Boudika would be a liar if she were to say he did not enjoy his wit and easy way—August's nonchalance was disarming, especially for someone who found it so difficult to acquire nonchalance. Despite her inner protests, Boudika found herself relaxing in his presence; she was even aghast to discover a smile threatening her lips, quivering at their edges, and lighting the corners of her eyes. The dancer supposed that in such a situation, the only reasonable approach would be to laugh at how ludicrous she had been—even with the flapping crows, the spilled bread, and the way he matched her solemnity with his own. There was an air of comedy, one which overset the tragedy she had been attempting to escape--and briefly, just briefly, Boudika forgot her dream. The only thing that gave way to the fact their interaction may have possessed an underlying theme of strangeness was his comment—I just could have sworn someone called my name—, but already, the conversation was moving, moving, and they were past when it was acceptable for her to investigate the statement. Which, when considering the ethereal silence of the snow-covered morning, interrupted only by their collision and the birds… Denocte was not awake… well, when considering that Boudika found questions she did not have the heart to ask. Who would have called his name? “It is a pleasure to meet you, August. I didn’t know Denocte employed breadboys” Boudika answered, and again, paused at her brazen commentary—her speech always came too clipped, too sharp, as though sardonic. It wasn’t how she meant it. It had been too long, far too long, since she had engaged in real communication. His pun occurred to her too late; and she found herself momentarily reeling, wishing she had acknowledged it--instead, Boudika laughed, out of place and late. She could go days without speaking to anyone in the dancing guild. She lived upstairs in a small apartment-type setting, with the bear essentials of civilised life, and emerged only to run or dance. Boudika had not socialised on Novus… and she found it came haltingly, awkwardly, especially when she felt a blossom of disappointment in her breast. No need. If it’s a little soggy today, no one will ask me to fetch it tomorrow. To her, it felt briefly like rejection, before she began to reason it away—no, no, he was busy. Boudika could not help the smile that split her face suddenly, with a genuineness that seemed at odds with her stoic way of speech. Her ears perked, and the mare, for the first time, genuinely assessed August as he had been looking at her—with open curiosity. ”I’d be glad.” Without waiting, Boudika began to move down the narrow pathway which, in part, had been the cause of their initial collision—as she moved forward, her aching muscles protested. It had been easy to ignore with the initial rush of adrenaline, but her run had been far, hard, and fast. She had not allowed her body to cool down properly and her movements were gingerly, stiff. Boudika did everything in her power to not think of why she had been running with such intensive desperation--because, if she didn't keep moving forward, it would rush back to her. She tongued the wound in her mouth she had bitten in her sleep, tasting the copper flavour of blood, forcing herself to forget. Listen Boudika insisted. Be in this moment. ”You’re compatriots sound interesting,” Boudika said, almost absentmindedly. Frightening and easily disappointed were words that brought to mind some beastly creature, one with extremely high standards—draconic, even. She cast him a sidelong glance, curious of how he moved. She waited a moment, before adding, almost nervously into the potential silence: ”I have been in Denocte for months now… and I honestly have not been to the markets as much as I should.” In other words, they were still very unfamiliar to her. It was only as the large, foreboding masts came back into view that Boudika remembered the sea—and it shocked her, as some scents did, scents that brought with them memories dark and twisting. But, she had to remind herself, that was several minutes without trying to escape it. It was, perhaps, the longest she had gone thus far which, to Boudika, was a small victory. And so she turned her attention fully upon August, upon his gold skin, and thought, this moment, this moment, this moment. "How long have you been here?" she wondered, aloud. |
@August
