So much to do, so much to do, so much to do. Izzie paced the hallways of the library, unable to resist the urge to nervously play the piccolo that hovered near her withers. After a particularly stern glance from an archivist she attempted to stow it away so quickly in her satchel that it clattered to the floor, earning her another withering l. Nothing was going her way today. Here she was, trying to turn in a routine report quickly before scuttling back to the unit, sticking to mostly unused wings of the court and the library as if she was afraid of her own shadow.
But it was Marisol she was avoiding.
They hadn't spoken much since she'd ascended to Sovereign - and why would she want to talk to her, anyway? (stupid, stupid, stupid). Who had time for a flightless little bird when they were busy soaring high, higher, almost eclipsing the sun. Marisol had always been golden to her, long before she'd been crowned. Acerbic and rough, yet respectable. A true Halcyon.
Hey, hey, hey idiot. Focus. Focus! Izzie wrenched herself away from her daydreams, shuffling the reams of parchment in front of her. As the pages flew before her eyes the mare committed each word to memory, just in case... Rifling so quickly, she tore the edge of one page and smeared the ink on another. Useless. She winced and cussed under her breath, earning her another glare from seemingly the only other presence in the library. Thoroughly cowed, she lowered her head and made her way towards the very opposite end of the cavernous space. Every step echoed. It seemed like she was an interloper no matter the venue. Why couldn't she fit in here, where she was supposed to belong? Ismene felt lonelier than on her solo flight here. Getting anywhere took forever - she had to take so many breaks to ensure her nerves were steeled enough for a safe flight. And yet now that she had arrived, she couldn't wait to leave.
Being in court felt itchy. She was always looking over her shoulder, trying to make sure she was either being a good little bard or attentive scribe. Although she liked the feeling of being truly in the mix - there was always something happening here - she couldn't shake the uneasiness of being, well, in the mix. Perhaps she'd feel differently if she had a more open space to work. Ismene didn't particularly like confined spaces. She preferred to work in open markets, the center of the training grounds: places where there was so much energy, so many other horses, she could easily get lost. Resigning herself to the stuffiness of the library, Izzie stared hard at the pages in front of her as she transcribed the parts she'd mussed up. Open skies lingered in the back of her mind as she worked.
