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7 November 2023 11:23Susan 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
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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