kassandra,
we were born in the shadow
of the crimes of our fathers
(Think of it,) Oculos said, a reverent growl as he eyes the rat with its next offering. He sneaks a little closer to the bar, feet pacing a rhythm in the sand. His long neck is stretched to max length and his chest is almost placed flat to the wood, ears flopped back along his small head. Eventually the temptation is too much and he does rise, softly, onto his hind legs, and even though his stature is small he is still impressive, standing close to six feet at his shoulders. He flops his gangly, slender paws on the bartop next to Barley, tongue lolling. (Think of the chaos if we teamed up, rat.) He awards the small creature an affectionate and gentle snuffle with his long, cold black nose. (You could steal and I could run. We’d be unstoppable.) Undoubtedly together they would make an excellent team; but Oculos was all dog. He was not distracted by shiny bits and golden baubles unless they were made of cheese.
While Oculos is busy making rat friends, Kassandra is busy making rat enemies, probably. Her ears drop and her face falls and she feels a bit like crying. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She may be immune to subtle signs of tension and ill-ease but she would have had to be blind to miss Rivane startling. “And you as well. I apologize. I’m afraid my social graces could use some… polish.” She applies a small, friendly smile to try and soothe the air. She steps back and turns her attention, instead, to the barkeep, from whom she orders one of the first items on the drink menu, something called a brandy alexander.
She is brought back to the conversation by the tone at which Rivane chokes on her words. “Well, when you say it like that, I suppose I’ve wandered here and there. There was that weird island that one time. But I keep coming back here, for some reason. I like it here. I liked Isra. I--,” her words get caught in her throat and she tilts her head slightly as though to shift them free.
Shocked and uncomfortable, Kas looked at her life put into perspective. She spent four years locked in a tower because her mother was a whore and her uncle was a tyrant. Was four years such a long time?
The waiter brought her drink back just in time to save her from sliding into that dark, morose place. It was in a small v-shaped glass with a long stem, cream-colored and thick, topped with a dusting of some brown spice. Kas sniffed and did not recoil. She took a small taste. It was warm and silky, and burned a bit on the way down; she made a face but did not cough. “Tastes a bit like… sweet, hot mud,” she decided and had another sip.
She hummed over the buzzing in her mouth as she pondered Rivane’s words. When she spoke, her tone was positive, if reflective. “Unfortunately I’m not the best party guest. You may have already noticed. I was not invited to many.” Her uncle had thrown parties. Loud ones. She could hear them through the walls of her tower. “It’s hard, isn’t it? There’s knowing. And everyone is friends with each other. I have two friends-- well, they are my friends, at least-- and neither of them is here, I think.” She throws a curious glance over her shoulder at the silhouettes near the fire. “One is very tall and the other has wings on his feet so I would think I’d notice them.”
(I swear I didn’t eat him,) Oculos pledged as Rivane took roll of her companions and realized one was missing.
While Oculos is busy making rat friends, Kassandra is busy making rat enemies, probably. Her ears drop and her face falls and she feels a bit like crying. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She may be immune to subtle signs of tension and ill-ease but she would have had to be blind to miss Rivane startling. “And you as well. I apologize. I’m afraid my social graces could use some… polish.” She applies a small, friendly smile to try and soothe the air. She steps back and turns her attention, instead, to the barkeep, from whom she orders one of the first items on the drink menu, something called a brandy alexander.
She is brought back to the conversation by the tone at which Rivane chokes on her words. “Well, when you say it like that, I suppose I’ve wandered here and there. There was that weird island that one time. But I keep coming back here, for some reason. I like it here. I liked Isra. I--,” her words get caught in her throat and she tilts her head slightly as though to shift them free.
Shocked and uncomfortable, Kas looked at her life put into perspective. She spent four years locked in a tower because her mother was a whore and her uncle was a tyrant. Was four years such a long time?
The waiter brought her drink back just in time to save her from sliding into that dark, morose place. It was in a small v-shaped glass with a long stem, cream-colored and thick, topped with a dusting of some brown spice. Kas sniffed and did not recoil. She took a small taste. It was warm and silky, and burned a bit on the way down; she made a face but did not cough. “Tastes a bit like… sweet, hot mud,” she decided and had another sip.
She hummed over the buzzing in her mouth as she pondered Rivane’s words. When she spoke, her tone was positive, if reflective. “Unfortunately I’m not the best party guest. You may have already noticed. I was not invited to many.” Her uncle had thrown parties. Loud ones. She could hear them through the walls of her tower. “It’s hard, isn’t it? There’s knowing. And everyone is friends with each other. I have two friends-- well, they are my friends, at least-- and neither of them is here, I think.” She throws a curious glance over her shoulder at the silhouettes near the fire. “One is very tall and the other has wings on his feet so I would think I’d notice them.”
(I swear I didn’t eat him,) Oculos pledged as Rivane took roll of her companions and realized one was missing.
