May 13, 2020
@bedove / (from byakuran)
“ WHY YES . i was reading through your things . you left me unoccupied and with nothing to do other than snoop . so really this is your responsibility - not mine. ”
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@bedove / (from byakuran)
“ WHY YES . i was reading through your things . you left me unoccupied and with nothing to do other than snoop . so really this is your responsibility - not mine. ”
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@bedove , this is your magnificent mayor here welcoming you to starrybank ! we’re so DELIGHTED to have you here . so , so utterly delighted that we’ve left a little gift box on your front porch . inside your gift box you can find: some nice smelling crayons , strawberries ( x10 ) , fuzzy socks , and a fishing rod !
we hope you enjoy your time here with us . make sure you go outside and smell some NICE CLEAN starrybank air !
sincerely ,
your mayor !
@bedove
day one and two were basics- hello, goodbye, thank you, you’re welcome, please- the basic manners and such. day three and four was longer phrases and questions- how are you?, what did you say?, what is your name?, and so on. of course, nada patiently taught, smiling and squinting her eyes ever so slightly at mistakes and clapping softly for the successes.
for simplicity’s sake, nada gestured to dove, and then gave a thumbs up. she signed “GOOD” and waved her hand to urge them to repeat the sign.
* / @bedove ♡
“ shit !! ” the curse slips , an instinctive reaction as wind blows &&. pages fly like paper birds , scattering as far as the eyes could see . zoya jumps to her feet &&. reaches out in an attempt to catch her fleeing sketches , but the slip from her grasp the moment fingertips touch paper . panic begins to take hold quickly the further the pages fly , for they were no ordinary sketches ; they were the sketches that breathed with life , the ones that moved across the page like animations across a tv . they were her secret &&. should the wrong person pick them up , they could cost zoya her freedom .
@bedove liked ✘ for a starter!
Normally he could tell enough about a person from their posture, expression, attire: everything important could be gauged externally, especially when it came to unfortunate inn patrons with stories to tell. Not so in these circumstances. Fair hair, strange eyes (blue? green? hazel, perhaps?), and a posture Alrik recognized as the one he taught to his cherished soldiers.
This man had been trained by someone who knew what they were doing. The question was what for? Merely staring at the stranger was not going to be enough for Alrik to understand him. He was going to have to speak up.
“It’s funny,” he chimed after his quiet assessment. “You have the makings of a warrior, and the face of a hanged dog.” Alrik sipped leisurely from his brandy and grinned, waiting patiently for a reaction.
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