I have weird relatives.
The most frightening thing occured today. I found Ameniel in her chambers reading a book.
Although that in itself is not unusual, the way she was reading it was. For one, she was fully clothed. I mean, dress, socks, everything. She was properly dressed. Also the subject of the book itself startled me. Instead of her usual dirty limericks or horror stories or war manuals, she was reading romantic poetry.
As I walked into her chambers, I noticed one other thing was terribly wrong. She had tidied them. Now, if you haven't been in her room before let me explain it a little. She has fairly large chambers, which consist of a sitting room and a bedroom. Her sitting room's walls are lined with bookshelves that are usually covered in, apart from the books, a wide assortment of crap that she manages to collect in her day-to-day wanderings. She also has her desk which is usually covered in her various on-going projects, and then there's the small table and chairs near her hearth, though I must admit I haven't seen the table or second chair in years as they've been so covered by layers of, well, Ameniel.
Imagine my shock on walking in! Her books were straightened, her various nick-nacks placed carefully on the shelves between them. Her desk had only two books on it, both shut and stacked neatly, and her quills and inks were all properly put away. I could have sat in her extra chair by the hearth.
In fact, I rather had to. I knew something had to be wrong! Upon recovering from my shock, I asked her what had happened.
She told me it was nothing, but in that way that makes you know that it most obviously was something.
Then she asked me what the most annoying name I'd ever been called by a lover was. And that was when I decided that I just didn't want to know, so I told her as much and left.
I'm assuming some poor fool admitted they were in love with her and now she's figuring out the best way to drive him off. It would not be the first time. And it would explain why she needs a nickname for someone.
Although that in itself is not unusual, the way she was reading it was. For one, she was fully clothed. I mean, dress, socks, everything. She was properly dressed. Also the subject of the book itself startled me. Instead of her usual dirty limericks or horror stories or war manuals, she was reading romantic poetry.
As I walked into her chambers, I noticed one other thing was terribly wrong. She had tidied them. Now, if you haven't been in her room before let me explain it a little. She has fairly large chambers, which consist of a sitting room and a bedroom. Her sitting room's walls are lined with bookshelves that are usually covered in, apart from the books, a wide assortment of crap that she manages to collect in her day-to-day wanderings. She also has her desk which is usually covered in her various on-going projects, and then there's the small table and chairs near her hearth, though I must admit I haven't seen the table or second chair in years as they've been so covered by layers of, well, Ameniel.
Imagine my shock on walking in! Her books were straightened, her various nick-nacks placed carefully on the shelves between them. Her desk had only two books on it, both shut and stacked neatly, and her quills and inks were all properly put away. I could have sat in her extra chair by the hearth.
In fact, I rather had to. I knew something had to be wrong! Upon recovering from my shock, I asked her what had happened.
She told me it was nothing, but in that way that makes you know that it most obviously was something.
Then she asked me what the most annoying name I'd ever been called by a lover was. And that was when I decided that I just didn't want to know, so I told her as much and left.
I'm assuming some poor fool admitted they were in love with her and now she's figuring out the best way to drive him off. It would not be the first time. And it would explain why she needs a nickname for someone.