01-11-2008, 12:11 AM
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Psh, but thank you all the same. As do you do you! Her solitudes were ever getting trampled over; personal examination found them riddled with paw-prints, poor transitions between subjects, mood-swings. A sneaky thought asked if she was ever really looking for privacy, as she didn’t exactly haunt the most exclusive nooks or frequent unpopular corners. Her eye twitched in response. Yet rather than being startled by a stranger's voice, as a real introvert would have been, she merely turned her head. Once she would have shuddered and made annoyed noises at a puppy's approach. Now she found herself decidedly less disturbed, perhaps even eager to press her eyes against their young bodies and listen to their fun-size vocabulary, as if by bumping personal bubbles she thieved a year, maybe two, from their youth. Her temper remained at its usual length -- long enough to endure the hot-heads and even the cool-heads at the usual irritations, yet prone to ignition at small, unexpected stuffs. The squish-talk that so many adults assumed when they spoke to those younger than them? Below Luz Cresceno, or at the very least, disdained by that she-wolf. And so it was that she turned, and sank to her knees that their heights better matched, and explained. “Here, ‘riveting’ means to engross, or to hold one’s attention. I’m using it both incorrectly and sarcastically.” A serrated smile. The thought of telling him that honing in on whispers was twice as rude as the usual eavesdropping never occurred to her, even as a joke paired with a tilted grin. Somehow such information was better left to other creatures, other lessons, other days. Instead, her attention was snagged on details of appearance “I’ve never met a cream-colored wolf before,” she said, a truth, though she knew the shade was natural enough, and though that was not the item troubling her. It was his eyes. Great, and wide, and blue. A secret instinct inside of her, the sliver of mad-inspiration we all possess, begged to pluck them out, that they might be examined always, that Luz might own such eyes instead of near-stolid amethyst that grew dull and duller with the turn of days. She ignored it, but it did give a certain undesirable intensity to her stare, a quality that even children might meet with a shudder and swift exit. Knowing this to be true (as we all know our own face-muscle movements) the astronomer smiled in a sad style, the ruined way of the old lady at the bar, and introduced herself. “I’m Luz.” |