Post by Yva on Nov 1, 2008 12:21:50 GMT -5
Skyborne went to the park, her legs not working the way they ought. Forty three gallons of bourbon would do that to a girl, though. Passing The Finest Thread, The King’s Ransom Pub, and a vagrant man peeing into the canals, she wobbled her way to her favorite shrub and buried herself beneath its leafy blanket.
Her snores were as melodic as a trumpeting elekk.
When she woke the next morning to a sun far too bright for her cat eyes, she had grass in her mouth and the feeling that her stomach was about to explode from the toxins burbling inside. The nausea was overwhelming, as was the smell of . . . oh Elune, was that what she smelled like?
“Gross!
It wasn’t often that the druidess felt the need to imbibe. It was her mother’s vice, not her own, but last night things were starting to get confusing for her. People were giving her advice about men of all things. All of it was conflicting, and the only way she knew how to deal with it was to NOT deal with it. Sky liked to pretend that nothing really got to her, that she was a big fluffy kitty who was always happy and liked to make others happy. It was, for the most part anyway, the truth. But underneath the fur and the silly, there was a woman that sometimes felt . . . well? Lonely. The only person she never felt lonely with was Fells, and she’d been in jail for weeks.
Enter Operation: Date.
She realized listening to all the couples in the Riders that everyone around her was in a relationship. It wasn’t that she envied them. Relationships were sticky, and difficult, and long term and just . . . really not something she knew much about. She didn’t actually want to be in one, she was pretty sure, but a date. Well? It was something she’d never done in all of her six hundred some odd years, and it would be nice to try. It might also make her feel a little less lonely, even if it was just for a few hours.
The problem inevitably became “Who to ask”. Haemon was a no, though gods knew she’d do it in a heartbeat. He and Era were wonderful, but they were taken. Not really taken, she knew, but they might as well have had PROPERTY OF FELLS DRACHMAS tattooed across their heads, and she wasn’t about to interfere with that. Honestly, he didn’t want her to anyway. He was too hung up on Fells to even know Sky existed in any way other than “Cute and endearing kitten. Somewhat obnoxious. Perhaps insane.” She was fine with it, truth be told, even though she knew Haemon was one of the few people she could actually see herself caring for beyond friendship.
He was, however, Off Limits.
As was Tirith.
Tirith was like a puzzle she wanted to pull apart and then put back together to see how the parts fit. He had a Lady, he said, so he couldn’t go on a date, but Sky WANTED to spend time with him regardless. They could be friends if nothing else, right? So why, when Sky was maiming a clefthoof and dragging it through the streets of Stormwind much to Pomeroy’s chagrin, was she thinking a date with him was A Bad Idea?
She was fairly sure she’d figured that one out, even though she didn’t like the answer: she probably could like him too much to just want one date, and that was the point of this exercise. It wasn’t to get all soft and mushy over someone she couldn’t have. If she wanted that she could sit in a tree in Stranglethorn pining for Era, and she’d been there, done that, worn the t-shirt.
Yes, the point of the date thing was to cure temporary loneliness, experience a date, and be done with it. By then Misses Fells should be out of jail and . . .
And it’d be fine?
Sure.
It’d be fine.
Her snores were as melodic as a trumpeting elekk.
When she woke the next morning to a sun far too bright for her cat eyes, she had grass in her mouth and the feeling that her stomach was about to explode from the toxins burbling inside. The nausea was overwhelming, as was the smell of . . . oh Elune, was that what she smelled like?
“Gross!
It wasn’t often that the druidess felt the need to imbibe. It was her mother’s vice, not her own, but last night things were starting to get confusing for her. People were giving her advice about men of all things. All of it was conflicting, and the only way she knew how to deal with it was to NOT deal with it. Sky liked to pretend that nothing really got to her, that she was a big fluffy kitty who was always happy and liked to make others happy. It was, for the most part anyway, the truth. But underneath the fur and the silly, there was a woman that sometimes felt . . . well? Lonely. The only person she never felt lonely with was Fells, and she’d been in jail for weeks.
Enter Operation: Date.
She realized listening to all the couples in the Riders that everyone around her was in a relationship. It wasn’t that she envied them. Relationships were sticky, and difficult, and long term and just . . . really not something she knew much about. She didn’t actually want to be in one, she was pretty sure, but a date. Well? It was something she’d never done in all of her six hundred some odd years, and it would be nice to try. It might also make her feel a little less lonely, even if it was just for a few hours.
The problem inevitably became “Who to ask”. Haemon was a no, though gods knew she’d do it in a heartbeat. He and Era were wonderful, but they were taken. Not really taken, she knew, but they might as well have had PROPERTY OF FELLS DRACHMAS tattooed across their heads, and she wasn’t about to interfere with that. Honestly, he didn’t want her to anyway. He was too hung up on Fells to even know Sky existed in any way other than “Cute and endearing kitten. Somewhat obnoxious. Perhaps insane.” She was fine with it, truth be told, even though she knew Haemon was one of the few people she could actually see herself caring for beyond friendship.
He was, however, Off Limits.
As was Tirith.
Tirith was like a puzzle she wanted to pull apart and then put back together to see how the parts fit. He had a Lady, he said, so he couldn’t go on a date, but Sky WANTED to spend time with him regardless. They could be friends if nothing else, right? So why, when Sky was maiming a clefthoof and dragging it through the streets of Stormwind much to Pomeroy’s chagrin, was she thinking a date with him was A Bad Idea?
She was fairly sure she’d figured that one out, even though she didn’t like the answer: she probably could like him too much to just want one date, and that was the point of this exercise. It wasn’t to get all soft and mushy over someone she couldn’t have. If she wanted that she could sit in a tree in Stranglethorn pining for Era, and she’d been there, done that, worn the t-shirt.
Yes, the point of the date thing was to cure temporary loneliness, experience a date, and be done with it. By then Misses Fells should be out of jail and . . .
And it’d be fine?
Sure.
It’d be fine.