stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires
The door was unlocked, and Rory found himself standing in the warm bakery a lot quicker than his brain would've liked. He had wanted time to think about what to say, what to do: five apples was hardly enough payment for bringing a cake or so home, but as someone who mostly engaged in trade, Rory didn't have much in the way of hard money.
But it was so hard to think about money when in the presence of Amalia: her voice and her face were bright enough to rival the sun itself. It thawed something in him, but did little to fix the fact that he didn't exactly know what to say. "Hi," he responded, subdued in comparison to her—though, most things were. He didn't sound sad or anything, just a bit uncertain and weary.
She saved him, though, with an invitation to help her bake. It was painful, for obvious reasons—something he had always done with his family, suddenly to be done with someone he didn't quite know, though he wouldn't mind calling her a friend. The memory of the afternoon he'd spent in here with her and Deimos was a fond one.
Caido ate up those who fell behind, so he supposed he should stop moping and just throw himself headlong into it.
"Yes," he said, shrugging out of his greatcoat and a couple of layers of wool. He couldn't help but feel a bit like Deimos. So far, he had said exactly two words to her, but truth was that his brain had forgotten how to do small talk. So he hung his coat on a hook and took out the apples, presenting them to Amalia with a shy smile. "I brought some apples. I thought, maybe..."
He faltered. Who was he to tell a baker what to bake, when she had already prepared something?
Idiot.
But it was so hard to think about money when in the presence of Amalia: her voice and her face were bright enough to rival the sun itself. It thawed something in him, but did little to fix the fact that he didn't exactly know what to say. "Hi," he responded, subdued in comparison to her—though, most things were. He didn't sound sad or anything, just a bit uncertain and weary.
She saved him, though, with an invitation to help her bake. It was painful, for obvious reasons—something he had always done with his family, suddenly to be done with someone he didn't quite know, though he wouldn't mind calling her a friend. The memory of the afternoon he'd spent in here with her and Deimos was a fond one.
Caido ate up those who fell behind, so he supposed he should stop moping and just throw himself headlong into it.
"Yes," he said, shrugging out of his greatcoat and a couple of layers of wool. He couldn't help but feel a bit like Deimos. So far, he had said exactly two words to her, but truth was that his brain had forgotten how to do small talk. So he hung his coat on a hook and took out the apples, presenting them to Amalia with a shy smile. "I brought some apples. I thought, maybe..."
He faltered. Who was he to tell a baker what to bake, when she had already prepared something?
Idiot.
