Quintilian sat at a secluded table, surrounded on two sides by vine-woven wooden lattices and under the glowing leaves of a magically altered young tree. The night was very young yet, though he’d need to head back to the Blind Eye soon. For now, he sipped from a tiny cup of strong coffee and read the gossip sheets. An unbecoming pastime, to be sure.
Amusing, though. The editor had spared no ink in describing Archon Arvina’s recent ball in excruciating – but somehow bland – detail. Quinn had heard it hadn’t been as peaceful as the paper made it out. Something about stolen cats and at least one murder. It was good he’d stayed away. Foreigners tended to make easy scapegoats.
He found himself looking up as he turned the page, and there Bethany was. And–Dammit, his first instinct was to hide. That awful terror of Tranquility threatened to grab him by the hair until he forced it away, losing dregs of awareness to Courage. It was a toothless curse now, to be certain. Possession overflowed all the channels Tranquility sought to deaden. He took a deep breath and tried to smile.
“I, uh. Hello, Beth. It’s Quinn now, actually. Best not call me Teo. Wouldn't want anyone to think he's still alive, even if they're not looking.” He leaned back in his chair, let go his death grip on his coffee cup. Fought to manifest calm by an old and careful rote. One tiny piece after another. He started to feel more himself.
“You look well.” He’d heard about Kirkwall, of course. What had happened at the Gallows – though not until long after the dust had settled. Perhaps he should have done more, somehow? His spirit seemed to think so now, but it had not been there then. Self-sacrifice wasn’t in him and what could you do from a jungle island full of spies weeks of travel away.
“Can I buy you dinner, for old time’s sake?” How novel. There would not have been the freedom for this in Kirkwall’s Circle.
@Bethany Hawke
Amusing, though. The editor had spared no ink in describing Archon Arvina’s recent ball in excruciating – but somehow bland – detail. Quinn had heard it hadn’t been as peaceful as the paper made it out. Something about stolen cats and at least one murder. It was good he’d stayed away. Foreigners tended to make easy scapegoats.
He found himself looking up as he turned the page, and there Bethany was. And–Dammit, his first instinct was to hide. That awful terror of Tranquility threatened to grab him by the hair until he forced it away, losing dregs of awareness to Courage. It was a toothless curse now, to be certain. Possession overflowed all the channels Tranquility sought to deaden. He took a deep breath and tried to smile.
“I, uh. Hello, Beth. It’s Quinn now, actually. Best not call me Teo. Wouldn't want anyone to think he's still alive, even if they're not looking.” He leaned back in his chair, let go his death grip on his coffee cup. Fought to manifest calm by an old and careful rote. One tiny piece after another. He started to feel more himself.
“You look well.” He’d heard about Kirkwall, of course. What had happened at the Gallows – though not until long after the dust had settled. Perhaps he should have done more, somehow? His spirit seemed to think so now, but it had not been there then. Self-sacrifice wasn’t in him and what could you do from a jungle island full of spies weeks of travel away.
“Can I buy you dinner, for old time’s sake?” How novel. There would not have been the freedom for this in Kirkwall’s Circle.
@Bethany Hawke
06-20-2024, 07:19 PM
