Mithos Yggdrasill (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
imatreenow) wrote2013-06-06 07:39 pm
imatreenow) wrote2013-06-06 07:39 pm
twenty [action]
[Almost a week ago Mithos had returned from a mission, the first he'd ever volunteered for. It may have seemed a strange choice for someone who trusted no one, who loathed being a pawn for others, to submit himself as a lab rat for combat testing, but his choices are narrowing around him. There is something he is after. Something he can finally close his fingers around, after watching it all scream past him for so long. If he is going to be used by the Malnosso regardless of his choices, it is better that he gains something from it - which he'd had to remind himself many times to dampen the sour taste sitting in the back of his throat.
Now back in the village, he has resumed the same quiet routine as before. In the early morning, before the sun is too hot in the sky, and before too many villagers are awake, he can be seen hunched over in the garden around House 52. He tries not to wonder if the flowers, planted with the thin hope that his sister might have the chance to enjoy them, amount to anything more than a vain effort. When he decides he needs more supplies, he makes sure to visit the flower shop in the early afternoon - wondering, like a scratch in the back of his mind, if school is still in session at all, or if he'll run into someone he would rather not see at all.
Later in the day, he withdraws to the woods south of the village to train. Four thousand years of fighting are wired inside his muscles, but it doesn't hurt to stay as sharp as possible. He's still getting used to the subtle differences between a proper sword and the knife he now relies on. Slicing the air, going through the motions of killing, he feels like he is building something. When he's done, he settles in against the base of a tree and draws the ancient set of panpipes from his pocket. He usually prefers to play inside, where the music of his sister cannot be heard by prying ears, but surrounded by the forest and his thoughts he can almost forget that people exist. And so the notes come out, clear and steady.]
Now back in the village, he has resumed the same quiet routine as before. In the early morning, before the sun is too hot in the sky, and before too many villagers are awake, he can be seen hunched over in the garden around House 52. He tries not to wonder if the flowers, planted with the thin hope that his sister might have the chance to enjoy them, amount to anything more than a vain effort. When he decides he needs more supplies, he makes sure to visit the flower shop in the early afternoon - wondering, like a scratch in the back of his mind, if school is still in session at all, or if he'll run into someone he would rather not see at all.
Later in the day, he withdraws to the woods south of the village to train. Four thousand years of fighting are wired inside his muscles, but it doesn't hurt to stay as sharp as possible. He's still getting used to the subtle differences between a proper sword and the knife he now relies on. Slicing the air, going through the motions of killing, he feels like he is building something. When he's done, he settles in against the base of a tree and draws the ancient set of panpipes from his pocket. He usually prefers to play inside, where the music of his sister cannot be heard by prying ears, but surrounded by the forest and his thoughts he can almost forget that people exist. And so the notes come out, clear and steady.]
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Oh? Did it hurt to admit that a human might actually be right about something?
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[She turned on her heel. About the only good point was that she was careful not to disturb the flowers in the process.]
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