a beginning is a very delicate time
Heat runs fingers down his spine, creeping along the sweat that drip, drip, drips steadily along his ribs. Golden hair is tied elegantly at the end of a braid, held at bay with a small golden clip. His tail is looped and braided, delicate pins and baubles threaded into place, others keeping it in place where it would stay for the celebrations. Not even weeks of travel from Denocte could keep the mysterious man from feasts and sellers, from an open market full of new cultures and gems both living and dead.
Stopping in a pub, the clay still cool from the night, he orders some spiced drink or another and sips on it as the heat begins to die down. When the afternoon cools and the torches are lit, he finds his way into the stalled streets once more.
Laughter is a balm over the scrapes from desert sand. Chatter is constant, a humming like that of a bird's wings, filling any spaces left around him. This place is alive and full of magic as a new sovereign takes the throne. Of course, who the king of the sand is or isn't doesn't truly interest Alecto. Politics, he's learned, is not a place he is ready to dip his toes into yet. So he does not. Instead, the man drifts among the people.
When they stop him for a laugh or a drink, he is swift to join them with an easy grin.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, another stall is set up. Behind it, a man of tan and ebony smiles with his wares. They shine as the sun in the sky, imbued with nothing less than a love for his very craft. Stopping, the Denoctian steps nearer the vendor and offers his own smile. "Are these jewels local, or do they come from far-off lands?" And it is hard to tell if he is talking merely of the precious gems and wares on display, or of the man responsible for them himself the way he eyes them both - a gleam, interest, something elusive and enticing.
Stopping in a pub, the clay still cool from the night, he orders some spiced drink or another and sips on it as the heat begins to die down. When the afternoon cools and the torches are lit, he finds his way into the stalled streets once more.
Laughter is a balm over the scrapes from desert sand. Chatter is constant, a humming like that of a bird's wings, filling any spaces left around him. This place is alive and full of magic as a new sovereign takes the throne. Of course, who the king of the sand is or isn't doesn't truly interest Alecto. Politics, he's learned, is not a place he is ready to dip his toes into yet. So he does not. Instead, the man drifts among the people.
When they stop him for a laugh or a drink, he is swift to join them with an easy grin.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, another stall is set up. Behind it, a man of tan and ebony smiles with his wares. They shine as the sun in the sky, imbued with nothing less than a love for his very craft. Stopping, the Denoctian steps nearer the vendor and offers his own smile. "Are these jewels local, or do they come from far-off lands?" And it is hard to tell if he is talking merely of the precious gems and wares on display, or of the man responsible for them himself the way he eyes them both - a gleam, interest, something elusive and enticing.
