03-31-2010, 09:20 PM
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I've learned to fear an active muse. XD Next post has them arriving, you think?
Wc: 814~
Staring down into the beautiful golden pools that were her daughter's eyes, Ghita was largely unaware that her piercings were envied that much by her daughter. To the wearer herself, they were precious enough, leftover mementos of a time best left alone, but happily remembered. The silver glinted in the sunlight as the pair walked, casually throwing rays of light around wherever she walked.
Honestly surprised at Sophia's request, the last thing that she expected Sophia to want was to learn the language that had isolated her mother for months and months at a time, before English had finally taken root. Turquoise optics spoke of her puzzlement as clear as day, her left ear flopping as she tilted her head to the side. "I suppose Uncle Ehno, Aunt Savina and I could teach you if you really wanted - a mixed perspective is always the best way to learn." She herself had put this practice to use, speaking with as many wolves who spoke English as she could before she finally learned.
Letting out a laugh at her daughter's insight, Ghita nodded, letting the gurgling brook of emotion die out before gracing her daughter with a response. "It does feel weird to try and imagine, doesn't it?" As far as Ghita's (limited) knowledge of Anslem went, it certainly did not include any other languages he spoke, so, naturally, it was hard for Ghita to imagine which one he could speak other than English. In this light-hearted moment, mother and daughter were so alike, forgetting their past and looking to the future, laughter wrapping around the two faes in a warm embrace.
What it was like in Italy was a whole other story, however. As many wolves knew now, Ghita's time in Italy had been less than pleasant, the background coloured with betrayal and loss. Even amidst the grief however, she had managed to find some joy. The countryside around where her family lived for a while had been beautiful, the land the nomads travelled paved with wonders along the way. But she'd be lying to say she missed Italy with all of her heart. "Italia..." Even as her lips formed around the word, the accent Ghita still carried with her was more pronounced, the emotions that came from the country evident in her tone of voice.
"It was very beautiful. Savina, Ehno, and I had some good times there..." Some, of course; but not all of the time was as happy as Ghita had wished. "Hm? Oh... Italy is very far away, Caro. Too far away to reach now..." Not only was the water impossible to cross at Sophia's young age, but the metaphorical waters of hurt and sorrow were tempests that Ghita had no desire to weather anytime soon.
Sophia's eyes might belong to her mother's mate, but the crooked smile was all her own, a myriad of what Ghita once wore as a carefree pup and her own spunk added to the end. Lost in the wonder of her daughter's features, the young life that she had Jazper had created that night now bounding beside her, every moment that she could spend with Sophia and Aro was a moment never wasted, moments that always inspired awe in the mother's heart. Ghita was so absorbed in her own musings that Sophia's voice floated around her, trailing off into "like you have." Blinking in surprise, her mind raced a mile a minute to reach the point that her daughter was at, assuming that the conversation had turned to the clothes she desired.
"I haven't tried some of Daddy's pants before - do you think they'd be comfortable?" It was innocent conversation enough, one that would make the distance to Halifax melt away as the words carried them along. Nodding, Ghita remember the infamous tie that Jazper had brought back, much to her daughter's delight. Although the auburn-hued fae's style was different than Ghita's, that didn't mean that the mother couldn't appreciate the taste; it simply wasn't what she would wear. Ghita preferred clothing that wasn't restricting, that let the wind still race across your skin as you ran while remaining decent. The sarong Ghita had taken to wearing (formerly called a sari by a muddled-rper) was as versatile as the huntress, becoming a skirt and a full body wrap depending on the mood of the day.
Music was one of those things to Ghita, the magical mystery behind the pane of glass. How it was made was transparent, the effect on her greater still, but how the notes that spun out of the instruments had such an affect on her was beyond Ghita entirely. Seeing herself as a dog too old to learn new tricks, she'd never expressed any desire to learn music, but was overjoyed that her daughter did. "Si, of course! We have all the time we need. But why a violin?"
I've learned to fear an active muse. XD Next post has them arriving, you think?
Wc: 814~
Staring down into the beautiful golden pools that were her daughter's eyes, Ghita was largely unaware that her piercings were envied that much by her daughter. To the wearer herself, they were precious enough, leftover mementos of a time best left alone, but happily remembered. The silver glinted in the sunlight as the pair walked, casually throwing rays of light around wherever she walked.
Honestly surprised at Sophia's request, the last thing that she expected Sophia to want was to learn the language that had isolated her mother for months and months at a time, before English had finally taken root. Turquoise optics spoke of her puzzlement as clear as day, her left ear flopping as she tilted her head to the side. "I suppose Uncle Ehno, Aunt Savina and I could teach you if you really wanted - a mixed perspective is always the best way to learn." She herself had put this practice to use, speaking with as many wolves who spoke English as she could before she finally learned.
Letting out a laugh at her daughter's insight, Ghita nodded, letting the gurgling brook of emotion die out before gracing her daughter with a response. "It does feel weird to try and imagine, doesn't it?" As far as Ghita's (limited) knowledge of Anslem went, it certainly did not include any other languages he spoke, so, naturally, it was hard for Ghita to imagine which one he could speak other than English. In this light-hearted moment, mother and daughter were so alike, forgetting their past and looking to the future, laughter wrapping around the two faes in a warm embrace.
What it was like in Italy was a whole other story, however. As many wolves knew now, Ghita's time in Italy had been less than pleasant, the background coloured with betrayal and loss. Even amidst the grief however, she had managed to find some joy. The countryside around where her family lived for a while had been beautiful, the land the nomads travelled paved with wonders along the way. But she'd be lying to say she missed Italy with all of her heart. "Italia..." Even as her lips formed around the word, the accent Ghita still carried with her was more pronounced, the emotions that came from the country evident in her tone of voice.
"It was very beautiful. Savina, Ehno, and I had some good times there..." Some, of course; but not all of the time was as happy as Ghita had wished. "Hm? Oh... Italy is very far away, Caro. Too far away to reach now..." Not only was the water impossible to cross at Sophia's young age, but the metaphorical waters of hurt and sorrow were tempests that Ghita had no desire to weather anytime soon.
Sophia's eyes might belong to her mother's mate, but the crooked smile was all her own, a myriad of what Ghita once wore as a carefree pup and her own spunk added to the end. Lost in the wonder of her daughter's features, the young life that she had Jazper had created that night now bounding beside her, every moment that she could spend with Sophia and Aro was a moment never wasted, moments that always inspired awe in the mother's heart. Ghita was so absorbed in her own musings that Sophia's voice floated around her, trailing off into "like you have." Blinking in surprise, her mind raced a mile a minute to reach the point that her daughter was at, assuming that the conversation had turned to the clothes she desired.
"I haven't tried some of Daddy's pants before - do you think they'd be comfortable?" It was innocent conversation enough, one that would make the distance to Halifax melt away as the words carried them along. Nodding, Ghita remember the infamous tie that Jazper had brought back, much to her daughter's delight. Although the auburn-hued fae's style was different than Ghita's, that didn't mean that the mother couldn't appreciate the taste; it simply wasn't what she would wear. Ghita preferred clothing that wasn't restricting, that let the wind still race across your skin as you ran while remaining decent. The sarong Ghita had taken to wearing (formerly called a sari by a muddled-rper) was as versatile as the huntress, becoming a skirt and a full body wrap depending on the mood of the day.
Music was one of those things to Ghita, the magical mystery behind the pane of glass. How it was made was transparent, the effect on her greater still, but how the notes that spun out of the instruments had such an affect on her was beyond Ghita entirely. Seeing herself as a dog too old to learn new tricks, she'd never expressed any desire to learn music, but was overjoyed that her daughter did. "Si, of course! We have all the time we need. But why a violin?"