we cannot become what we want to be by remaining what we are
He sits on the briefcase and she sits on the bench, feet on the ground this time. Chewing thoughtfully on her lip, Amalia looks Finn over for a moment, not aware she's staring or that her expression has taken on a cast of curiosity. Dark eyes go from the coats to the briefcase, the papers, the pencil, the curls that frame a face she still half-sees as Remi. Honestly she's surprised he's accepted, and now that she has to come up with a question she isn't sure what where to begin.
"Why are you called the Spyglass?" Her head has taken on a feline tilt, the edge of her mouth curled up. It's something she's been wondering since she learned about the title; it isn't the one she would have expected for him, though she couldn't say what is. "Okay. Your turn."
"Why are you called the Spyglass?" Her head has taken on a feline tilt, the edge of her mouth curled up. It's something she's been wondering since she learned about the title; it isn't the one she would have expected for him, though she couldn't say what is. "Okay. Your turn."
Amalia
