14th Summer, 516AV
There were lots of reasons why Tavia disliked people.
For starters, they were so ignorant! Whether it was the bellowing fish mongers with the smelly hands, the cackling girls with their blissful stupidity, or the young children who ran in front of her and cried when she accidently knocked them over, it didn’t matter. Most of humanity made Tavia roll her eyes and huff away.
This is why Ortias sticks with his books, the young woman thought as she trudged her way past the The Scholar’s Forum. At times Tavia couldn’t blame her uncle – never before had a book frustrated her as much as a strange did – but she didn’t envy his loneliness, or indeed anything about his dishevelled life.
Today was one such day, and she marched through the thin crowds with her hand down, arms folded. Her entire demeanour was a warning; I am a woman on a mission. Leave me be! and yet perhaps it was her very standoffishness that was to be thanked for what happened next.
“What about you, miss? You seem the sort to place herself high above one else. What do you say?”
For the coming few days, Tavia would spend a depressingly large amount of her time asking herself why she had hesitated, why she had looked up from the ground on which she had been stomping. There were always people crying and cawing at the Scholar’s Forum, but never before had she paid them a single inch of her attention. And yet on this occasion, something about the way that strong, demanding voice had called out made Tavia think it was she who he had been speaking to. And it was – rather, it had been.
And so, regrettably, she paused. Looking up from the ground and towards the row of white columns, Tavia scowled towards the young male who stood on the steps, his arms outreached in a defiant gesture. "Huh?"
The crowd – only seven or so people, but later on this number would swell in Tavia’s memory, and that seven or so would become a fixty, sixty – laughed and jeered quietly amongst themselves. Someone shouted the words “bureaucrat!” earning more sniggers.
“Why am I not surprised?” He said, the male who seemed to be leading this discussion or speech. He wore an arrogant smile, and despite his rather tatty looking clothes, his voice was clipped and clear. Tavia imagined him as a boy, the type of lad who had grown up in such a place where he had been scolded for eating with his elbows on the table. Sit up straight! Don’t eat with your mouth full! Eat with your mouth closed! Please and thankyou! Yes, she was quite sure that this young campaigner had grown up surrounded by rules and restrictions. He was nothing but a rebellious boy. A child. “Why would I expect someone like you to listen to the message I have, the message of the lower class that people like you like to imagine don’t exist.”
Tavia rolled her eyes, unable to stop herself from doing so. Oh, how she longed to point out that she could easily guess his upbringing, how his stint of being so very lower class would no doubt conclude with Daddy gifting him with a pretty house in West street.
The speaker noticed the dismissive gesture, and instead of guffawing as Tavia expected, he seemed oddly outraged. “What?” he shouted, jabbing a finger through the air, towards Tavia, “you don’t like being reminded of your cruelty, your selfishness? How dare you.” He licked his lips, glanced to his comrades for support. Most of the crowd looked just as surprised at the outburst as Tavia, but one female bystander offered a lethargic “yeh!”
Despite the disappointing feedback from his audience, the young male speaker continued on. His voice, as he spoke, became louder and more aggressive until the crowd around he and Tavia had thickened significantly. Speakers were common. Shouters, less so. The bizarre and strange always managed to attract more attention than the usual.
There were lots of reasons why Tavia disliked people.
For starters, they were so ignorant! Whether it was the bellowing fish mongers with the smelly hands, the cackling girls with their blissful stupidity, or the young children who ran in front of her and cried when she accidently knocked them over, it didn’t matter. Most of humanity made Tavia roll her eyes and huff away.
This is why Ortias sticks with his books, the young woman thought as she trudged her way past the The Scholar’s Forum. At times Tavia couldn’t blame her uncle – never before had a book frustrated her as much as a strange did – but she didn’t envy his loneliness, or indeed anything about his dishevelled life.
Today was one such day, and she marched through the thin crowds with her hand down, arms folded. Her entire demeanour was a warning; I am a woman on a mission. Leave me be! and yet perhaps it was her very standoffishness that was to be thanked for what happened next.
“What about you, miss? You seem the sort to place herself high above one else. What do you say?”
For the coming few days, Tavia would spend a depressingly large amount of her time asking herself why she had hesitated, why she had looked up from the ground on which she had been stomping. There were always people crying and cawing at the Scholar’s Forum, but never before had she paid them a single inch of her attention. And yet on this occasion, something about the way that strong, demanding voice had called out made Tavia think it was she who he had been speaking to. And it was – rather, it had been.
And so, regrettably, she paused. Looking up from the ground and towards the row of white columns, Tavia scowled towards the young male who stood on the steps, his arms outreached in a defiant gesture. "Huh?"
The crowd – only seven or so people, but later on this number would swell in Tavia’s memory, and that seven or so would become a fixty, sixty – laughed and jeered quietly amongst themselves. Someone shouted the words “bureaucrat!” earning more sniggers.
“Why am I not surprised?” He said, the male who seemed to be leading this discussion or speech. He wore an arrogant smile, and despite his rather tatty looking clothes, his voice was clipped and clear. Tavia imagined him as a boy, the type of lad who had grown up in such a place where he had been scolded for eating with his elbows on the table. Sit up straight! Don’t eat with your mouth full! Eat with your mouth closed! Please and thankyou! Yes, she was quite sure that this young campaigner had grown up surrounded by rules and restrictions. He was nothing but a rebellious boy. A child. “Why would I expect someone like you to listen to the message I have, the message of the lower class that people like you like to imagine don’t exist.”
Tavia rolled her eyes, unable to stop herself from doing so. Oh, how she longed to point out that she could easily guess his upbringing, how his stint of being so very lower class would no doubt conclude with Daddy gifting him with a pretty house in West street.
The speaker noticed the dismissive gesture, and instead of guffawing as Tavia expected, he seemed oddly outraged. “What?” he shouted, jabbing a finger through the air, towards Tavia, “you don’t like being reminded of your cruelty, your selfishness? How dare you.” He licked his lips, glanced to his comrades for support. Most of the crowd looked just as surprised at the outburst as Tavia, but one female bystander offered a lethargic “yeh!”
Despite the disappointing feedback from his audience, the young male speaker continued on. His voice, as he spoke, became louder and more aggressive until the crowd around he and Tavia had thickened significantly. Speakers were common. Shouters, less so. The bizarre and strange always managed to attract more attention than the usual.
