Aurelia
You don't have to be a hero to save the world
You don't have to be a prodigy to be unique
You don't have to be a prodigy to be unique
Sleep on the Ark came and went in rhythmic waves. It had already been late in the night when she retired to a random bunk. It was cleaner and softer than most things she'd slept on in ages, so when the sun rose up she didn't wake right away. She slept until nearly mid-day, in fact, and upon this realization she jolted up out of her slumber.
She washed her face, untangled her hair, and guzzled down some water to nurse the headache that threatened to be a hangover (it had been a long time since she had a single drop of alcohol). Her old clothes were switched for some spares she found lying around... they were perhaps more suited to a man's figure but she didn't mind that. The trademark cloak, torn and ragged as it is, left behind. And as she stepped out from the crew's quarters, she did her best to mask the pain in her leg.
Greeting the Torchline sun for the first time in a long time, she takes several moments to soak it up - like a cat might. Or a tiger. It does her some good, though. Wakes up her mind enough that she can remind herself that she has someone she must go and find. She's months late coming home, after all.
What am I even going to tell him? She worries over that as she makes her way slowly but steadily up the port. She's in such a rush, mind in such a buzz, that she doesn't even notice the ropes and netting that lie {characteristically} on the ground around her as she scolds herself.
'Hey Milo, long time no see'? Ugh...
'Sorry, I got hung up in the desert trying to help Remi find a "pillow" and somehow ended up in the swamps a few weeks later'? Yeah, that sounds believ-- Her thoughts cut short as she loses her balance and goes careening into a pile of crates.
A crate topples over onto her head, spilling its contents and making her out to be some sort of box-headed klutz. The rest crash down around her in such a cacophony that even some nearby Hels take a moment to laugh at her before taking off. Amongst some of the fishermen...
Pushing the box up, she peers down to see a rope snagged around her ankle; the culprit. Before, she might've reacted with nothing but pure anger, swearing and kicking. Now, with a defeated sigh, Boxhead merely slumps down into the mess she made.
She washed her face, untangled her hair, and guzzled down some water to nurse the headache that threatened to be a hangover (it had been a long time since she had a single drop of alcohol). Her old clothes were switched for some spares she found lying around... they were perhaps more suited to a man's figure but she didn't mind that. The trademark cloak, torn and ragged as it is, left behind. And as she stepped out from the crew's quarters, she did her best to mask the pain in her leg.
Greeting the Torchline sun for the first time in a long time, she takes several moments to soak it up - like a cat might. Or a tiger. It does her some good, though. Wakes up her mind enough that she can remind herself that she has someone she must go and find. She's months late coming home, after all.
What am I even going to tell him? She worries over that as she makes her way slowly but steadily up the port. She's in such a rush, mind in such a buzz, that she doesn't even notice the ropes and netting that lie {characteristically} on the ground around her as she scolds herself.
'Hey Milo, long time no see'? Ugh...
'Sorry, I got hung up in the desert trying to help Remi find a "pillow" and somehow ended up in the swamps a few weeks later'? Yeah, that sounds believ-- Her thoughts cut short as she loses her balance and goes careening into a pile of crates.
A crate topples over onto her head, spilling its contents and making her out to be some sort of box-headed klutz. The rest crash down around her in such a cacophony that even some nearby Hels take a moment to laugh at her before taking off. Amongst some of the fishermen...
Pushing the box up, she peers down to see a rope snagged around her ankle; the culprit. Before, she might've reacted with nothing but pure anger, swearing and kicking. Now, with a defeated sigh, Boxhead merely slumps down into the mess she made.
It feels like nothing is easy, it'll never be
That's alright, let it out, talk to me
That's alright, let it out, talk to me
code credits go to Skylark!<3
