Word Count :: 3+
Taptaptaptap went the knife hilts against the palms of her hands, her pupils dots of telescopic observation. She could not afford to speed up or slow down. Rhythm had to be maintained. But each time she lost a little balance, she had to take a step. As the pattern became more out of control, the steps got quicker and closer together. All were forwards, now, and she could not remove her eyes from the blades to see what was coming. Caspa knew it would be very easy to halt her throwing action and gather the hilts safely in one hand, then restart newly composed, but she had the perfectionists drive to improve and always felt she had to push right to her limits. Wobbling onwards just a few more steps, she would stop - but then something solid stopped her, and she was very lucky that it was a window-ledge that knocked against her abdomen, because the empty opening was easy for her to lean through, continue the forward momentum and make the one-two-three easy save of the flying knives. No one was there to see her slight flourish as she caught the third while her whole upper half leaned over a tree-high drop. Caspa was not without showmanship, despite her spartan aesthetic. Pleased, she backed up, rolling her wrists to loosen the joints, then her shoulders and her neck to prepare to begin again - but something felt wrong, and her empty hand flew to her throat to hunt for the minute clinking object that usually punctuated a movement like that. Nothing. The impact of her striking the windowsill, and her forward jerk into the outside world must have thrown it off. And now, it would lie in the tangle of garden below. The thought was one of heartstopping doom and the vision of many tedious hours ahead. Unless a magpie found it first. Concerned, Caspa pegged it for the stairs - something she was getting very accomplished at, living up here - and started the descent with one hand gliding along the banister, the other still holding the three knives. As she approached the door she saw a woman sitting and facing towards the same exit, and swiftly braked in a bid not to collide with, or unnerve this relatively new Cour member with her strangeness - not any more than she could help anyway. She didn't want to just dash past her unacknowledged, so spoke to Terra's back, unable to see the necklace in the other's hands. "Hey, I don't believe we've met."
Image courtesy of ®DS @ flickr; Table by the Mentors!
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