[ bloodiedwolf ]

       though his tone remains quite perfectly civil ( too perfectly,
       almost – unflappable in a way that irks next to her own
       threatened composure ) she can’t quite shake the sense
       that something in him is trying not to laugh at her, and she
       has to bite back a renewed reprimand. you’re projecting.
       you’re just self-conscious, that’s all, he didn’t even say
       anything.

       a breath in straightens her spine and squares her shoulders,
       and she makes herself proffer a smile, a touch sheepish,
       though it does manage, with a whit of focus, to warm her eyes
       and lighten them from their uncertain cant.

                    ‘ usually, in my experience. ’

       a weakly huffed breath that sounds like an approximation
       of muted, sheepish diversion ; she doesn’t know why he’s
       still talking to her if all he wanted was the book, but she’s
       not objecting, either.

                    ‘ zoë. you are – ? ’

                       ◤ Ꮴalar  Ꮇorghulis. ◢

        Sudden change of opposite’s posture ( Zoë, it is learned ) does not go unnoticed,
    for height is contrary to that of the other women this man has been acquainted with,
    and a lovely girl whose ichor is lined with ice comes firstly to mind, with steely eyes;
    a girl who would have to tilt her head in order to make eye contact.

        ( The man cannot help but wonder what would cause such a thing, though,
    for this woman to suddenly change alignment — and perhaps reading too far
    into things.

        When he was in his prime of his youth, a straightening of posture was
    reserved for a man known to be kind. The ‘why’ is not clear in memory [ not
    many things areclear in mind ]; but to see himself, be it a mere shard or speckle,
    a small resemblance, to be in any way similar to that man, even if not purposeful,
    causes a wave of gelidity to overcome lithe body for but a moment. )

        He is getting ahead of himself, and the inward frigidity does not show upon mien.

                 Instead he focuses on this woman’s diffident intonation
                 which gives his characteristic smirk momentum. ‘Usually,
                 in my experience.’ … Is she playing along with his diction?

                   “Zoë,” he repeats aloud. “A lovely name.”
                          Courteous inclination of head follows suit.

           “This man has the pleasure to be Jaqen H’ghar.”

[ bloodiedwolf ]

       inevitably, a brow lifts – somewhere between challenging and
       querying – when he repeats her words as though truly unfamiliar
       with the concept ; but she’s been the outsider, the strange one,
       the alien in her own skin enough times over that she doesn’t push
       and prod and pry. even if the inevitable curiosity ( how does it work,
       papa? i don’t understand ) does threaten to get the better of her and
       overcome her tact. 

       when he speaks again, his request is simple and innocent, and
       her cheeks flush, embarrassed by her own needless hostility ;
       lower lip chewed in chagrin as she draws back, hands him the
       second copy of the book in question. ( it’s a distinctly niche read
       – she’s surprised they even have more than one, but she doesn’t
       voice it. ) 

                    ‘ – sorry about that. i don’t always
                        people so well. not your fault. ’

       in her flustering, she almost misses the unusual balance of
       his parlance ; but out of a better attempt at politeness, she
       doesn’t ask after that either.

                       ◤ Ꮴalar  Ꮇorghulis. ◢

        Bronze of eyes warms with look to stranger and mortiferous soul
    deems fine motor skills loath to sever eye contact. A coy twist of lips
    ensues, though expression  does  not  let  on that  amusement  stems
    from other’s flustering — rather, highlights what threads of politeness
    linger beneath visage.

        “It’s quite all right. A mere slip of tongue,” he replies with an
    urbane cadence of voice, ixnaying the woman’s implicit querying.
    Calm, cool, collected. He assumes that this woman would likely ask
    about manner of speaking, just as countless others have, but says
    naught on tacit subject once a shared moment of silence follows.

        Instead, lengthy digits accept aforementioned book and curl around
    its  spine,  allowing  the  object  to  vertically  rest  against crest of  hip.
    The  opportunity  to  leave now that  pursuit is  fulfilled  has arisen, but
    the  man  chooses  to  stay  for  a  while  longer;  be it  a few seconds,
    a few minutes.

        “A woman must have a name, is that not so?”

bloodiedwolf​

      discomfited, teeth set on edge, she almost snaps
      something distinctly less than kind ; bites down on
      her tongue and coaxes herself into a step, and a
      second, backward, resists the defensive impulse to
      fold her arms over her chest and set her jaw hard.

      ( being handsome isn’t a get-out-of-jail-free card,
      even so, and her eyes do harden a whit or two. )

                   ‘ there. personal space, see? not that hard.
                       now, d’you want to try whatever you were
                       saying again? ’

                       ◤ Ꮴalar  Ꮇorghulis. ◢

        Strange woman steps away as no other has done before, and a brow
    raises in lieu of verbal enquiry. Jaqen H’ghar, a version of a man, remains
    in place with lips that once sloped upward but that now form a fine line of
    what appears to be the entrenching of newfound ‘societal norm’ into mind
    as opposed to action stemming from true aloofness.

        Natheless, unacquainted continues to block a small portion of the ‘DA’
    section in the local library.

    “Personal space…” a repetition aloud. He tests new vocabulary atop
    courtly tongue, concurrently  takes moments  to  savour unfamiliar accent
    of other’s to perhaps, in due time, categorise place of upbringing.

    “As a man was saying—” regaining eye contact, “is this the last copy?”

layinthefire:

by MMozolewski

[ bloodiedwolf ]

       the harshness of her own speech and the intrusion of a third party
       in conjunction serve well enough to send the first interloper retreating,
       scowl on his lips but elsewise with whatever remains of his tail hung low
       between drunkenly stumbling legs ; only then do watchful eyes turn onto
       the second anew, a careful search for intent and design smothered under
       mostly illegible cant of features.

       she has been taken in from the harshness of the streets that had been
       taught to her by what should have been her girlhood – fed, cleaned,
       clothed, cared for ; haleth had seen to that – but ten years later, and
       she still struggles to believe in kindness for kindness’ sake. ( her skin
       shrinks, still, in the way of abused children and mistreated animals with
       bristled teeth, upon itself in the aftermath of since relinquished proximity
       – he may be an innocuously helpful bystander, even an eventual friend,
       or he may want something from her, too. if it is a maiden in the tower he
       looks for, to thank him for his rescue with soft smiles and saccharine wile
       and a gentled skin to warm his bed, he will soon find himself sorely dis-
       -appointed – but his disappointment is nothing to her. )

       a flick of her eyes to the bartender covers over the moment of mistrust
       and brings two, not one, identical glasses of beer passed across ; cold
       and damp against the callus and warp of her palms and fingers, arya sets
       both down on the table before skimming the lingering condensation off her
       hands onto the front panels of her jeans, settling back into her chair, features
       half in shadow as she watches him ( the oddity of his hair and his speech the
       most striking, and the scent of ginger and cloves just under the smell of sweat,
       beer, cigarette smoke – and, somewhere, piss and bile – that comes with any
       cheap dive bar ) from her own removed vantage point.

                 ‘ not for me to tell you where you can and can’t get
                    yourself piss drunk, ’ she offers, shrugging ; words
                    callous and even blunt to save face for her wariness.
                    ‘ though, i’ll warn you, you might find better company
                    with people who aren’t me. ’

                       ◤ Ꮴalar  Ꮇorghulis. ◢

          “Just so.” 

        A concurrence to first fragment of statement as a temporary
    substitute for blathering on as most intruders of space would do.

        Albeit, a man aware of everything around him ( holes in threadbare jeans,
    cigarette stench in breath [ a habit never to be approved of ], scratches in bricks
    of wall, twitch in thinning wrists and growing legs, pulses of oft unsteady jugulars …
    with a learned flick of bronze irises; trade of artistry accepting no less; for if one is to
     depict a scene seen in living colour, experienced through twist of hands, subjects
    should be viewed and executed with justice ) does lack cognisance of persons’
    space he so oft invades. Luck finds this woman near who will be no sufferer of
    intrusion of space on this man’s end.

        Not out of preplanned rudeness does he find his limbs unseasonably close
    to strangers — rarely does he allow such a word to blossom further to ‘friend’.
    Kin enwreathing in the time of formative years had yet to establish the meaning
    of the word ‘boundary’, thusly crowding in chapel’s hall with shoulder to shoulder
    and knee to knee, often, prayers murmured with foreheads touching, too. The
    Preacher said that God said that all men were brother and sister, and these
    brothers and sisters were inseparable, with the word of the Almighty binding
    them. But his brothers and sisters, in time, became foes when his realisation
    of religious falsity lying like weight throughout adolescent body became
    noticeable. ‘Boundary’ was soon learned by all the little boys and girls when
    this man was to enter any building.

        And like woman adjacent, he assumes, life lived between streets — although
    temporarily, for apartment not but a few miles off currently harbours him and his
                                   art — was once evident on angular visage.

        That was before a man, a man demanding to be looked upon, with a cowl
    of black and white and a tight-lipped smile that would lure anyone to the temple
    in which he resided, took the young child in. ‘Kind’, they called him, this man of
    middle-age. But he was no kind man. ( Rule your face. )

        Jaqen abruptly pauses his train of thought on demand and, allowing no trace
    of such to taint marble visage, a lesson learned many times over, picks up the
    nearly lukewarm glass with a wet ring formed across base. Neglected, as with
    many things in life.

           “A man looks around and sees no beings who seem to be conscious
            enough for discourse,” he observes. “Unless a woman is already deterred
                                                   by another’s presence?”

[ bloodiedwolf ]

       the beer is cheap, and the company is cheaper ; most days,
       arya doesn’t mind either ( blocks herself off with a cloud of
       cigarette smoke if something or someone does make her
       balk, vanishes silent as a ghost out the back door if she
       finds herself suffocated in the press of bodies and wash of
       sound ), but at present her lighter’s been forgotten at home,
       and the only cloud is that of whiskey-laden breath too warm
       near her skin, and she can feel the point of a knife pressing
       against her inner wrist where she’s stored it up her sleeve,
       most of her energies focused on not tearing this idiot a new
       one, dark smoky steel of her eyes a warning ( one that, no
       doubt, would have been more functional had its target been
       sober ).

       her patience wears increasingly thin, reaching dangerously near
       to the end of its tether almost in the instant that she finds herself
       interrupted ; wolf of her heart stirred to bite only to find itself muzzled,
       and her eyes flash sharp at the stranger for an instant before she
       registers the idiosyncrasy of speech, brow furrowing. a man could
       use another taste of beer – formal shite, what in seven hells is this 
       ‘a man’ crap?

                  ‘ no one, ’ she returns, terse, not as smoothly as she’d
                      like ; fight of her spirit ill-contained, too large for her
                      small stature perhaps, as though it seeks to expand
                      beyond the constraints of her skin and bone. ‘ actually,
                      he was just leaving so he could go fuck himself without
                      getting distracted by a broken nose. weren’t you? ’

                       ◤ Ꮴalar  Ꮇorghulis. ◢

        To say that the man possessed predestined notions about the woman would
    be a harsh overstatement, but expletives spoken as if a part of daily discourse
    do prompt an inward lift of brow. Naught resembling shock, though, is shown
    upon collected visage; rather, a dropping of aforementioned features proffers
    drunken stranger the unspoken ‘it takes a special kind’ ( forming a false back-
    ground in mind with each passing breath should questions ensue from either
    party ), and he clears yet-to-be-quenched throat with a zephyr-like quality.

        He bothers not with saying anything further, the woman having already
    displayed enough audacity to rid of the drunkard. With such, the man realises
    that he is now the intruder of adjacent’s space and takes the gentlemanly in-
    itiative to step away ( for if the woman had hair any longer it would likely be
    touching his arm; close proximity thought out only when attempting to appear
    as significant other ) and take a seat opposite. He would continue to converse
    should it be necessary, with plenty of intoxicated peoples surrounding, and an
    oddly captivating quality in now-quiet stranger that keeps him trained to seat,
    but will not take it upon himself to insert a dull introduction — this woman
    appears to be far from the ’you saved me!’ type, and, perhaps, would not
    care to know what handle he goes by.

        In any case, he tucks a loose strand of red hair behind right ear, aware of
    abnormal colouration with white on left; and, after taking a conveniently placed
    napkin with a quick sweeping motion and wiping the counter clean, calmly leans
    an elbow on the smooth surface. He orders a beer with a casual glance from the
    bartender to the woman’s glass and back.

“A man hopes his presence is welcome to share a drink.”

                       ◤ Ꮴalar  Ꮇorghulis. ◢

       For one accustomed to loitering in unlit niches tucked within various buildings
    hosting bustling crowds ( waves of people serving to enkindle fickle muse of in-
    spiration for succeeding works of art, be the canvases with or without face ) to
    cast gaze impassively amongst drunken, dejected, oft slurring figures is far from
    uncommon practise.

        A bar adjacent catches unabridged attention in due course; a group of young
    women with svelte figures does not go unnoticed; a man in curious garb ( a blue
    beard with three prongs complimenting yellow shirt ) provokes an internal lift of
    brow; a remarkably small woman being flirted to ( not with? ) catches eye for
    longer than a second. The man takes mild pride in the ability to remove himself
    from situations he deems insignificant and thus continues to allow his eyes the
    leisure to roam the room.

        With an unintentional glance once more in the direction of the slight woman’s
     vicinity, the artist inly contemplates the idea of interjecting himself between this
    woman and the nameless man. Inebriate towering over seemingly clear-headed
    evokes far from pleasant memories of old sermons preaching the importance of
    staying away from alcohol, how the liquid causes the mind ‘to turn to the Devil…’

        Radical  ideas no  longer intaglioed into cerebrum  do hold minute value and
    within  seconds this man finds himself  walking towards and up to the  pair of
    strangers.  He ends up standing  beside the woman with a feigned  look  of
    surprise and proffers her a greeting before opposition is given the chance
    to emerge.

“A man could use another taste of beer
           after waiting in line for so long.                                              Attention takes a sharp
                                    Who might this be?”                                              turn to the drunkard.

                       ◤ Ꮴalar  Ꮇorghulis. ◢

        Gaze belonging to unacquainted individual adjacent is caught by own, a casual
    adjustment of weight to left leg following unspoken acknowledgement. ( Gracile
    body still appears board straight despite languid change of posture, with its rigid-
    ness of back and lankiness of arms — and in the company of cool exterior is an air
    of hidden strength when words are spoken in an accent of Germanic descent. )

                “—Klimt’s Death and Life? It seems a woman has an eye for art.”

puervictor:

Nicola Wincenc