THE WET GLASS, AND THAT CLOUD
which is slowly taking the shape / of an astonishing idea
The golden woman looks away from him and down towards her dagger, and Septimus thinks that there is something deeply complicated in her expression as she does. She turns the dagger over and over and over again, and he watches the light glint off the sharp edges of it, his eyes widening by a fraction when she tells him that it is made of bone, but only because he would not have expected it from the dagger’s sharpness.
When she explains where the bone came from, however – that is when a look of something like understanding settles in his stare.
“Bone…” He trails off, his expression turning thoughtful and his head tilting a few degrees to the left, bright green jewels clinking against the ebony dark of his antlers. Her story is hardly implausible to Septimus; he has been to lands that are just as strange and chaotic in nature as the one that the flower girl speaks of, and he has heard stranger tales than this. Still, in a land that possesses the relative normalcy of Novus, he is admittedly surprised to find a traveler who speaks of such things so easily. Perhaps it is because he has met her on this island. He gives a decided nod, and adds, “I’m sorry that you lost the first one…though it seems that there is quite a story behind the second.” He’d like to hear the details of it sometime, but, when she continues to speak, and with a decided urgency, he decides that such inquiries can wait for a better time.
(And, he notes, she doesn’t seem to want to talk about it.)
She asks him, then, if he has seen a pair of children; both antlered, one dark and one pale. His lips twist momentarily, and he tries to consider whether or not he has seen a pair of children matching her description during all his time on this island, but he is forced to concede, sympathetically, that he most assuredly hasn’t. “I’m afraid that I haven’t seen them – but perhaps I can help you look for them?” Septimus offers gently, a smile that he hopes is reassuring settling across his face. “Are they your children, miss?” He knows how quickly and how easily they can get away from any adult who is supposed to be keeping an eye on them; he certainly has enough siblings for that, though he concedes that the dangers that mortal children find themselves end tend to be…different from the ones that plague young wildlings.
@Florentine || <3 <3 <3
"Speech!"
which is slowly taking the shape / of an astonishing idea
The golden woman looks away from him and down towards her dagger, and Septimus thinks that there is something deeply complicated in her expression as she does. She turns the dagger over and over and over again, and he watches the light glint off the sharp edges of it, his eyes widening by a fraction when she tells him that it is made of bone, but only because he would not have expected it from the dagger’s sharpness.
When she explains where the bone came from, however – that is when a look of something like understanding settles in his stare.
“Bone…” He trails off, his expression turning thoughtful and his head tilting a few degrees to the left, bright green jewels clinking against the ebony dark of his antlers. Her story is hardly implausible to Septimus; he has been to lands that are just as strange and chaotic in nature as the one that the flower girl speaks of, and he has heard stranger tales than this. Still, in a land that possesses the relative normalcy of Novus, he is admittedly surprised to find a traveler who speaks of such things so easily. Perhaps it is because he has met her on this island. He gives a decided nod, and adds, “I’m sorry that you lost the first one…though it seems that there is quite a story behind the second.” He’d like to hear the details of it sometime, but, when she continues to speak, and with a decided urgency, he decides that such inquiries can wait for a better time.
(And, he notes, she doesn’t seem to want to talk about it.)
She asks him, then, if he has seen a pair of children; both antlered, one dark and one pale. His lips twist momentarily, and he tries to consider whether or not he has seen a pair of children matching her description during all his time on this island, but he is forced to concede, sympathetically, that he most assuredly hasn’t. “I’m afraid that I haven’t seen them – but perhaps I can help you look for them?” Septimus offers gently, a smile that he hopes is reassuring settling across his face. “Are they your children, miss?” He knows how quickly and how easily they can get away from any adult who is supposed to be keeping an eye on them; he certainly has enough siblings for that, though he concedes that the dangers that mortal children find themselves end tend to be…different from the ones that plague young wildlings.
@
"Speech!"
AND RARELY, IF THE WOOD ACCEPTS THE BLADE WITHOUT CONDITIONSthe two pieces keep their balance in spite of the blow❃please tag Septimus! contact is encouraged, short of violence
