TO ASK YOU TO TELL ME A STORY
about the sweet grass you planted - and tell it again / or again -
If the man is startled by his sudden appearance, and he might well be, it doesn’t much show in his features. His lips quickly tick up and into a bright smile to match his own, and he returns his greeting with a, Hello there yourself! If Septimus had been nervous at all about his reaction, any anxiety quickly dissipates from his frame, and he settles before him easily, a smile still drawn across his dark lips. He always finds himself fascinated by new people, particularly when they are friendly; the wide spectrum of mortality never ceased to amaze him. His siblings were all unique and strange in their own individual ways, but they were never unique and strange like mortals – at their core, they were always fae, and faewild to match.
(All the chaos and strangeness of his home realm could not quite match the spectrum of the mortal world. In time, even absolute strangeness became normal, when exposed to it for long enough. The wilds were a labyrinth of ever-changing pathways that went nowhere and everywhere at once, and, somewhere along the line, he’d found himself fond of something more stable.)
(He still doesn’t much like being mortal, though, much as he is trying to dedicate himself to his so-called experiment.)
If he weren’t several thousands of years old (if not older), he might have felt odd about introducing himself to perfect strangers whenever he stumbled upon them. Given that he was, however, Septimus had long ago gotten over any sense of awkwardness that came with meeting new people. “I’m Septimus,” he says, cheerfully, “a scholar from Delumine. I’m out here studying the bison.” Septimus tilts his head, then, with a clink of bright green stones, curiosity working its way into his features; his brow quirks up, and the corners of his lips twist. “Who might you be?”
Perhaps, he thinks, this expedition won’t be quite so mundane as he expected.
@Brenn || <3 || natalie diaz, "from the desire field"
"Speech!"
about the sweet grass you planted - and tell it again / or again -
If the man is startled by his sudden appearance, and he might well be, it doesn’t much show in his features. His lips quickly tick up and into a bright smile to match his own, and he returns his greeting with a, Hello there yourself! If Septimus had been nervous at all about his reaction, any anxiety quickly dissipates from his frame, and he settles before him easily, a smile still drawn across his dark lips. He always finds himself fascinated by new people, particularly when they are friendly; the wide spectrum of mortality never ceased to amaze him. His siblings were all unique and strange in their own individual ways, but they were never unique and strange like mortals – at their core, they were always fae, and faewild to match.
(All the chaos and strangeness of his home realm could not quite match the spectrum of the mortal world. In time, even absolute strangeness became normal, when exposed to it for long enough. The wilds were a labyrinth of ever-changing pathways that went nowhere and everywhere at once, and, somewhere along the line, he’d found himself fond of something more stable.)
(He still doesn’t much like being mortal, though, much as he is trying to dedicate himself to his so-called experiment.)
If he weren’t several thousands of years old (if not older), he might have felt odd about introducing himself to perfect strangers whenever he stumbled upon them. Given that he was, however, Septimus had long ago gotten over any sense of awkwardness that came with meeting new people. “I’m Septimus,” he says, cheerfully, “a scholar from Delumine. I’m out here studying the bison.” Septimus tilts his head, then, with a clink of bright green stones, curiosity working its way into his features; his brow quirks up, and the corners of his lips twist. “Who might you be?”
Perhaps, he thinks, this expedition won’t be quite so mundane as he expected.
@
"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
