& oh, poor atlas - the world's a beast of a burden
She giggles at Sera's amusement and teasing of Gideon, suddenly more the 23-year-old girl than a scarred demigoddess. "He is a bit of a know-it-all," she concedes, glancing shyly at the Artificer. "All 'You should be proud of your role, Amalia,'" she parrots, her alto voice taking on a slightly gritty texture in attempt to sound masculine, nose rising in the air. "And 'Be more careful around strangers, Amalia'- when I could probably knock him over with one hand behind my back." It is rare for the Shield to boast about her physical prowess, but her indignation and the ease she feels in Sera's presence have done a great deal to strip down her natural defenses.
Though a chair is offered, Amalia doesn't sit. Sitting at a desk makes it feel too formal, like an interview rather than a conversation; and besides, she is still busy investigating objects on Sera's shelves. "I can see that already," she says in response to Sera's attestation of being good at her job, sincere admiration coloring her words. There's a small crystal sphere held delicately between her fingers when she looks back to the Artificer, tilting her head. "Who chooses you, though? And why? Is it the Gods?"
Though a chair is offered, Amalia doesn't sit. Sitting at a desk makes it feel too formal, like an interview rather than a conversation; and besides, she is still busy investigating objects on Sera's shelves. "I can see that already," she says in response to Sera's attestation of being good at her job, sincere admiration coloring her words. There's a small crystal sphere held delicately between her fingers when she looks back to the Artificer, tilting her head. "Who chooses you, though? And why? Is it the Gods?"
you've been holding on a long time
