Thalassa
I worry this is how I’m always gonna feel.
When Thal spots Asta, she's not surprised to see his gaunt features, the nerves fidgeting from flicking tail tip to the toying of his cane. She knows this isn't something fun for him, and she tries not to let her own intrigues with facing him make it seem like she's minimizing his suffering, so she schools her expression, clipped pace quick but not hurried as she makes her way to him.
The first word out of her mouth wasn't one she said often, but she offers it, nonetheless. "Sorry for the wait, my First Mate is still learning to navigate." He'd somehow been reading the map upside down, taking them away from Jack Tar by miles. In her preoccupation with the coming spar, she'd stupidly thought Spook might have the wherewithal to know that the 'N' goes at the top of the map. She wouldn't make the same mistake again, even if she had to tattoo the rose compass to his forehead.
Whatever the reason, she's here now, and Thal fluidly removes her cloak to set it on a nearby rock, the glinting of her various collection of daggers catching on the ashen sunlight. It's a sign that she's taking this just as seriously as he is, and that she plans to help him through it as quickly as possible. Especially as she squares up against him, no preamble or warm-ups, just a nod of her head and the steady blue of her gaze as she asks, "Are you ready?"
The first word out of her mouth wasn't one she said often, but she offers it, nonetheless. "Sorry for the wait, my First Mate is still learning to navigate." He'd somehow been reading the map upside down, taking them away from Jack Tar by miles. In her preoccupation with the coming spar, she'd stupidly thought Spook might have the wherewithal to know that the 'N' goes at the top of the map. She wouldn't make the same mistake again, even if she had to tattoo the rose compass to his forehead.
Whatever the reason, she's here now, and Thal fluidly removes her cloak to set it on a nearby rock, the glinting of her various collection of daggers catching on the ashen sunlight. It's a sign that she's taking this just as seriously as he is, and that she plans to help him through it as quickly as possible. Especially as she squares up against him, no preamble or warm-ups, just a nod of her head and the steady blue of her gaze as she asks, "Are you ready?"
But nothing lasts. I know the deal.
