October
a sunflower soul
with rock'n roll eyes
with rock'n roll eyes
"Well, if I didn't say it, I wouldn't be doing my job." You say with a grin, as if your concern for Finn's wellbeing is entirely professional. It is, in a sense, but because you take your job more seriously than just about anyone else here, the professional-implication is all wrong.
"Oh?" A sharp interest sparks in your gaze as Finn mentions his success. "With the demigods? Are any of them Outlanders?" It isn't your place to ask, and probably not Finn's place to tell. But there aren't any Outlanders in the city, and with all the research your parents have done, all the knowledge you've inherited from them, you simply can't help the way the subject immediately catches your interest.
"Oh, you know. I have the run of the show with Falke gone." You call from the other room, your voice taking on a sing-song quality as you buzz about, slamming doors and opening things, to hide what it is you're really doing. It isn't that you don't trust Finn so much as...well, this secret isn't even about trust anymore. "It's great. I don't do any work, have parties here every night, really let my hair down." Your grin is audible. The story is outrageous for anyone who knows even the littlest bit about you. You don't party, you haven't worn makeup in months and haven't had sex in twice that long. If anything you've been working harder with Falke away since there is no one to tell you to go home.
Wait. When was the last time you went home?
Doesn't matter.
Returning, you pull on a pair of gloves and reach for a tray upon which you deposit the contents of your pockets. "I'm going to take it by your posture and how you're breathing that you've at least bruised a few ribs, if not cracked them." You say, giving Finn a sympathetic smile as you look over the surface bruises on his jaw. "Other than your normal exhaustion and probably poor diet, anything else I should know about?"
"Oh?" A sharp interest sparks in your gaze as Finn mentions his success. "With the demigods? Are any of them Outlanders?" It isn't your place to ask, and probably not Finn's place to tell. But there aren't any Outlanders in the city, and with all the research your parents have done, all the knowledge you've inherited from them, you simply can't help the way the subject immediately catches your interest.
"Oh, you know. I have the run of the show with Falke gone." You call from the other room, your voice taking on a sing-song quality as you buzz about, slamming doors and opening things, to hide what it is you're really doing. It isn't that you don't trust Finn so much as...well, this secret isn't even about trust anymore. "It's great. I don't do any work, have parties here every night, really let my hair down." Your grin is audible. The story is outrageous for anyone who knows even the littlest bit about you. You don't party, you haven't worn makeup in months and haven't had sex in twice that long. If anything you've been working harder with Falke away since there is no one to tell you to go home.
Wait. When was the last time you went home?
Doesn't matter.
Returning, you pull on a pair of gloves and reach for a tray upon which you deposit the contents of your pockets. "I'm going to take it by your posture and how you're breathing that you've at least bruised a few ribs, if not cracked them." You say, giving Finn a sympathetic smile as you look over the surface bruises on his jaw. "Other than your normal exhaustion and probably poor diet, anything else I should know about?"
curious thoughts
& a heart of surprise
& a heart of surprise
