mirrors on the ceiling, pink champagne on ice
Rasmus felt too big for the indoors space, like a giant lumbering around, smacking his head on the ceiling and his knees on the tables. It felt wrong to be inside for so long; it had been days, cooped up in the sanctuary. He was extremely grateful to be here, he didn't want that misconstrued, but he wanted to be out with his Luxere awfully. He hoped they were doing okay. There was no way he could go and check on them, now.
Despite living in Halo for his whole life, Rasmus felt like an outsider. He didn't know anyone particularly well. It was his own fault for living a hermit style life just outside of the citadel. He was on the very border; plenty of people knew him, but no one knew him well. It made him sad, and cramped in here with a whole lot of people who knew him vaguely but didn't care to know him any better then that was making him morose.
He supposed this would be a good opportunity to make friends, but he did not know how to go about it. Smile? Wave? Strike up a conversation? The latter made the saliva dry out of his mouth, his stomach plummet, his heart race. He was dreadfully out of practice. Why would anyone want to socialize with him, anyway? Rasmus looked kind of rugged, although he'd left his array of furs with his belongings, but the locs and strange gold eyes remained. Maybe if he helped in the kitchen, he thought, but also worried about making a mistake. In the end, he sat at a table near the kitchen, looking up to smile at approaching people. His face felt stiff.
Despite living in Halo for his whole life, Rasmus felt like an outsider. He didn't know anyone particularly well. It was his own fault for living a hermit style life just outside of the citadel. He was on the very border; plenty of people knew him, but no one knew him well. It made him sad, and cramped in here with a whole lot of people who knew him vaguely but didn't care to know him any better then that was making him morose.
He supposed this would be a good opportunity to make friends, but he did not know how to go about it. Smile? Wave? Strike up a conversation? The latter made the saliva dry out of his mouth, his stomach plummet, his heart race. He was dreadfully out of practice. Why would anyone want to socialize with him, anyway? Rasmus looked kind of rugged, although he'd left his array of furs with his belongings, but the locs and strange gold eyes remained. Maybe if he helped in the kitchen, he thought, but also worried about making a mistake. In the end, he sat at a table near the kitchen, looking up to smile at approaching people. His face felt stiff.
we are all just prisoners here, of our own device
RASMUS
