quote_gentle_unquote: (95. say i'm an airplane)
Susan has devised another activity to occupy her days. By the calendar's reckoning, the start of spring is roughly a week away. Between her and Tress, they've got the outline of a plan for the next Dark, and Susan is happy to rely on people who've got greater interest in and skill for growing things insofar as agriculture goes. But the growing season here shall be longer than usual, and Susan should like to have some idea about what that might mean for the ecosystem,

This is her flimsy excuse to pardon the latest stack of books she's currently carrying out of the library. There is a marginal off-chance that preparatory reading on soil biota could, potentially, be useful. Perhaps she might even talk someone else into reading on the subject as well, so that they might discuss it.
quote_gentle_unquote: (04. easy they come)
Susan stares after the boy. Golden-haired with a sword to match, and a smile that held a sober weight under its brightness. He'd introduced himself as Magnus, and told some tall tale about gods and death and fighting wolves, and —

For some reason, this reminded Susan of Peter. The stories he used to tell, of swashbuckling adventure and fighting craven creatures that threatened his siblings. When she closes her eyes, she can almost see it: Peter, hair falling in his eyes, a sword clutched in his tender grasp. Too young; too horribly, terribly young to bear the weight of such battles. But then, they were already at war, and it grasped at them from all sides. Their worries could be made pretty and toothless when pushed into tales of that far-off magical land... oh, drat it, what was its name again!

Susan had made her excuses quickly. The boy - Magnus, not Peter - had seemed keen on chatting longer, but every word hollowed her out. There was a time when Susan could make small-talk with anyone about anything. Perhaps she still has the skill, somewhere deep inside her, but it has been set aside along with her pretty dresses and dates with handsome, blushing persons. She can no longer muster the energy, especially when her hands shake so fiercely she feels like they could shake the rest of her apart. Especially confronted, as it is, with finding herself in what does very much appear to undeniably be another world. It is unfair - unkind, even - that she should be able to travel the way her siblings loved to pretend about even into adulthood, while they're just dead. They get a horrifying, yet banal, fatal accident, and Susan gets what she supposes she is supposed to interpret as some grand adventure? She won't do it. She refuses. Being here is not a good thing, and she does not want it.

Her intent is to go to the Mansion's library and find a dry old book about something boring and uncomplicated. Something that won't eat at her, or reminder her of - of - of -

But her feet take her to the bar.

Well, then. When in Rome.



Content warning for NSFW in the following thread(s): Sagramore, Grantaire

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Susan Pevensie

May 2025

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