09-08-2016, 05:36 PM
Perhaps it had been cruel to remind him of the uniform that dictated his life; it seemed to suck him back into that black shell, like the sun had hidden behind clouds. He might have lived a lifetime of regret by the tone of that sigh, drawn in by a smirk or not. It seemed quite probable that she had offended him. If she had, she didn’t feel much guilt; just a small measure of disappointment that she might have misinterpreted him. She wondered if there was enough time left to make an attempt at remedying the situation worthwhile, or if it might be better to simply shrug it off and let Fate improve his mood. As with most things, she eventually ended up skirting the line of acceptability, not really sure if what she said would be well received or not. Because quite suddenly he had hooked this fish - not necessarily for the reasons he had intended, but hooked all the same.
He put his arm over the door, and for the briefest of moments she was in his shadow. “It bothers you.”
Said with something of an accusatory tone, the ‘it’ not quite defined even in her own mind. It was hard to miss that brooding sense of dissatisfaction (although it would probably be more polite to ignore it) and although she didn’t know where it stemmed from, once she saw it – it was like looking in a mirror. Or a future. And that was not the most hopeful of feelings. She wished she had some insight as to the thoughts running through his head; not necessarily to console, but to truly glean if they were as alike as she was beginning to think. Or if there was some other reason for his broken attitude.
“You could?”
Playful sarcasm, but it was only half-hearted. There was much in this life that made her restless, but she was growing to accept that her path was fettered to the Tower - best to make the best of it. Her attitude towards that acceptance changed daily, but she was no intended run-away. Too prideful for that. Bending the rules, pushing boundaries; that was about the only thing that kept her motivated to grasping at optimism. And her violin. But she was not thinking about her own situation, she was thinking about his.
He had not imparted much, but (as much as she hated to admit it) daes dae’mar was in her blood. He didn’t need to say much for her to extrapolate a number of possible truths. She had no way of knowing how long he had worn the pins, unless she asked, but between duties he still came to visit his family, his home. Not for long though; unsettled, outsider. No sooner here than on another senseless journey, blown with the wind like he had no roots. Had something dissatisfied him in his homecoming? Or was this just ritual; periodically returning to observe a life he could never have?
“You don’t think a channeler can ever live a normal life?”
Or, approximation of normal. It was clear by the tone that the question meant a great deal to the asker; she made no efforts to hide that, whatever it may reveal about the person beneath the ice and derision. Though she didn’t make it explicit, she intended channeler to mean the Towers - Windfinders led normal lives, Wise Women led normal lives; by the definition of their culture, at least – but tower-trained were something else; something unnatural. She might have made the question more specific, but it was a subject that cut close to the bone, and she was not quite sure of how much of her vested interest she wanted to share with a man that would be half-way across the world in another few minutes. At least he had the option of escape, which was what she began to suspect he was doing; like a drowning man gasping lungfuls of air whenever he could puncture the surface. But how long could a person really live like that? How long before the fractured pieces were too irreconcilable, so that they no longer belonged together at all? What nature of person did it leave?
It was troubling.
The walls of the Travelling courtyard were already in sight; she doubted he would give her a satisfactory answer – maybe not even much of an answer at all, and she would resent him for it. Not that it was his fault; these were just the kind of subjects that clouded her head at night, and chased sleep into oblivion.
Edited by Natalie Grey, Sep 8 2016, 05:37 PM.
He put his arm over the door, and for the briefest of moments she was in his shadow. “It bothers you.”
Said with something of an accusatory tone, the ‘it’ not quite defined even in her own mind. It was hard to miss that brooding sense of dissatisfaction (although it would probably be more polite to ignore it) and although she didn’t know where it stemmed from, once she saw it – it was like looking in a mirror. Or a future. And that was not the most hopeful of feelings. She wished she had some insight as to the thoughts running through his head; not necessarily to console, but to truly glean if they were as alike as she was beginning to think. Or if there was some other reason for his broken attitude.
“You could?”
Playful sarcasm, but it was only half-hearted. There was much in this life that made her restless, but she was growing to accept that her path was fettered to the Tower - best to make the best of it. Her attitude towards that acceptance changed daily, but she was no intended run-away. Too prideful for that. Bending the rules, pushing boundaries; that was about the only thing that kept her motivated to grasping at optimism. And her violin. But she was not thinking about her own situation, she was thinking about his.
He had not imparted much, but (as much as she hated to admit it) daes dae’mar was in her blood. He didn’t need to say much for her to extrapolate a number of possible truths. She had no way of knowing how long he had worn the pins, unless she asked, but between duties he still came to visit his family, his home. Not for long though; unsettled, outsider. No sooner here than on another senseless journey, blown with the wind like he had no roots. Had something dissatisfied him in his homecoming? Or was this just ritual; periodically returning to observe a life he could never have?
“You don’t think a channeler can ever live a normal life?”
Or, approximation of normal. It was clear by the tone that the question meant a great deal to the asker; she made no efforts to hide that, whatever it may reveal about the person beneath the ice and derision. Though she didn’t make it explicit, she intended channeler to mean the Towers - Windfinders led normal lives, Wise Women led normal lives; by the definition of their culture, at least – but tower-trained were something else; something unnatural. She might have made the question more specific, but it was a subject that cut close to the bone, and she was not quite sure of how much of her vested interest she wanted to share with a man that would be half-way across the world in another few minutes. At least he had the option of escape, which was what she began to suspect he was doing; like a drowning man gasping lungfuls of air whenever he could puncture the surface. But how long could a person really live like that? How long before the fractured pieces were too irreconcilable, so that they no longer belonged together at all? What nature of person did it leave?
It was troubling.
The walls of the Travelling courtyard were already in sight; she doubted he would give her a satisfactory answer – maybe not even much of an answer at all, and she would resent him for it. Not that it was his fault; these were just the kind of subjects that clouded her head at night, and chased sleep into oblivion.
Edited by Natalie Grey, Sep 8 2016, 05:37 PM.