Sing to me, I am not doing well
Getting tired of my own words
Pursing her lips against the desire to laugh, she looked him up and down. Took in the clothes, the weather beaten face where a tan spoke of too much time in the sun. He had crows feet by his eyes - from squinting rather than laughter, she suspected - and the way he sat in the chair told a story in itself. The drop of a pin on the floor might see him bolt out of the chair and into whatever had caused it, like he was more animal than man, like he'd spent so much time on his own that he couldn't quite recall what it was like to trust. Getting tired of my own words
She knew the feeling.
"It's a small guild, alas. Being guildmaster won't even get me through the door with the leadership in most regions," she replied with a nonchalance she didn't entirely feel. It was a favor, her new vocation, and one she wasn't entirely sure suited her. "Don't worry, you couldn't sully my dress even if you tried. What brings you back around these parts? I thought the farmers scared you off for good when you disappeared."
He was easy to banter with. Perhaps because he was such a stranger that nothing the other person said would make much of a difference. Perhaps it was just the understated humor in him. It was unexpected in such a tightly wound person, but welcome. Like this, Maea could almost believe herself a witty person, for all that she knew it to be utterly false.
Sing to me, cause I can't hear myself
through the loudness of my own hurts
through the loudness of my own hurts
base inspired by Odd <3
