06-11-2018, 07:15 PM
[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 530px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; padding: 20px"]Fun fact: Suiteheart was playing the ukulele she had traded the old merchant for. The door to her room was cracked just slightly, and a soft melody trickled into the hallway. It was sad and sweet and quiet. She hummed ever so slightly as she played. Weariness bloomed in her low singing, but she could not rest - would not rest. Her dreams were too odd to sleep, and she refused to give in to the odd sights she encountered as she slumbered. Old languages, murder, vampires... She could not fathom why she was dreaming of these things, but unbeknownst to her, these were memories.
In due time, she would discover all the answers to her many questions, but now was not then. Instead, she would be left to wonder, so she occupied her mind with other things. Though she had spent most of the day wondering about her ailing, pregnant wife as well as Hazel and Bastille, she quickly ditched her worry in favor of redecorating she and Margaery's room. It had started by removing everything and starting fresh.
After stripping the room bare, she began to replace the furniture (who knew shapeshifting was so useful?). She began with placing down bedding: she had found a ton of different pillows and blankets from various unused rooms. After creating a sleeping area, she moved on to the walls. Small cords of twine were strung across the walls, and pictures she had taken were hung from the cord. Smiling and laughing faces in the photographs cheered her on as she hung up a drawing Littlepaw had given her for her birthday over a year ago. Various potted flowers and succulents were sat upon a few tables that were scattered with knickknacks like seashells and gemstones. Two helves full of books lined one wall.
After she had finished redecorating, she had chosen to rest and play her instrument. Sheet music was scattered around her, and a look of concentration adorned her features. A blank sheet of paper sat at her immediate left while a pen rested on its face. It appeared as though she were trying to write a song or capture a small tune (she was repeating a few musical phrases, playing the same several notes more than a few times). Once a few moments elapsed, she scribbled something illegible down on the sheet of paper before changing the notes up. Suiteheart's face quirked up in disgust, for she clearly did not enjoy the sound she was producing. She knew that this would take time - perhaps too much time - to work out, but the activity was therapeutic. For the first time in a handful of days, she felt calm.
The white feline, as she picked the strings of her ukulele, could almost forget her sick Margaery. She could almost forget the fight she had with Bastille and then finding him at the border. She could almost forget having to drag Hazel away from Bast, as if she were afraid he would hurt her. She could almost forget the awful dreams. The terrible events of the passed two weeks melted into nothing as she composed a small song. And that was how it should be, she thought. Still, she could not help but feel guilty.
So absorbed in her own activity, she didn't hear Hazel knocking.
In due time, she would discover all the answers to her many questions, but now was not then. Instead, she would be left to wonder, so she occupied her mind with other things. Though she had spent most of the day wondering about her ailing, pregnant wife as well as Hazel and Bastille, she quickly ditched her worry in favor of redecorating she and Margaery's room. It had started by removing everything and starting fresh.
After stripping the room bare, she began to replace the furniture (who knew shapeshifting was so useful?). She began with placing down bedding: she had found a ton of different pillows and blankets from various unused rooms. After creating a sleeping area, she moved on to the walls. Small cords of twine were strung across the walls, and pictures she had taken were hung from the cord. Smiling and laughing faces in the photographs cheered her on as she hung up a drawing Littlepaw had given her for her birthday over a year ago. Various potted flowers and succulents were sat upon a few tables that were scattered with knickknacks like seashells and gemstones. Two helves full of books lined one wall.
After she had finished redecorating, she had chosen to rest and play her instrument. Sheet music was scattered around her, and a look of concentration adorned her features. A blank sheet of paper sat at her immediate left while a pen rested on its face. It appeared as though she were trying to write a song or capture a small tune (she was repeating a few musical phrases, playing the same several notes more than a few times). Once a few moments elapsed, she scribbled something illegible down on the sheet of paper before changing the notes up. Suiteheart's face quirked up in disgust, for she clearly did not enjoy the sound she was producing. She knew that this would take time - perhaps too much time - to work out, but the activity was therapeutic. For the first time in a handful of days, she felt calm.
The white feline, as she picked the strings of her ukulele, could almost forget her sick Margaery. She could almost forget the fight she had with Bastille and then finding him at the border. She could almost forget having to drag Hazel away from Bast, as if she were afraid he would hurt her. She could almost forget the awful dreams. The terrible events of the passed two weeks melted into nothing as she composed a small song. And that was how it should be, she thought. Still, she could not help but feel guilty.
So absorbed in her own activity, she didn't hear Hazel knocking.
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[glow=black,10,100]GOT MY DEGREE IN THE GUTTER,[/glow]
[glow=black,1,100]MY HEART BROKEN IN THE DORMS OF THE IVY LEAGUE