The Atheneum is not a place Thal likes to 'hang out,' but it's the only place with the list of books Asta had requested they search. She's already found the section on historical traditions, although it proves to be in the most inconvenient of locations for her. It's at least a foot above where she can reach naturally, and for the moment, she throws daggered stares at the spines of dusty books as if they can be threatened down.
Tucked into a dark corner of the building, little light and fewer people walk this way - not that she'd bother to ask for help anyways, but there's no one to snap at for the oversight on accessibility, no one to command into submission so she can procure the tomes. Instead, she tilts her head to assess the sturdiness of the shelves, her eyes catching momentarily on the blonde strands of hair she hasn't quite gotten used to. They curl softly around her features in a stark contrast to the darkness of her horns and clothes, a beacon of light that somehow makes her look younger and more striking in a way she's not sure she likes, accenting the dark bruising along her cheek (at least the swelling has gone down). Whereas people might have noticed the dangerous glint of her eyes first, they've been recently distracted by the platinum blonde hair that apparently gives them permission to talk to her, like she's somehow more friendly than before, however, the bandages across her arm and the rainbow of colors painting her face the last few days have certainly changed that.
Luckily, even without the wounds, they've quickly learned their mistake about talking to her, but Thal still has to wonder if her lack of approachability before had less to do with her demeanor and more to do with her minimal distinguishing features. But regardless of how 'approachable' people might think she is now, the back corner of the Atheneum is no place to test the theory, and when Asta finds her, Thal is perched skillfully on a shelf, her gauze wrapped arm straining stubbornly higher to reach for the first of the books, face twisting slightly when tension pulls at the stitches along her back.
Tucked into a dark corner of the building, little light and fewer people walk this way - not that she'd bother to ask for help anyways, but there's no one to snap at for the oversight on accessibility, no one to command into submission so she can procure the tomes. Instead, she tilts her head to assess the sturdiness of the shelves, her eyes catching momentarily on the blonde strands of hair she hasn't quite gotten used to. They curl softly around her features in a stark contrast to the darkness of her horns and clothes, a beacon of light that somehow makes her look younger and more striking in a way she's not sure she likes, accenting the dark bruising along her cheek (at least the swelling has gone down). Whereas people might have noticed the dangerous glint of her eyes first, they've been recently distracted by the platinum blonde hair that apparently gives them permission to talk to her, like she's somehow more friendly than before, however, the bandages across her arm and the rainbow of colors painting her face the last few days have certainly changed that.
Luckily, even without the wounds, they've quickly learned their mistake about talking to her, but Thal still has to wonder if her lack of approachability before had less to do with her demeanor and more to do with her minimal distinguishing features. But regardless of how 'approachable' people might think she is now, the back corner of the Atheneum is no place to test the theory, and when Asta finds her, Thal is perched skillfully on a shelf, her gauze wrapped arm straining stubbornly higher to reach for the first of the books, face twisting slightly when tension pulls at the stitches along her back.
I just want you to set me free.
Thalassa
