[if one were to ask alia which of the shop’s employees is her favorite, she would be quite blunt and say paul, of course, why would it ever be anyone else? and then she would build a grudge against the fool who would even question such a thing, and treat them with thinly-veiled animosity ever after. yet in truth, outside of her brother and alina, there is an odd remove between alia and the others who work in sol & scroll – self-imposed, as all removes have been throughout her time at saltburnt, cautious of the potential judgement that comes when someone gets too close. the barred prisons of october are months away, but alia cannot forget the near-unanimous vote that had sent her there, nor how little it surprised her. she knows what she is, scarcely blames those who would keep at a distance, once they understand her strangeness.
and yet – her pool, her sacred place, the closest she feels to sietch and kin, outside of paul and alina’s arms. alia had not anticipated the pool to be anything more than an amusement, or perhaps a diversion for the other guests. yet gale dekarios, gale of waterdeep had drawn his symbols and imbued them with a power that tickles her mind like bubbles on the tongue, drawn it from some well deep within him that demanded he rest, depleted afterwards. alia had watched all this with her unreadable, solemn, blank gaze, seemingly unmoved.
but she had sought him out, in this newest revelry, hooking her arm with his broad, muscled one, skipping along towards the games and watching him with the fascination of a cat with a canary. she watches, she smiles, too toothy, too sharp, but warm like she so rarely is. she feels the champagne fizz of his thoughts as she hops up to perch on the edge of the booth’s counter, half-obscuring gale’s aim as she does so.]
There are tumbling acrobats and dancing girls, for festivals. Usually great hordes of them, all veiled in silk and gems. [for the viewing pleasure of muad’dib, who rarely gives them more than a passing glance, so occupied in his own, innermost thoughts.] I fear a jester or clown would annoy, after a while. Do they? [a pause, as he knocks down several wooden targets, and alia dutifully applauds his skill.]
no subject
and yet – her pool, her sacred place, the closest she feels to sietch and kin, outside of paul and alina’s arms. alia had not anticipated the pool to be anything more than an amusement, or perhaps a diversion for the other guests. yet gale dekarios, gale of waterdeep had drawn his symbols and imbued them with a power that tickles her mind like bubbles on the tongue, drawn it from some well deep within him that demanded he rest, depleted afterwards. alia had watched all this with her unreadable, solemn, blank gaze, seemingly unmoved.
but she had sought him out, in this newest revelry, hooking her arm with his broad, muscled one, skipping along towards the games and watching him with the fascination of a cat with a canary. she watches, she smiles, too toothy, too sharp, but warm like she so rarely is. she feels the champagne fizz of his thoughts as she hops up to perch on the edge of the booth’s counter, half-obscuring gale’s aim as she does so.]
There are tumbling acrobats and dancing girls, for festivals. Usually great hordes of them, all veiled in silk and gems. [for the viewing pleasure of muad’dib, who rarely gives them more than a passing glance, so occupied in his own, innermost thoughts.] I fear a jester or clown would annoy, after a while. Do they? [a pause, as he knocks down several wooden targets, and alia dutifully applauds his skill.]