It is not long before another approaches, strange and dark yet not entirely unwelcome. This is what she wanted, after all- though the best preparation does not lead to expectation, and despite the stranger's friendly approach, Amalia is taken by surprise. The girl turns quickly toward his voice, startled features softening to a smile as self-conscious warmth spreads up her cheeks. "Thank you," she murmurs quickly, dark eyes glittering with curiosity as they catch his blues. There is a distance about him, something not quite here, and it stirs up questions in the girl's mind. Where did he come from? What does he know? Is he familiar with the songs, the curling hymns and smoky prayers?
Apparently not- and as he goes on to ask the meaning of things, the girl can only blink helplessly, the answer at once too complicated and too simple to summarize with any grace. She bites her lip thoughtfully, "You don't know?" she asks in response, but the question is clearly rhetorical. He must be like Deimos, Amalia thinks, one of the ones from elsewhere. Her gaze turns back to the sea of lanterns, a thoughtful frown on the angular face. "They're memories. Prayers. For- oh!"
Unfortunately for the stranger, the explanation is interrupted by the very rude arrival of a... well, a bird. The girl squawks in indignant surprise as the raven claims his perch on her shoulder, and yelps again, though not in pain, as the bird nips at her nose. "What on...?! oh." she exclaims again, surprise quickly giving way to bemused anger as realization dawns. She can think of one person who would find this sort of antic hilarious; her dark eyes narrow as she glares at the bird, still perched smugly on her narrow shoulder. "Hello, Jorseval." She means to push accusingly at him, perhaps nudge him off her shoulder. He is lucky she is in a fair mood, with so many distractions to temper her ire.
She wants to turn back to the foreign man, but there is yet another stranger approaching, and she finds her attention torn between the two. The new one is another girl, shorter than Amalia but darker, lankier, striking in the firelight, and apparently less interested in the baker than the rapscallion upon her back, though the easy wink she throws at Ama is not lost on the girl. "Trouble, always," she replies dryly, an aggrieved smile briefly upon her face.
More interesting than the newcomer, however, is the rather large kitten at their feet. "How lovely," Amalia smiles warmly at the animal, leaning down for a closer look. Does she notice the way it eyes the crow? Is she aware of how she angles her right shoulder slightly more downward? Will she be upset if the feline acts on instinct?
Some questions do not need answers. And some birds need to be put in their place.
amalia chandrakant
Apparently not- and as he goes on to ask the meaning of things, the girl can only blink helplessly, the answer at once too complicated and too simple to summarize with any grace. She bites her lip thoughtfully, "You don't know?" she asks in response, but the question is clearly rhetorical. He must be like Deimos, Amalia thinks, one of the ones from elsewhere. Her gaze turns back to the sea of lanterns, a thoughtful frown on the angular face. "They're memories. Prayers. For- oh!"
Unfortunately for the stranger, the explanation is interrupted by the very rude arrival of a... well, a bird. The girl squawks in indignant surprise as the raven claims his perch on her shoulder, and yelps again, though not in pain, as the bird nips at her nose. "What on...?! oh." she exclaims again, surprise quickly giving way to bemused anger as realization dawns. She can think of one person who would find this sort of antic hilarious; her dark eyes narrow as she glares at the bird, still perched smugly on her narrow shoulder. "Hello, Jorseval." She means to push accusingly at him, perhaps nudge him off her shoulder. He is lucky she is in a fair mood, with so many distractions to temper her ire.
She wants to turn back to the foreign man, but there is yet another stranger approaching, and she finds her attention torn between the two. The new one is another girl, shorter than Amalia but darker, lankier, striking in the firelight, and apparently less interested in the baker than the rapscallion upon her back, though the easy wink she throws at Ama is not lost on the girl. "Trouble, always," she replies dryly, an aggrieved smile briefly upon her face.
More interesting than the newcomer, however, is the rather large kitten at their feet. "How lovely," Amalia smiles warmly at the animal, leaning down for a closer look. Does she notice the way it eyes the crow? Is she aware of how she angles her right shoulder slightly more downward? Will she be upset if the feline acts on instinct?
Some questions do not need answers. And some birds need to be put in their place.
we might be hollow, but we're brave
Ronin
