#e:ra

From her point of view, what he is saying is perfectly reasonable – however, what little experience of this land she has has taught her that reasonable doesn’t necessarily mean right. And, no matter how much further his abuse on the vending machine would go, she highly doubts that he’s going to receive his drink at this point, unless… she cuts off her own train of thought, as if attempting to mentally scold herself – the idea that’s blooming in her mind is positively insane.

She knows she can get the soda can out. Hell, if she so wanted, she’s certain she could get everything out of the machine, only that… she’s not too certain how, and, the more she looks at the machine, the more she’s certain that it’s one of the worst ideas she’s ever had. But there’s the thing with hopelessly bad ideas… they’re so awfully charming.

Maker’s breath! Five seconds later, and he wouldn’t have seen her trip and fall – just five seconds and she wouldn’t be in this mess. She’d known in the first place that high heels were a bad idea, but she thought that at least trying to get used to them wouldn’t hurt. Wrong. It surely did hurt. Plenty. But that was not a problem, not really – it would have taken her less than a minute to cast a spell and fix the damage. But the man had seen her, and now seemed to be determined to come to her rescue – no matter that she didn’t need rescuing.

My creators, give me strength, or I will set his hair on fire.

She knew very well that was something she would not do, not anymore, at least (it was messy, too easy to detect, too many things could go wrong) – if she’d wanted revenge, air would have been the right element.

But she didn’t want that, either. She was accustomed to how proud of himself he could become whenever he proved her wrong – she was a sore loser, and had no means of hiding it. To a certain degree, she even enjoyed it, although she would never admit to it. “See, this is why you wouldn’t make for a good adventurer. You could never explore, let’s say, elvhen temples.” She mused, her mind almost immediately jumping to Solasan – the Temple of Pride, and it’s inscription on the door. Emma solas him var din’an. Arrogance became our end. She had a hard time thinking of those words applied to the modern days.

Melana en athim las enaste. Now let humility grant favor. She had to try, at least, no?

“You shems are all the same to me still!” She protested, almost instantly realizing that was not the way to go about this. She paused, exhaled – a long and dragged out motion – then spoke again. “But it’s not even that, not truly. I’m more used to listening to people than watching them – I suppose that’s what happens when you’ve spent too much time in a forest. I’m too Dalish for this.” She chuckled at the thought – she had never been Dalish enough for her clan, not really. But they would never truly consider an outsider as one of their own, even if Seren herself did. She’d been born away, there would always be some strangeness in her.

“Fine, let’s try again… but first, you give me a quick lesson, how’s that sound?” She questioned, curiously, nose scrunching up as she examined the two girls. She could sympathize with the bundled up girl – for her, it felt as though Seoul was always much too cold. Yet the other… she was being more… fashionable? Was that even the right word?

287. Both meet in the hospital as patients

She steals a quick, impatient glance in the direction of the other bed in the tiny, immaculate hospital room. There is no movement, and all she can hear is peaceful breathing, so she assumes that the other patient is sleeping. She would reach out for her aura, try to feel more, to be able to better tell if the other woman is actually asleep, but she doesn’t dare. She doesn’t know how sick she is, and she’s been near the minds of the dying one time too many. She doesn’t want to repeat the experience, not if it can be avoided. She looks down at the hospital gown, and frowns inwardly – it’s made of something that feels nothing like the fabrics they used for clothing back in Thedas. 

She’d be willing to swear that chainmail is more comfortable than that – but it’s perhaps because she’s used to the feeling of chainmail. She’s a fighter, after all. She’d call herself a warrior, but mages are denied of that right. 

She steps out of bed, ripping the needle of the IV out of her arm. It stings, and blood starts flowing almost immediately, but she can’t be bothered to make it stop now. All she wants is to get out right away, before they can examine her further, before they figure out that she’s nothing like their normal patients. Magic can only hide so much – at least when it’s exhausted, as it is now. She’s cast one too many spells that day – and when she collapsed while trying to get back to her apartment, an overly concerned neighbor believed she needed help. Humans.

“What are you doing?” The voice is almost ethereal, and it makes Seren effectively jump back up onto her bed, like a scared cat would have, eyes flickering across the room to the other patient, now awake and standing up, watching her with concerned eyes. 

She couldn't help but smile at his choice of words. Humans are difficult to please? They were, but hardly as difficult as elvhen parents could be. She couldn't imagine human parents shunning their children for flinching when they were receiving their coming of age tattoos - or other things she'd seen in the clans she'd visited, for that matter.