I HOPE YOU WILL TAKE IT, AND REMEMBER ON EARTH
I did not know how to touch it it was all so raw, / and if by chance there is no edge to the crowd / or anything else so that I am of it, / I will take the orange and toss it as high as I can.
Better an honest drunk than a violent one, he says, with a soft laugh that compliments his skeptical expression. For what it is worth, I nod knowingly, a look of something distinctly sympathetic settling across my features in the moment that follows. Knighthood involves settling more drunks than anyone who isn’t a knight might imagine, and anyone who is might not want to talk about. (It is the less-than-glamorous reality of being a soldier-guard with a fancy title, I suppose.) I glance again at his uniform, and I wonder how much trouble it is to work one of these parties. It’s so much bigger and more glamorous than anything back home; I can’t imagine that keeping up with it is easy.
He introduces himself as Dune, and my gaze brightens instinctively. It is a new word, to me, one I only learned the definition of a few days ago – and although I think that he is too dark to resemble the bright, gold-orange dunes of the Mors, I find something appreciable in it regardless. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dune,” I say, and I barely manage to keep myself from dipping down into an instinctual bow, reminding myself that now is hardly the time or the situation for it. Old habits, unfortunately, die hard.
Done pulls away from my touch when I offer it, and, although I could be offended by it, I’m not. I’m just glad that he doesn’t actually fall over. He tells me that he is fine, and I don’t quite believe it – and I’m about to tell him just that when he says that he should probably get back to work. I try not to look to disappointed at the loss of his company, but I think that it probably shows on my face anyways. Even if it doesn’t, I’m sure that it’s evident in my tone when I offer a soft, “Oh – alright.”
And almost immediately, I add, “Take care. Please?”
(I don’t know why I bother saying it like a question – it isn’t one at all.)
He gives a smile that doesn’t reassure me at all, and he says that he’ll see me around. (I hope that he does – it’s so strange to be in a land of many nations, where, once you meet someone, you might never come close enough to see them again.) He tells me to keep out of trouble, and I smother half a laugh. “Never,” I say, before flashing him a toothy grin and adding, “You too, Dune.”
He’s gone, then, with a wink and a tremor to his step that makes me grimace once his back is turned. I think for a moment of going after him, but I think better of it; even I know better than to get too involved with strangers too quick, though the fact that I’m staying with Elena probably suggests otherwise.
I stride off into the glamour of the party again. Perhaps I’ll find one of the painters, or I’ll find some other strangers to speak to. Dunes, and desert heat, and partygoers, and strange drinks…there’s still so much to see, before I go back to Terrastella.
(I try not to think of the louder thing, which lingers in the back of my mind almost perpetually: before I go back home, forever.)
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"Speech!"
EVERYTHING IS RISK, SHE WHISPERED.if you doubt, it becomes sand trickling through skeletal fingers.☙❧please tag Nic! contact is encouraged, short of violence
