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Post by pastels on Feb 12, 2019 7:00:02 GMT
Truth be told, Astra missed the subtext entirely. Subtle wordplay had never been her strong suit. As far as she was concerned, they were talking about skills and proficiencies, and little else besides. There might have been a time when she was receptive to such advances… but it was clear that that time, had it even existed, has long passed.
“Please don’t encourage it,” the elf said as she watched the firebird dangle a bauble in front of Mitja. Despite her words, a hint of amusement showed through the cracks in her stony expression; the familiar was clearly having a good time, bobbing and weaving from side to side, one thread of decorum away from swooping for the prize. The raven called out, its voice deep and raspy, “Mine? Mine?”
“It is quite impolite to refuse the offer, so I suppose it is, yes,” Astra muttered—the words have barely left her mouth before Mitja, in a flurry of sable feathers, swooped towards Citrine and nabbed the item with unnerving grace. It then perched on the firebird’s other knee, looking as smug as a bird could, and stared at her for a bit before hopping off to the side. The two humans were silent, perhaps deep in their drinks, and Astra shook her head. “Is your ‘Lessi’ a bird, too? What kind? I would think it is the best form for their kind; freedom, when their service is not required, and the wings to go with it. I heard tell of a wizard with an octopus, before…”
Hmph. What good would it do, in that state, unless its master was planning an underwater sojourn? Oh, well. She supposed that in dire straits, one can pull it out of the aquarium to squirt ink at, say, hostiles.
Her attention ran back to full when the firebird introduced herself, and she realized she had yet to do the same. “I am Astra,” the elf quickly interjected after, “And you are a phoenix? I have heard the tales. It is… one of the top picks for aspiring companies to use as their name.” Blood Boars, Battleborn Bears… Honestly. What was next, the Petulant Phoenix? She understood why a few institutions named themselves after animals and the like, seeking to emulate those traits and embody the aesthetic, but at least put some flair into it. Again, her thoughts returned to the Clawgraves. Astra winced, her gaze settling once more on the exuberant (and somewhat showy) Citrine, as the firebird’s allusion to death and rebirth sunk in. With all the best in mind, the elf calmly asked, “Why? Do not answer if you wish, but is there aught special about your current form?”
But Vandria’s Eye, truly?
Astra touched the scar on her face, her fingers moving along the grooves and ridges the healed tissue left across her cheek. It was an interesting concept that she wanted to probe; she had enough self-awareness to recognize that Astariel would have loved the chance to be reborn, again and again… but as it stood, she has had enough. There was also the implication that one needed to die before being reborn—she mentally rolled her eyes at this one—and, well… Astra and near death experiences were far more intimate friends than she wanted to admit. “I… Yes. I have lived through a lot,” she confessed. The memories were dizzying when she mulled over them; it felt as if repairing a thick tome page by page on a breezy day. Astra began to tick off her fingers, speaking slowly, struggling to reel in the relevant experiences from the vast oceans of her mind. “I served the Moon Garrison ever since I reached my adulthood, as a bladesinger. It was absolute chaos; I was paired with the most horrendous group of misfits in the Garrison—” which she thought then was an absolutely deplorable offense to not just her person but the Ghila'nen name, there wasn't even a fellow high elf in sight, “—but I loved it. Eventually. Then there was a huge war on my second or so century in the service…” Her expression darkened, and her rapid explanations slowed. “And I was receiving a promotion, the day news of the Wailing Death reached Silverymoon.”
Corellon’s Grace, reciting these brought nothing but faint sparks of memory. She allowed herself a small smile, genuine in its relief—then self-depreciation. As if finally, finally, aware of the dim subjects she brought up, Astra coughed behind a fist. “But I also saw the Southern Conclave become the center of learning it is today, and witnessed a few glorious sights. Not all was bad. How about you, and your lives?”
It seemed that she still, was open to more questions about the topics she listed off, if one were to judge by her body language. Astra wasn't quite sitting as upright as before.
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Citrine
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6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328 
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Post by Citrine on Feb 12, 2019 18:02:00 GMT
Her grin showed just how silly she thought the phrase 'please don't encourage it' meant to Citrine. Nimbling taunting the raven until Astra gave permission for the familiar to lunge and gracefully pluck the sea glass treasure from her fingers like a berry the firebird kept it in motion in a deft wave between her fingers. She kept her knee still as the raven found a perch just above where her scales turned to skin, the tough transition strange yet natural looking at the same time. She winked at the bird during the staring contest, then blinked fully first - losing the stare down. It's not like she ever won against her own familiar, so why would she try towards anothers?
"Nae, 'Lessi - Khalessi en full - es ah cat." She said it so matter of factly it might have taken a moment for the reality of a bird folk having a cat as a familiar sing in. "An' she finds her own trouble despite nae havin' wings believe me. Ghosts around, popping up en places she's nae supposed tae be. Have'nt seen 'er en years though. Me best mouser on me ship, gone, without ah trace." It would make a bit more sense then, for a cat to be her shape. Ships hated rodents of all types - no wonder a pirate Captain had a proud beast like a cat for guidance.
"Astra et es. Pleased tae meet ye, Lass." She nodded in a more formal greeting but didn't go into anything more superfluous - not with the cold wandering night still ghosting in her thoughts. "We've quite ah reputation, dane we?" She laughed in agreement to the elf's curiosity at the tales and myths associated. "Singin', fire, even healin', and stirring hearts intae battle." She listed off a few of the more common myths. "Reincarnation tae, on top o' our long lives." She ran a hand through her hair, filled with both the copper-cedar red of her own hair and the dark red feathers of her wings. "Aye swear me feathers are good luck, an me sister, 'Olly, says they make ah grand component tae certain spells - especially teh restoration, necromatic, an' evocation arts." She twirled a few of the longer feathers at the crest, the few that hung back over her scalp almost like peacock feathers but no where near as long or mature… yet… and wove then between her fingers. "Damn good at spottin liers tae, but tha' just might be 'cause Aye've been around sae many types o' people."
She only lightly touched onto the various mythologies that were spread far and wide about the phoenix. Her blood hummed a pleasant heat - her Father was pleased at the praise.
Astra then began to open up a bit, speaking of her past and histories. She got the feeling that the elf woman didn't often speak, especially not like this - and almost assuredly didn't become more comfortable so easy in her seat. The redhead liked to think it was her influence - her easy going and lazi faire like attitude and way of behaving allowing others to relax just as easily.
As her stories continued Citrine listened, enraptured, especially when she mentioned being a bladesinger. Was that anything like what she'd been? A blade bound magus? Before the cold and winter? Her hand traveled to her scarf, a recalling a time when it was once her black blade - a sentient bladed weapon few could use and even less could wield with deadly results. The Varisian gypsy style dance she'd grown accustomed to fighting in had, of course, been disrupted. But by the Goddess could she make her scarf sing. These, and other fond memories, were keeping her thoughts warmer. It had turned out to be a good night for a midnight wandering.
"Aye tae 'ave seen war." She began, "Though Aye've questions among questions fer ye about what ye've told me - teh bladesinger, ye group called teh Moon Garrison, teh Wailing Death… Aye'm…" She wondered at how to phrase it. "Aye'm nae o' this world - O, Aye should sae, nae of this plane o' existence." She realized what would be the obvious guess and wanted to correct it. "An' nae teh plane o' fire either, thae Aye 'ave been there. Pleasant there. Warm." Understatement of the century there. "Sae all teh history 'ere? Et's all new tae me. Ef ye don' mind speakin' o' et - perhaps we can talk more of teh past o this world another day? Maybe with some wine? Aye dane care tae learn from books, but from teh stories people tell." Wine was a good guess. Holly like wine, only ever drank it. And the drier the better. She pegged Astra as the same type.
"As fer what else Aye've been through? War, aye, but wonderous things as well. Aye've seen lands where there are dragons an' bonded riders. An' places where there's ah whole set o' islands run over by awakened dogs who've all psionic powers who's sole purpose are tae help ye through ye troubles an' any darkness en ye mind. Therapy dogs, they call themselves. An' oh course." She added towards the end as if saving the best for last. "Me time on teh seas! Ave' Captained a series of Luvs: Gorgeous Lenny, Teh Neverending Story, teh Firebird, Gozreh's Firebird, teh Blood Red Rose…" She said each ship's name like a lover would. "Aye've spent teh most time at Sea than anywhere else, across all me reincarnations."
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Post by pastels on Feb 19, 2019 12:24:59 GMT
… Ah. Bringing up her time as a blade singer, brief as it may be, made her feel nostalgic. She had become too complacent. She had not touched a sword since her hip healed, but that was not the worst obstacle. Her sword arm was a shadow of its former glory these days, a limp thing shattered like glass with the careless swipe of a wyrm, and at times it ached with the dagger-sharp memory of frost piercing into bone. She tried to move with it, tried to swing lighter weapons, but the motions were wrong; too strange, too unbalanced, like wiring a marionette with the arm of a rag doll and making it dance. But then. Then, she was glorious. How she could dance!
“Fly straight as an arrow!” Astariel roared, teeth bared in a savage, battle-drunk grin, as her blade whistled in the cool air. Steel squealed against steel as they broke through the enemy ranks, the birds fleeing from the boughs of the verdant forest upon the first crash. Animals scurried to and fro the undergrowth as the noises of conflict intensified, shattering every last bit of peace, and red soon splattered the green.
“… And cut thrice as hard!” She heard Audra sing from the backline. Her Song sprang to life, and it was as if a river erupted from beneath her feet; she felt the magic rise with her breath, tremulous, eager—then it spins, a blanket of protective energy swirling around her, its constant movement maintained by her will. Her fingers grew cold as a flash of steel came from overhead; her feet moved on its own accord, swift as the wind. She raised her arm in a perfect arc and swiped the longsword away from her face. Good. Without pausing to breathe, Astariel darted to the side and thrust her arm out in an exiting sweep. The bandit shrieked then crumpled to the side.
Astra nodded along, pleased with the firebird’s self-awareness. It was something else entirely to hear the tales from the mouth of the phoenix herself; in a vein, it must be similar to one debunking common stereotypes about their race, although this example was far less fantastical. As Citrine continued speaking, Astra had to stop herself from appearing over-eager. She came from a different plane of existence? How, exactly, did that work? “I…Huh,” the elf finally said. It was clear she was rarely rendered speechless, although she picked her words up quickly, as though nothing happened. “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in learning about your… past, too, especially about how you came here… Very well. One day.” Oh, it might not happen… She briefly wondered if she had swallowed far more than she could chew, here, what with making a promise to share secrets she had nursed in the pits of her hearts… But the deal was struck. She would only ever forsake one deal. “Ah. The sea,” Astra repeated, observing the firebird’s obvious adoration for, seemingly, all things nautical. “Therapy dogs? Hmph. If those creatures existed here, I never would’ve…” She stopped short. Never would’ve had to travel to Evermeet. Her expression grew cool once more. Astra looked up from her hands and took a deep breath, “I would’ve appreciated their existence, is all. But those are a lot of ships. Dare I ask what happened to each and every one, or should I save that for our future discussion?”Realizing that all this time, she had stayed stiff as a corpse under the faux waves of the Ship’s Prow Inn, Astra thought up a new question. It was rather random, but… “What do you like most about the sea?” She blurted out next, “Apologies for such a… shallow question, if it is misconstrued that way. I… have many misgivings about the sea—“ drowning and dying in it did that too you “—and I would like to challenge my own beliefs.” |
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Citrine
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6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Feb 19, 2019 16:42:01 GMT
She got a point. She didn't care if, by whatever reason, she never saw or spoke to this elf again. She'd gotten a point. It was a rare thing for Holly-types to be taken aback, speechless. And Citrine savored each moment like a point on a scoreboard. To help them both save face? "Aye - another day, one day. Nae need tae expand 'ere, this late at night…. o' early en teh morning, depending on how ye view et." And if that day came to pass? Wonderful. If not? And they never met again? Then that was how the strands of fate would weave. "But Aye will say this - o' course there are other planes! Ye've got ye plane o' fire, o' water… all teh elements. An' then teh planes where demons, devils, an angels all alike heed from. We've ah pantheon o' deities who meander around as they please, an' mighty spells like 'Gate'. O' course there be other planes en teh universe."
It was an odd series of expressions Astra had, paired with stopping short. Citrine didn't say anything, but she did meet her eyes with a sort of expression that nodded along. Everyone had skeletons in their closet. Everyone needed help. The burden of life, no matter how long, was potent and could leave scars that went well beyond the flesh.
For both their sakes, the topics of why each might have needed emotional support clearly not one either wished to speak about - especially in such a public setting - Citrine latched onto the safety of the sea. "As common as et es… teh freedom o' teh sea, the risk ye take when ye sail inta ah storm, nae knowin' ef ye'll make et o' nae, and teh beauty o' living around teh sun, surf, an' salt? Nae other life quite has tha' tae offer." She waved off Astra's apology. "Ye've nae need tae apologize fer askin' ah question Astra! Aye'll always answer, 'cept fer three, an teh sea an' me ships, es absolutely nae one o' those three."
As for what challenges and beliefs Astra might have? Citrine had no idea. "Me luvs 'ave all gone different ways. Teh Lenny retired, old old ship she was. Teh Story? Ah huge galleon tha' sailed teh Inner Sea o' me homeworld, et was passed from Free Captain tae Free Captain until et sank en glorious battle against odds nae one could 'ave ever 'oped tae live through. Aye'd only heard o' et demise through sailor stories - naeone survived tha' terrible night. Teh Firebird, teh first one, was…. Long story short, ah truthful yet figment o' me own imagination en ah illusionary, yet absolutely real, daydream Aye existed en fer a-undred an' thirteen years. Gozreh's Firebird aye 'ad fer only ah-undred years while Aye carried out me duties Aye'd been pressganged enta, an teh Rose?" She beamed now, even as she'd been proudly speaking about each ship. "Teh Rose es en route tae 'opefully make et tae Waterdeep en ah few months. She had tae be dry-docked an' carried o'er land from Teh Sea o' Fallen Stars enta teh grips o' teh Sword Coast."
Citrine curled and adjusted differently on the chaise lounge, pillow now in her lap that she rested her head against, wings over the back of the chair like a pair of arms. "What dae ye dislike about teh sea? Tae give ye enough o ah frame o' mind et needs challengin'?" She had inklings of ideas - the sea wasn't forgiving after all, no matter how good a sailor someone was. But she didn't want to assume. As warm as the sun could be, it could burn and swelter even the most resilient of skins. There were threats on the water, and below, that saw no difference between civilian, military, or private ship - only a meal. And the most terrible threat on the water, those who broke or twisted the Code, evading repercussion and consequences like Citrine herself laughed in the face of danger. She knew intimately the threats someone could experience on the sea. And not everyone lived for the sake of risk and reward.
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Post by 3personal5me on Feb 20, 2019 0:23:23 GMT
Stephen sat quietly, sipping his coffee and watching the conversation unfold before him. He almost felt like they had forgot he was there, and he wasn't complaining. There was something to be said for simply being present at a conversation. He watched and listened. Every story, every cough, every blink spoke volumes about each person. He just had to figure out what it meant. The coffee continued to worm its way into his tired mind, and he could feel himself begin to perk up. His foot tapped idly as he sat and watched, ready to learn more.
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Post by pastels on Feb 23, 2019 7:41:27 GMT
“Hm. I didn’t consider those ideals… Interesting.” Astra listened on as the firebird answered her question and went on to discuss the long, storied past she shared with her ships. Although the feeling was fading fast, a thread of surprise remained at the notion that Citrine was comfortable, and maybe even a bit eager, to talk about her experiences—it was definitely a level of openness she couldn’t comprehend at this stage. “Ah. And when your Rose comes, will you take once more to the sea?”
“… I drowned,” Astra finally said. The statement was delivered in such a matter-of-fact brevity it almost felt as though she had simply remarked upon the color of the room, or the leaves used to brew her cup of tea. Her dry manner made it seem as though the declaration caused none of the distress which it implied—but nothing could be further from the truth. The elf had agonized over the thought so many times, though not so much now as she did on the days following her awakening on the ice. Did she die? The fact that her physical form was here rendered the hypothesis illogical, but an incomplete memory of the night’s events proved to be a breeding ground for doubt. The last thing Astra could clearly remember was rushing forward to help… someone with the main rigging? A man. No, a woman—with skin as dark as tree bark and a gold incisor which flashed whenever she scowled. Then there was a sickening crack. Splinters flew everywhere and the battered ship tilted to one side, barrels and cannons sliding free with lethal ease. Half of the mast falls over with a monstrous groan and she nearly makes it out of the way Seldarine grant Their favor but that was close, I never would’ve— when the ripped sails slam into her body, wet canvas sending her tumbling and her foot catches on something and she falls down, hits her head on the ground, reeling and breathless from the impact. Then the rope goes taut and she slides downwards as gravity calls, finger scrabbling for purchase on the slippery deck but soon it is all cold and dark.
So then, the dilemma. Her body was here, true enough. But the sensations and the traces the experience left—rope squeezing tight enough to leave a winding brand across her calf, the water consuming her form like an icy blanked, lungs bursting in liquid fire at the first wrong gulp—were too vivid to be tricks in her mind. At least, that was what Astra thought; she had ever been assured of her mental acuity. But Citrine’s story about staying in a self-made illusion for a century was akin to throwing a haunch of meat into a rat-infested cellar—uncertainty leapt at the sight and gnawed anew.
Astra took a measured sip of her tea, glanced at Smee and the investigator to gauge whether or not they had anything to say, then nonchalantly set the cup back down on the table surface. “I got better.” Now there was a satisfactory conclusion. She knew deep in heart that she was a creature of the land, shackled to the dewy forests of Silverymoon as a great oak would with its gnarled roots. There was a sense of belonging under the boughs, enlightenment and firm resolve fostered by the sunbeams permeating the thick canopy. The unruly waves and relentless chaos in the high seas were… strange. Unfamiliar. Far from the landlocked shallows in the Silver Marches. “Although I won’t lie, I never much saw the appeal of it. Unlike you, I spent my years within the North,” Astra paused in contemplation. “Some would call it a life wasted, spending so long in so few places, but I never held much interest for other lands when duty required I stay. Perhaps in another life, with different circumstances, I would have felt differently—a swashbuckling spelunker instead of a ranked bladesinger.”
“… Although Waterdeep being what it is, and what with my living quarters so close to the harbor, I suppose I must learn how to swim sooner rather than later.” The elf shrugged. “I don’t suppose I’ll survive another time…”
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Citrine
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6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Feb 24, 2019 21:37:46 GMT
"Nae't sure, ta be honest." She replied to the question of if she'd return to sea. "Et's supposed tae dock en teh next few months o' so - Aye told me First Mate tae 'ave et en teh Harbor 'ere by early spring. Aye imagine the crew's enjoying teh time o' leisure sailin' along teh Sword Coast. Trust 'em tae be 'ere when we agreed, however, an' from then Aye'll see ef teh naggin' feelin' tae stay 'ere en Waterdeep still keeps me grounded an' tied down. Otherwise? Aye… Aye'll prolly set tae sea again. See what Aye can find. Trouble Aye can get entae. People Aye can meet."
She let the comment on her ideals lay on their own. There was no enjoyment gained from trying to force someone to see your side of things, or to make them agree with you. Arguments happened, sure, but the firebird liked to pick her battles to be a bit more … physical than verbal. She wouldn't 'win' a logical argument against Astra, she was damn sure of it. Just like she agreed and looked to Holly for advice or for a more flat and to-the-point decision.
Citrine did a second look up to Astra's face though when she commented, quite unemotionally, that she'd drowned. A series of potential outcomes and domino effects spun in her mind - each one becoming more and more wild with each though. Thoughts of reincarnation, stabilization, intense clerical care, potions, magic, stubbornness, and sheer. Dumb. Luck.
"Well…. Ye got better." Was her dry wit filled response. A laugh that wasn't intentional nor mean spirited was choked down by the rather, in her opinion, the only response she could possibly give. "Ye've got plenty o' years ahead of ye at least though Lass! Ye're... what... only ah few decades enta ye adulthood by me eye, give o' take." Citrine leaned forward more towards Astra, an excitement in her voice. "Who's tae say ye can't take up teh singin' blade again? O' tryin' somethin' competely different? Nothin's stoppin ye 'ere. Teh only duty preventing ye from trying something new es yeself after'ull." She paused, her wings souring for a brief second before she corrected herself, "Unless o' course ye've some contract over ye head forcing ye tae behave en such ah pre-determined way. Then there's prolly nae good chance o' getting' out o' ye duty. BUT! Ef ye don't? Aye tell ye what, Aye can 'elp teach ye tae swim ef ye'd like. Et can wait till teh sea warms up ah bit o' course." The idea of helping someone become more comfortable with the sea sent a spark of excitement through the firebird. With how much she loved the sea? She was ecstatic to share that with others. "Ye'd be safe with me, Aye swear et. Aye' tae knae teh horrors o' being pulled down deep an' nae bein' able ta make et back out en time. Aye'd nae let ye drown ah second time - Aye'll give ye me word as ah Free Captain."
It wasn't that she'd forgotten the others here, the investigator or the drunken sailor. She had to keep reminding herself, not everyone liked to talk, or talk nearly as much as she did. Add to it the late hour? Warm drinks? Some just liked to sit and listen. And even in their overall comfortable silence, they added a warmth to the room that had nothing to do with fire. Sometimes, all you needed in order to chase away memories of the past, was the presence of those you didn't quite know yet.
((Word count currently 7,041))
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Post by pastels on Mar 1, 2019 12:29:18 GMT
“More or less middle-aged.” Give or take a few decades. Astra wasn’t sure if the bit about her appearance was a compliment—did she truly look young or was it simply the ageless features of her kind? She had yet to look at a mirror with a frequency that could help her discern the statement for what it was, and she tended to take words at face value… So she brushed it off. When the firebird energetically brought up the topic of her Bladesong—then, and only then, did she stir from her seat.
Yes! That was it! A bonafide measure of her past, entrenched in memories and fortified with companionship. Her Bladesong introduced her to the wonders of might and magic—it allowed her to live on and gather experiences unlike any other. Would she have entered the Moon Garrison if she was found to be unskilled in that arcane tradition? No. She would’ve joined the Spellguard; in that path, she wouldn’t have met her squad, or her husband. The elf allowed herself a moment to daydream, to speculate on what-have-beens and what-could-haves. Her life would have been so different…
Then the following words hit her like an anchor slamming into bedrock.
Astra’s expression darkened and she scowled—not at Citrine, no, but at the reminder. The exact thing she had been running from this evening. Had it been any other moment, she would have felt a morbid interest in how the topic followed her despite her attempts to leave it behind, for a short moment of clarity… It wasn’t intentional, right? The Thing had no dominion over the lands or its walkers. No. No. Of course not. Citrine was a stranger. She was being silly and paranoid—if she doubted every little mention of the deep uttered around her, she would go mad. Was she going mad? If that were true, it would go against her entire belief system in the gods, in the Seldarine in all their glorious might. And it would mean that she wasn’t safe anywhere, which was… terrifying. She swallowed. Maybe it was the setting that caused her to suddenly swarm with doubts—or was it because of the company. The warm fire, the flowing conversation, the sweet drinks… Astra had unwisely let her guard down an inch, and…
As if sensing her distress, Mitja peeked out from behind its hiding place and half-cooed, half-croaked.
The sound seemed the rouse the elf from her emotions, and Astra nodded stiffly at Citrine’s offer—barely hearing the details, only in that it was something regarding the sea and learning in some part how to approach it. “I would appreciate that. I will hold you to your promise.” After a heavy pause, she dusted her robe off and stood, shadow stretching and looming against the flickering hearth. “I… have to go.” Suddenly, the underwater vibe in the inn was starting to smother, nauseate… Astra kept her gaze on the firebird, willing her face to unfreeze from its mask-like rigor. “I… hope your ship and your crew arrives here safely, come Spring… and that you have better luck in the water than I did.”
Again, a pause, before the elf extended one hand towards the much smaller, reclining woman. “It was… nice to meet you. I will send a message when I am ready… I do not wish to impose. I thank you for your hospitality,” Astra glanced at Smee and Stephen as she spoke, including them in her farewells.
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Citrine
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6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Mar 2, 2019 22:04:18 GMT
A slow nod of fair well lead the elven out, Citrine bid her goodnight. Personally she filed away the promise of swimming lessons, surprised all things considered that she had accepted it. The Captain would hold Astra to it when the weather warmed up. Astra didn't seem the sort who'd appreciate being dunked instructed in winter-cold water even if the salt sea past the shore wasn't frozen. It was still beyond cold. The firebird would enjoy the rest of the evening chatting with Smee and Stephen, biding them a goodnight as well when they finally called it a night themselves. Sleep wouldn't come for Citrine thought though. Memories of Holly and more playing on repeat in her head. ((Final Word count: 7,159)) ~Fin!~ |
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