Once upon a time, finding someone to guide him through an unfamiliar city would’ve filled him with glee, and he’d probably be jumping up and down with joy. Now, though, he had a much more reserved reaction. Mustering up such positive emotions simply seemed like to much effort, although he did smile. “Semele Park? I haven’t been.” Scuffing one foot against the ground, suddenly shy and filled with an anxiety that Trisa really didn’t want to spend more time with him. “Not to presume, but maybe one day you’d be willing to take me there?” His tone was hesitant, as Orin was fully expecting her to say no. He’d heard no far more often than he’d heard yes in his life, unless he really fought for something, and that had been getting harder and harder to do.
At the talk of money, Orin shrugged. “I remember those days. Don’t worry, though. I’m sure they’ll soon be over.” It took a while for Orin to be financially stable, but now that he was he admitted to himself that it was nice not to be constantly worried about where each and every miza was going. Orin was living a comfortable life. In fact, most people would say that he was well off, but Orin really didn’t see the need for luxury in his life beyond what he already had. He liked what he did. The money was just a nice bonus. At the second part of Trisa’s statement, Orin glanced over at her. “Going to be a tattoo artist as well as a regular artist?” Frankly, seeing as he’d never gotten one, Orin didn’t know what was required to be a tattoo artist. Perhaps she already was one.
At the mention of Orin needing a tattoo, he frowned. He didn’t much like the idea of anyone forcing him to do anything he didn’t want to. At least she had ignored his statement. It hadn’t been flirting, exactly, since he had no intention of becoming romantically involved with anyone for a long while. Of course, he thought with a hint of sadness, he hadn’t chosen to get involved with someone the last time. But he had, and he’d been left broken hearted as always. However, Trisa was indicating the tattoo on her left wrist and Orin shoved away his ruminations, to be considered later. “Why do I need to get a tattoo?” he asked warily. Pointing at her wrist, he added, “And what is that? I’ve seen them on a lot of people around these part but no one has explained them to me.”
Being around strangers wasn’t usually Orin’s problem, though if Trisa’s motion about her racing heart was any indication, she felt uncomfortable around new people. Before he could stop himself, he replied, “Usually it’s the people who are closest to us who can hurt us the most.” Appalled at his slip of the tongue, he banged his head against the wall lightly. “Look at me, being morbid again. I’ll try and stop that.” Not that he thought his statement was untrue. It just wasn’t the sort of comment Orin should make to a new acquaintance. As he felt her elbow him, Orin looked at her. “Not too bad? I can live with that.” He smiled, but he was still recovering from his previous indiscretion, and it lacked some of the vivacity of his earlier smiles.
Listening to her words was almost like meeting a younger version of him. One who wasn’t so weary of the world and who still felt strongly about something, anything. Orin nodded, but still didn’t necessarily agree with her. “See, I’ve always seen someone else’s disappointment as just a drive to improve myself, because they don’t get what I’m trying to do yet.” Shrugging, Orin muttered, “Then again, what do I know about art?” He smiled at her comment that she needed to know someone well to sketch him or her properly. “See, that I can understand.” At her remark about passion, his smile broadened. “I agree with you there. I just know that some people don’t appreciate it. And sometimes not even death stops people from being passionate.” In fact, thinking of one friend in particular, Orin knew that death had just been the beginning. She’d been a troubled soul, but one that he’d tried to help find her way.
Her addendum to his conditions made him laugh. “Trust me, once you get to know me, you’ll understand that getting me to talk isn’t the problem. Getting me to stop talking or trying to get a word in edgewise that is difficult.” It was true. Several of Orin’s companions over the years had resorted to various measures to get him to shut his mouth. So Orin didn’t see that particular addition as a problem. “That works for me. Have we got a deal?” As she still hesitated, he realized that he hadn’t given her much personal information at all. “Ah, right. We’re going to The Almond Blossom, it’s where I work.” Finally, though, she took his hand and he shook it, before setting off, making sure to take the path that put them in the most shadows out of consideration for her. “I have made more than enough seafood recently. I’ll be happy to steer clear of it.”
As they walked, Orin remembered that, again, this woman knew nothing of him. “So, what would you like to know about me?” Running a hand through his hair, he tried to think of the most obvious pieces of information. “Let’s see, I’m twenty years old, I grew up in the Mithryn Outpost, which is just outside Syliras and you know I’m a chef.” Watching her reactions carefully, Orin tried to determine what might be most useful to her. Remembering her unease from earlier, Orin placed a hand over his heart in a pledge. “I’m not dangerous, I promise, Priskil strike me down if I lie.” That, of course, prompted him to remember his faith. “As you might’ve guessed, I believe in Priskil, in what she stands for.” While he didn’t necessarily want to talk about why he’d embraced the Goddess, he’d be more than happy to tall about her in general.
The Almond Blossom wasn’t that far away and soon the building’s beautiful façade appeared in the distance. Orin sped up his pace. On their walk, he’d grown more and more excited at the prospect of having a student again. It had been far too long since the last one, and teaching again felt like a step in the right direction for Orin, who was still in the process of forging his life into a new shape, hopefully a better one.
At the talk of money, Orin shrugged. “I remember those days. Don’t worry, though. I’m sure they’ll soon be over.” It took a while for Orin to be financially stable, but now that he was he admitted to himself that it was nice not to be constantly worried about where each and every miza was going. Orin was living a comfortable life. In fact, most people would say that he was well off, but Orin really didn’t see the need for luxury in his life beyond what he already had. He liked what he did. The money was just a nice bonus. At the second part of Trisa’s statement, Orin glanced over at her. “Going to be a tattoo artist as well as a regular artist?” Frankly, seeing as he’d never gotten one, Orin didn’t know what was required to be a tattoo artist. Perhaps she already was one.
At the mention of Orin needing a tattoo, he frowned. He didn’t much like the idea of anyone forcing him to do anything he didn’t want to. At least she had ignored his statement. It hadn’t been flirting, exactly, since he had no intention of becoming romantically involved with anyone for a long while. Of course, he thought with a hint of sadness, he hadn’t chosen to get involved with someone the last time. But he had, and he’d been left broken hearted as always. However, Trisa was indicating the tattoo on her left wrist and Orin shoved away his ruminations, to be considered later. “Why do I need to get a tattoo?” he asked warily. Pointing at her wrist, he added, “And what is that? I’ve seen them on a lot of people around these part but no one has explained them to me.”
Being around strangers wasn’t usually Orin’s problem, though if Trisa’s motion about her racing heart was any indication, she felt uncomfortable around new people. Before he could stop himself, he replied, “Usually it’s the people who are closest to us who can hurt us the most.” Appalled at his slip of the tongue, he banged his head against the wall lightly. “Look at me, being morbid again. I’ll try and stop that.” Not that he thought his statement was untrue. It just wasn’t the sort of comment Orin should make to a new acquaintance. As he felt her elbow him, Orin looked at her. “Not too bad? I can live with that.” He smiled, but he was still recovering from his previous indiscretion, and it lacked some of the vivacity of his earlier smiles.
Listening to her words was almost like meeting a younger version of him. One who wasn’t so weary of the world and who still felt strongly about something, anything. Orin nodded, but still didn’t necessarily agree with her. “See, I’ve always seen someone else’s disappointment as just a drive to improve myself, because they don’t get what I’m trying to do yet.” Shrugging, Orin muttered, “Then again, what do I know about art?” He smiled at her comment that she needed to know someone well to sketch him or her properly. “See, that I can understand.” At her remark about passion, his smile broadened. “I agree with you there. I just know that some people don’t appreciate it. And sometimes not even death stops people from being passionate.” In fact, thinking of one friend in particular, Orin knew that death had just been the beginning. She’d been a troubled soul, but one that he’d tried to help find her way.
Her addendum to his conditions made him laugh. “Trust me, once you get to know me, you’ll understand that getting me to talk isn’t the problem. Getting me to stop talking or trying to get a word in edgewise that is difficult.” It was true. Several of Orin’s companions over the years had resorted to various measures to get him to shut his mouth. So Orin didn’t see that particular addition as a problem. “That works for me. Have we got a deal?” As she still hesitated, he realized that he hadn’t given her much personal information at all. “Ah, right. We’re going to The Almond Blossom, it’s where I work.” Finally, though, she took his hand and he shook it, before setting off, making sure to take the path that put them in the most shadows out of consideration for her. “I have made more than enough seafood recently. I’ll be happy to steer clear of it.”
As they walked, Orin remembered that, again, this woman knew nothing of him. “So, what would you like to know about me?” Running a hand through his hair, he tried to think of the most obvious pieces of information. “Let’s see, I’m twenty years old, I grew up in the Mithryn Outpost, which is just outside Syliras and you know I’m a chef.” Watching her reactions carefully, Orin tried to determine what might be most useful to her. Remembering her unease from earlier, Orin placed a hand over his heart in a pledge. “I’m not dangerous, I promise, Priskil strike me down if I lie.” That, of course, prompted him to remember his faith. “As you might’ve guessed, I believe in Priskil, in what she stands for.” While he didn’t necessarily want to talk about why he’d embraced the Goddess, he’d be more than happy to tall about her in general.
The Almond Blossom wasn’t that far away and soon the building’s beautiful façade appeared in the distance. Orin sped up his pace. On their walk, he’d grown more and more excited at the prospect of having a student again. It had been far too long since the last one, and teaching again felt like a step in the right direction for Orin, who was still in the process of forging his life into a new shape, hopefully a better one.