(no subject)
It was a question of finding his favorite café and sitting down to order bread and soup and a glass of some sort of sweet wine, and sitting back and waiting for the sweet Manadavvi musician to finish her songs and leave the stage so he could finally, finally walk up to her and introduce himself, maybe ask if she'd like to spend some time with him, walking around the city or eating dinner together. At least, it would've been-- he wouldn't have chickened out this time, he knows he's braver than to do it four times in a row, and what does it matter if she rejects him anyway? It's not as if she even knows his name. (Except she does, or probably does-- because around Monteverde, who doesn't know the angel Ariel, and who doesn't know her son? Oh, Jovah, this is harder than it should be--)
Well. It was a question of that, but now it's something else entirely.
Rounding into the mansion, Thaddeus looks around in bewilderment, amazed by the sights, smells, and sounds this distinctly non-café is offering, and calls out with his mouth ajar in surprise. "Hello?"
Typist: Look, I said I'd get Samariaspawn and I did! The angel Ariel's mortal son, Thaddeus (father not important or known-- hey, it's Samaria), and Persis' little 18-year-old brother.
Well. It was a question of that, but now it's something else entirely.
Rounding into the mansion, Thaddeus looks around in bewilderment, amazed by the sights, smells, and sounds this distinctly non-café is offering, and calls out with his mouth ajar in surprise. "Hello?"
Typist: Look, I said I'd get Samariaspawn and I did! The angel Ariel's mortal son, Thaddeus (father not important or known-- hey, it's Samaria), and Persis' little 18-year-old brother.