draconic nuisance

at zil's question, sayén's lips part. her head tilts curiously, pale rose hair spilling across one bare shoulder — she has, predictably, shed most of her clothing again, though she did keep a simple priestess robe on tonight. a concession, perhaps. or perhaps simply because indecent exposure in public spaces is quite illegal. 

sayén blinks. once. twice. then she giggles.

it's a soft sound, bright as scattered coins, and she brings her hand up to cover her mouth even as her dark eyes crinkle at the corners with genuine delight. her voice dances in her giggles even as she speaks.　“oh, you know.”　she waves a hand vaguely, the motion loose and graceful. as if this is the most natural question in the world, as if zil has just asked her opinion on the weather.  

“it’s just — well. you’re absorbed by the earth, and then trees hug underground, and everything is connected all at once. romantic, no?”　she nods, satisfied with this explanation, and reaches for a palm sized piece of crusty bread.　“zilv’ithra, have you ever died before?”　she asks then, chewing thoughtfully on the bread she just grabbed.　“not all the way, just a little bit.”　she adds, like the question needed any clarifying. 

she picks up a spoon, inspects her reflection on it while enjoying her bread. and while she does so, she asks unprovoked,　“can i watch your pulse? i like to watch it move.”

"that sounds less romantic and more peaceful," she says eventually before finally, finally closing her mouth around her spoon once more. old bitterness, borne from religious disillusionment, mixes with the mushroom taste of her soup and she frowns. her brief death had not been peaceful, had not been romantic. her life right after that even less so. "eternal sleep. if ones stupid god allows it anyway."

zil puts her spoon down and pushes the soup towards the tiny punk elf in a wordless offering. sayén's question catches zil off guard and has her sit up straighter, her frown deepening. was there a tell? a sign? a smell? or was this just another one of those weird things that sayén just says?

ainslie hogarth motherthing