winter 30th
Today Ennoia had come with the dawn, arriving on the cusp of her transformation and observing it. Ciraaci didn’t necessarily like that, but she said nothing against it, merely adjusting the way the shift clung to her long limbs. She kept against the wall across from the door, as was tradition for Ennoia’s visits, and folded her hands in front of herself. Her jade eyes had a secret vacancy behind them but it was sent away and wits were gathered as Ennoia took his customary seat and she gradually, warily, relaxed.
“Good morning,” Ciraaci said. Over their past few visits, Ennoia had enthused the importance of practising the meagre Common he’d been teaching her. She’d had her greetings and farewells pretty memorized, though her enunciation could use so very, very much improvement and it would take some time to wholly break her habit of ‘flailing her arms’ whenever she spoke Common. Even now her hands fought the urge to rise and wave through expressing the emotions behind the word to the nuanced meanings it had when the ethaefal spoke. It was hard to break such a deeply ingrained instinct.
“It is a good morning, isn’t it?” Ennoia asked. As he commonly did, he reminded of a well-fed tomcat with the self-assured way he splayed while he sat and smiled like he didn’t care. Ciraaci could never be reminded more of their differences than when he expressed this cocky aspect of his personality. “I was given the opportunity to ask about our little Common talk, and I have been given the right to tutor you in Common, to an acceptable degree.”
His smile was poison, a wicked curling acidity that tucked itself behind the nice twist of his lips. Ciraaci overlooked it and expressed excitement for that fact. Learning Common would be an invaluable tool for surviving her captors. She thought of how she might better answer their questions but didn’t consider the torture they may put her through. A tiny part of her, the very loudly dismissive part that sounded a lot like the little Syna-loving voice living in the back of her head, assured her that Ennoia handling her case like this would protect her from the previous horrors the interrogators had released on her, the things she would never willingly remember.
“When do I get to start?” Ciraaci asked, returning to Common--as should have been expected; the Common sentence was currently beyond her and she had no will to resist the fluctuations in her body language that instilled depth into her words.
“As soon as you eat,” Ennoia said, his smile stiff. He held out a clothed bundle, allowing a red apple and a handful of shelled nuts to be uncovered. There was a piece of dry, baked bread and, when she darted a quick look for anything else, she noted the canteen on his hip. At least her captors wouldn’t get the pleasure of pouring sour water down her throat to soothe the dry cough.
502
“Good morning,” Ciraaci said. Over their past few visits, Ennoia had enthused the importance of practising the meagre Common he’d been teaching her. She’d had her greetings and farewells pretty memorized, though her enunciation could use so very, very much improvement and it would take some time to wholly break her habit of ‘flailing her arms’ whenever she spoke Common. Even now her hands fought the urge to rise and wave through expressing the emotions behind the word to the nuanced meanings it had when the ethaefal spoke. It was hard to break such a deeply ingrained instinct.
“It is a good morning, isn’t it?” Ennoia asked. As he commonly did, he reminded of a well-fed tomcat with the self-assured way he splayed while he sat and smiled like he didn’t care. Ciraaci could never be reminded more of their differences than when he expressed this cocky aspect of his personality. “I was given the opportunity to ask about our little Common talk, and I have been given the right to tutor you in Common, to an acceptable degree.”
His smile was poison, a wicked curling acidity that tucked itself behind the nice twist of his lips. Ciraaci overlooked it and expressed excitement for that fact. Learning Common would be an invaluable tool for surviving her captors. She thought of how she might better answer their questions but didn’t consider the torture they may put her through. A tiny part of her, the very loudly dismissive part that sounded a lot like the little Syna-loving voice living in the back of her head, assured her that Ennoia handling her case like this would protect her from the previous horrors the interrogators had released on her, the things she would never willingly remember.
“When do I get to start?” Ciraaci asked, returning to Common--as should have been expected; the Common sentence was currently beyond her and she had no will to resist the fluctuations in her body language that instilled depth into her words.
“As soon as you eat,” Ennoia said, his smile stiff. He held out a clothed bundle, allowing a red apple and a handful of shelled nuts to be uncovered. There was a piece of dry, baked bread and, when she darted a quick look for anything else, she noted the canteen on his hip. At least her captors wouldn’t get the pleasure of pouring sour water down her throat to soothe the dry cough.
502
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