(no subject)
Sophie says she prefers his hair dark, but he's never claimed he isn't vain: just because he's engaged to be married doesn't mean he has to stop playing around with lotions and potions.
(Personally, he preferred the pure white; it was a stylistic choice if ever there was one.)
Tonight, he's blonde.
Doing actual work for the King is wearying. So wearying, in fact, he's beginning to wonder if it will ever be finished. There's been precious little time to spend with his Sophie: it's been nothing but work, and that makes for a dull wizard, or so he believes. Besides, even the most dedicated, focused of people deserves a glass of cider from time to time.
"I liked it better," he says to no one in particular, "when my time was my own."
Back in the good old days before stirrings of war, that bold move from the Strangians to the north. Why did they have to decide to move on Ingary at such a precarious time? He's got better things to do than make supply kits for the whole of the King's army. He's getting married, for heaven's sake. The middle of a war is no time for that.
If this is what being a steadily employed adult is all about, he'll say no, thank you. He doesn't want to turn into a carbon-copy of his sister: miserable, irritated, always foul-tempered. A glass of cider is just what he needs to wash that unsavory thought away. Taking it into his hands, he studies its golden hue (much like his hair, he's glad to notice) before he takes a sip:
Perfect.
(Personally, he preferred the pure white; it was a stylistic choice if ever there was one.)
Tonight, he's blonde.
Doing actual work for the King is wearying. So wearying, in fact, he's beginning to wonder if it will ever be finished. There's been precious little time to spend with his Sophie: it's been nothing but work, and that makes for a dull wizard, or so he believes. Besides, even the most dedicated, focused of people deserves a glass of cider from time to time.
"I liked it better," he says to no one in particular, "when my time was my own."
Back in the good old days before stirrings of war, that bold move from the Strangians to the north. Why did they have to decide to move on Ingary at such a precarious time? He's got better things to do than make supply kits for the whole of the King's army. He's getting married, for heaven's sake. The middle of a war is no time for that.
If this is what being a steadily employed adult is all about, he'll say no, thank you. He doesn't want to turn into a carbon-copy of his sister: miserable, irritated, always foul-tempered. A glass of cider is just what he needs to wash that unsavory thought away. Taking it into his hands, he studies its golden hue (much like his hair, he's glad to notice) before he takes a sip:
Perfect.