Love is the worst thing you can to do a person - OTA
2015-Sep-28, Monday 10:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
impossibilities( Preamble: In which you would think a UK keyboard would properly suggest Manannán instead of Banana )
Quarters
There was a voice singing, clearly audible outside in the hallway. Grainne's song was crisp and clear. She did not sing with the conventions of normal, modern music, or even any known alien based concept. It was purely ancient, with its own eccentricities and flow, some of it familiar as not everything passed down is lost, some of it definitely unique. Her words were that of Proto-Celtic, bearing the lost beauty of the language and the similarities to each of the languages it spawned. She didn't care any more who heard her or who wondered.
She sat in the midst of the room, lights dim, in a pile of pillows, arranged comfortably around a meditative brazier she had asked from the replicator. It suited the function of what she needed, though little of the substance a real Iron Age hearth provided.
Grainne almost laughed at the thought that she might admit to missing the hearth at Almhuin. Fionn's house it may have been, but it was still her own time, with her own people.
She started to sing louder, the sad, nostalgic music drowning out her own thoughts.
Ten Forward
Feeling particularly better, Grainne decided to at least spend some time among the people of the ship. Cutting herself off from even the appearance of social activity seemed to only make things worse for herself. It was easy to fall into the trap of blaming herself again, wrapping all her thoughts to making herself more miserable. She hadn't had much choice in the Tower as all of the people there had been his friend or at least known him. The one person that...
Frowning, she cut that thought off and sat at a table, merely asking the waiter for a glass of water, and then finally, turned to face the window.
The view of the stars wasn't as bad as she feared it would be... but it was funny that she was thinking of that person, when she had met him in a lounge very much like this one, with a view very much like that one. Gilgamesh had been the least likely person she would have thought to take in an interest in her, however small it was. She wouldn't say he had cared, that wasn't consistent with what she knew of him, but perhaps... perhaps, perhaps. Perhaps he had done something for her after all.
Almost jumping when the waiter brought back her water, she held it in her hands and sipped from it, giving anyone who passed by a conservative smile to mask what she might be thinking.
Arboretum
It was a garden, more or less, and usually she would find comfort from such places. The ship's garden held more unusual things, less familiar, and it reminded her of the garden on Quadratus and made her wonder what happened to the plants there. If Jeffers was still caring for it in the absence of the population of Blackway. Were the roses she had demolished on a regular bases flourishing, or were they dead, finally giving it up to her constant abuse?
Sitting on a bench, she decided not to wander too far into the arboretum. She wasn't sure how she would feel chancing on a rosebush, and she would just as soon stay out of trouble for destruction of ship's property. Still, it was quiet and pleasant enough, though she would have liked maybe a real sun casting its light over the garden.
Quarters
There was a voice singing, clearly audible outside in the hallway. Grainne's song was crisp and clear. She did not sing with the conventions of normal, modern music, or even any known alien based concept. It was purely ancient, with its own eccentricities and flow, some of it familiar as not everything passed down is lost, some of it definitely unique. Her words were that of Proto-Celtic, bearing the lost beauty of the language and the similarities to each of the languages it spawned. She didn't care any more who heard her or who wondered.
She sat in the midst of the room, lights dim, in a pile of pillows, arranged comfortably around a meditative brazier she had asked from the replicator. It suited the function of what she needed, though little of the substance a real Iron Age hearth provided.
Grainne almost laughed at the thought that she might admit to missing the hearth at Almhuin. Fionn's house it may have been, but it was still her own time, with her own people.
She started to sing louder, the sad, nostalgic music drowning out her own thoughts.
Ten Forward
Feeling particularly better, Grainne decided to at least spend some time among the people of the ship. Cutting herself off from even the appearance of social activity seemed to only make things worse for herself. It was easy to fall into the trap of blaming herself again, wrapping all her thoughts to making herself more miserable. She hadn't had much choice in the Tower as all of the people there had been his friend or at least known him. The one person that...
Frowning, she cut that thought off and sat at a table, merely asking the waiter for a glass of water, and then finally, turned to face the window.
The view of the stars wasn't as bad as she feared it would be... but it was funny that she was thinking of that person, when she had met him in a lounge very much like this one, with a view very much like that one. Gilgamesh had been the least likely person she would have thought to take in an interest in her, however small it was. She wouldn't say he had cared, that wasn't consistent with what she knew of him, but perhaps... perhaps, perhaps. Perhaps he had done something for her after all.
Almost jumping when the waiter brought back her water, she held it in her hands and sipped from it, giving anyone who passed by a conservative smile to mask what she might be thinking.
Arboretum
It was a garden, more or less, and usually she would find comfort from such places. The ship's garden held more unusual things, less familiar, and it reminded her of the garden on Quadratus and made her wonder what happened to the plants there. If Jeffers was still caring for it in the absence of the population of Blackway. Were the roses she had demolished on a regular bases flourishing, or were they dead, finally giving it up to her constant abuse?
Sitting on a bench, she decided not to wander too far into the arboretum. She wasn't sure how she would feel chancing on a rosebush, and she would just as soon stay out of trouble for destruction of ship's property. Still, it was quiet and pleasant enough, though she would have liked maybe a real sun casting its light over the garden.