Streets of Silver, Beads of Gold (January 3010) - [Finlach]
Mar 30, 2018 3:41:34 GMT -5
Post by Niphredil on Mar 30, 2018 3:41:34 GMT -5
"No. Yes. Uhm."
Those were simple enough to read, and Niphredil waited patiently, brow yet furrowed in concern. A part of her was concerned she perhaps had overstepped; there was a discomfort in his face that clung and morphed, waffling between that and acceptance of her inquiry. Still, Niphredil was unsure if it was directed at her, or if perhaps something was merely rising as a result of her question.
Still, he did not seem to be seeking to answer, either.
"May I?"
Her friend motioned to her slate, and Niffy nodded, reaching for and handing Finlach her slate. Perhaps it had not been her question that troubled him, so. Perhaps it had been a worry she would not understand.
Because she could no longer hear; because she could not be the same Niphredil he had known throughout their life.
There was a guilt awash in her blood as she handed the slate and watched him write, a choke of something in her throat that was of the weight of a sob, though did not carry with it any tears or threat of such expressions. It was not to say she no longer wept for the strangeness and emptiness of her world; sometimes when she was alone she could not fight such things away. But she had learned composure quickly, for greater things had befallen her family since her own illness.
Finlach returned the slate, smiling to her as he did so.
Sleep did not find me last night. Your order is no extra burden. There is no cause to fret, Fred.
She looked up, though found him not looking at her; still, he was wearing a boyish grin of amusement, and it drew a small laugh from the young woman as she wiped the slate clean. He was the only one who called her Fred. He always seemed to shy away from her once it was uttered, but she had never minded. It had always sounded kind from him.
Perhaps now, it merely read kindly.
It was probably useless to tell him to sleep more that night. With the way Finlach looked, perhaps he would have no trouble. At least, she hoped he would have no trouble. “All right. If that’s what it is…” She paused. “Let me know if there is something I can help with, Fin,” Niphredil murmured to him. She may have lost her hearing, but perhaps there was a chance she was not entirely useless.
She had felt that way, though; there was an emptiness inside where her music had been, and where her family’s laughter had been harbored and cherished. Now she was a mediocre seamstress in a house of tailors, trying to learn what she should have learned in the years of her harp schooling. Ultimately, it would have been more useful to her to never pursue music at all it seemed.
“I suppose we should get back,” Niphredil said quietly, glancing toward the door, the driving rain still falling in silver rivers upon the white stone of the city’s streets. Truthfully, she had no desire to trek back through flooded streets, but she also did not wish to disrupt Finlach’s work for the day.
She was trouble enough.
Niphredil smiled to him, though. “It was good to see you,” she offered warmly.
Rovain bounded up once more, nodding in agreement. “It’s always good to see you,” she added.
Those were simple enough to read, and Niphredil waited patiently, brow yet furrowed in concern. A part of her was concerned she perhaps had overstepped; there was a discomfort in his face that clung and morphed, waffling between that and acceptance of her inquiry. Still, Niphredil was unsure if it was directed at her, or if perhaps something was merely rising as a result of her question.
Still, he did not seem to be seeking to answer, either.
"May I?"
Her friend motioned to her slate, and Niffy nodded, reaching for and handing Finlach her slate. Perhaps it had not been her question that troubled him, so. Perhaps it had been a worry she would not understand.
Because she could no longer hear; because she could not be the same Niphredil he had known throughout their life.
There was a guilt awash in her blood as she handed the slate and watched him write, a choke of something in her throat that was of the weight of a sob, though did not carry with it any tears or threat of such expressions. It was not to say she no longer wept for the strangeness and emptiness of her world; sometimes when she was alone she could not fight such things away. But she had learned composure quickly, for greater things had befallen her family since her own illness.
Finlach returned the slate, smiling to her as he did so.
Sleep did not find me last night. Your order is no extra burden. There is no cause to fret, Fred.
She looked up, though found him not looking at her; still, he was wearing a boyish grin of amusement, and it drew a small laugh from the young woman as she wiped the slate clean. He was the only one who called her Fred. He always seemed to shy away from her once it was uttered, but she had never minded. It had always sounded kind from him.
Perhaps now, it merely read kindly.
It was probably useless to tell him to sleep more that night. With the way Finlach looked, perhaps he would have no trouble. At least, she hoped he would have no trouble. “All right. If that’s what it is…” She paused. “Let me know if there is something I can help with, Fin,” Niphredil murmured to him. She may have lost her hearing, but perhaps there was a chance she was not entirely useless.
She had felt that way, though; there was an emptiness inside where her music had been, and where her family’s laughter had been harbored and cherished. Now she was a mediocre seamstress in a house of tailors, trying to learn what she should have learned in the years of her harp schooling. Ultimately, it would have been more useful to her to never pursue music at all it seemed.
“I suppose we should get back,” Niphredil said quietly, glancing toward the door, the driving rain still falling in silver rivers upon the white stone of the city’s streets. Truthfully, she had no desire to trek back through flooded streets, but she also did not wish to disrupt Finlach’s work for the day.
She was trouble enough.
Niphredil smiled to him, though. “It was good to see you,” she offered warmly.
Rovain bounded up once more, nodding in agreement. “It’s always good to see you,” she added.
