Jun. 5th, 2019 04:49 pm
precious [drabble #33]
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eliayaseHear. Feel. Think.
The gentle chirps of morning birds and hum of ported airships were quickly drowned out by heavy panting and the scrambling of limbs. Nimble feet hit hardwood, being unable to differentiate it from dirt in this moment. Arms lashed out and fingers splayed over the nightstand in a hopeless search for something sharp. Pale eyes, unseeing but unsheathed from lids, frantically flickered back and forth at nothingness whilst strings of sunlight crossed the floor. A thunderstorm had passed, but only seen by one.
Yet within moments, the flighty figure froze. Slumped. Defeated. Silence filled the air once more as they leaned backwards onto their old bed, feet still on the planks but head nearly brushing the wall. The birds began to chirp once more, but almost hesitantly. Or maybe he was thinking about it too much.
It had been a long time. A long fight, more like, Aengus Prionne thought as he stared up at the ceiling for what felt like ages. He stared that way, mindlessly, until his eyes grew dry and he was forced to blink back to reality.
He remembered where he was: stationed at The Roost in Gridania in his usual inn room. It had gotten to the point where Aengus stopped there so often to get away from the hustle and bustle of Warrior of Light life that Mother Miounne practically kept the room reserved exclusively for him. Pushing himself back up with a grunt, the brunet surveyed the room. He liked to think that he didn't need to add any furnishings other than the default and was going for a "minimalist" appearance, but deep down he knew that was a white lie.
He stood up, pleasantly surprised that only a couple areas felt sore, and crossed the room to face his armoire.
It was hardly anything to write home about from the outside, yet one shouldn't be so quick to make assumptions. A coy smile played at the elezen's lips as he tugged open the wooden doors. After a year of near constant public spotlight and non-stop danger, this was the one thing he still kept secret. The one thing he had all to himself: not for the citizens, not for the Scions, not for the gods.
Aengus reached out and gently brushed a lavender silk sleeve with the tenderest of expressions. He'd made sure it hadn't gathered dust, despite lacking a wearer for many a day. He continued to gingerly flick through blouse after garment after sash, the light in his eyes befitting to his region-renowned title. Even the soft slippers at the bottom of the dresser sat without dust nor pull.
He'd rid himself of his nicer jewelry and trinkets long ago, but the cloth still remained. It was like a promise he'd made to himself: as long as they are still ready and waiting, my life can go back after I am through here. Aengus picked up a slipper, turning it over in his hands with a wistful stare.
As long as the pieces of his past were still prepared, his dance partner might still be out there waiting for him to come home.
The gentle chirps of morning birds and hum of ported airships were quickly drowned out by heavy panting and the scrambling of limbs. Nimble feet hit hardwood, being unable to differentiate it from dirt in this moment. Arms lashed out and fingers splayed over the nightstand in a hopeless search for something sharp. Pale eyes, unseeing but unsheathed from lids, frantically flickered back and forth at nothingness whilst strings of sunlight crossed the floor. A thunderstorm had passed, but only seen by one.
Yet within moments, the flighty figure froze. Slumped. Defeated. Silence filled the air once more as they leaned backwards onto their old bed, feet still on the planks but head nearly brushing the wall. The birds began to chirp once more, but almost hesitantly. Or maybe he was thinking about it too much.
It had been a long time. A long fight, more like, Aengus Prionne thought as he stared up at the ceiling for what felt like ages. He stared that way, mindlessly, until his eyes grew dry and he was forced to blink back to reality.
He remembered where he was: stationed at The Roost in Gridania in his usual inn room. It had gotten to the point where Aengus stopped there so often to get away from the hustle and bustle of Warrior of Light life that Mother Miounne practically kept the room reserved exclusively for him. Pushing himself back up with a grunt, the brunet surveyed the room. He liked to think that he didn't need to add any furnishings other than the default and was going for a "minimalist" appearance, but deep down he knew that was a white lie.
He stood up, pleasantly surprised that only a couple areas felt sore, and crossed the room to face his armoire.
It was hardly anything to write home about from the outside, yet one shouldn't be so quick to make assumptions. A coy smile played at the elezen's lips as he tugged open the wooden doors. After a year of near constant public spotlight and non-stop danger, this was the one thing he still kept secret. The one thing he had all to himself: not for the citizens, not for the Scions, not for the gods.
Aengus reached out and gently brushed a lavender silk sleeve with the tenderest of expressions. He'd made sure it hadn't gathered dust, despite lacking a wearer for many a day. He continued to gingerly flick through blouse after garment after sash, the light in his eyes befitting to his region-renowned title. Even the soft slippers at the bottom of the dresser sat without dust nor pull.
He'd rid himself of his nicer jewelry and trinkets long ago, but the cloth still remained. It was like a promise he'd made to himself: as long as they are still ready and waiting, my life can go back after I am through here. Aengus picked up a slipper, turning it over in his hands with a wistful stare.
As long as the pieces of his past were still prepared, his dance partner might still be out there waiting for him to come home.
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