Walker. Nox’s term, and Calvin’s explanation. And no memory of it either; it seemed she breathed whole new worlds unknowing. She had no reason not to believe it, not with the evidence all stacked finally in a neat pile, but it filled up her chest with enormity too.