46th of Winter
The Streets of Alvadas
It had been an odd thought, one that had made itself known during the early hours of that morning while she was dressing for the day and carefully applying makeup: if the streets of Alvadas could lead someone to a specific place, then what else could they lead a person to? She had paused, looking at her reflection in the mirror, her finger poised an inch from her lips, ferrying a small dollop of rosy pomade.
Well. That would certainly simplify things, wouldn't it?
It was this train of thought that found her sitting at a small table on the adjoined patio of a café, separated from the street by a waist-high iron fence. She had no real knowledge of why she was here, of all places, only the inexplicable notion that she was supposed to be, and she was quickly learning that Alvadas largely operated in ways that defied what was widely accepted to be logical. A waitress set a piping hot cup of tea down on the table in front of her, and Fragmenta offered her a thin smile of gratitude, wordlessly signaling that she would let the woman know if she needed anything else. The waitress seemed to understand and walked away, gathering dirty plates from a nearby table before making her way back to the building. There weren't many people left on the patio this late in the evening, and the air had begun to chill.
More-or-less alone once again, she turned her attention back to the street, scanning it for anything that seemed out of place and, realizing that such a task would be like searching for a needle in a stack of equally colorful, flamboyant needles, instead sampled the tea before her, a blend of chamomile and rosehips, a swirl of honey and ginger, and a subtle twist of lemon. The dark amber rolled across her tongue like bittersweet silk, the taste lingering long after she swallowed. The warmth was more than welcome on a night like this, but it would be even more appreciated if it were paired with a bit of Sywart.
She lit a cigarette using the candle present on the table, taking a long drag off of it and rolling the flavorful smoke in her mouth before tilting her head back slightly and exhaling in a long streamer that was quickly snatched away by the wind. She continued to alternate between the tea and the Sywart, her elbows on the table and her chin propped on the heel of her hand. With darkness falling across the city, she was less concerned with keeping up appearances, entirely content to melt into the nightlife and shadows of Alvadas.
Would it be so terrible if I were to remove the masque? she wondered, the thought followed almost immediately by the ever-present annoyance with herself that lurked in the back of her mind. Yes, reveal yourself for what you really are. Here, where anyone can see you, you twit."
She pointedly stripped her arms of the elbow-length gloves in a small act of defiance directed at herself. She would be showing more of herself to the world that night, one way or another, however small. She held her arms out, staring at the symmetrical patterns of scales that wound around them like coils of silver and, feeling suddenly self conscious, folded them tightly across her chest.
An empty victory if ever there was one. She again wondered why the streets had led her here, of all places.
The Streets of Alvadas
It had been an odd thought, one that had made itself known during the early hours of that morning while she was dressing for the day and carefully applying makeup: if the streets of Alvadas could lead someone to a specific place, then what else could they lead a person to? She had paused, looking at her reflection in the mirror, her finger poised an inch from her lips, ferrying a small dollop of rosy pomade.
Well. That would certainly simplify things, wouldn't it?
It was this train of thought that found her sitting at a small table on the adjoined patio of a café, separated from the street by a waist-high iron fence. She had no real knowledge of why she was here, of all places, only the inexplicable notion that she was supposed to be, and she was quickly learning that Alvadas largely operated in ways that defied what was widely accepted to be logical. A waitress set a piping hot cup of tea down on the table in front of her, and Fragmenta offered her a thin smile of gratitude, wordlessly signaling that she would let the woman know if she needed anything else. The waitress seemed to understand and walked away, gathering dirty plates from a nearby table before making her way back to the building. There weren't many people left on the patio this late in the evening, and the air had begun to chill.
More-or-less alone once again, she turned her attention back to the street, scanning it for anything that seemed out of place and, realizing that such a task would be like searching for a needle in a stack of equally colorful, flamboyant needles, instead sampled the tea before her, a blend of chamomile and rosehips, a swirl of honey and ginger, and a subtle twist of lemon. The dark amber rolled across her tongue like bittersweet silk, the taste lingering long after she swallowed. The warmth was more than welcome on a night like this, but it would be even more appreciated if it were paired with a bit of Sywart.
She lit a cigarette using the candle present on the table, taking a long drag off of it and rolling the flavorful smoke in her mouth before tilting her head back slightly and exhaling in a long streamer that was quickly snatched away by the wind. She continued to alternate between the tea and the Sywart, her elbows on the table and her chin propped on the heel of her hand. With darkness falling across the city, she was less concerned with keeping up appearances, entirely content to melt into the nightlife and shadows of Alvadas.
Would it be so terrible if I were to remove the masque? she wondered, the thought followed almost immediately by the ever-present annoyance with herself that lurked in the back of her mind. Yes, reveal yourself for what you really are. Here, where anyone can see you, you twit."
She pointedly stripped her arms of the elbow-length gloves in a small act of defiance directed at herself. She would be showing more of herself to the world that night, one way or another, however small. She held her arms out, staring at the symmetrical patterns of scales that wound around them like coils of silver and, feeling suddenly self conscious, folded them tightly across her chest.
An empty victory if ever there was one. She again wondered why the streets had led her here, of all places.
