I MAKE ACTIVITY WITHIN THE LAST TWO SECONDS
Who: Talia Al Ghul and Open
What: Talia is grinding coffee ... at 3 AM. With those little coffee grinders. She needs to read her own fortune, and this is how she dew it.
When: 3 AM...
Where: DINING HALL, kitchen, whatever. She's walking around!
Rating: G
This place was so changeable, Talia mused, and yet only by turns and short instances of differentiated existence. This chaotic mass, this subjugating and paralyzing melange of good, of evil, of order and disorder. There was no sense of liberty for her, even though her ties -- and essentially, what chained her to the sentiments and goals to which she remained constant, were absent.
Her personality type was never one that was calculated or crafted to gain her friends.
The closest she had to any here was ... well, in her son. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. She was definitely deviating away from the working model she already had for a family unit. She wanted him to be a strong heir, to not disappoint himself, his mother, his father, or his grandfather.
And yet at times, she wished she could give him a freedom that she only read about, never had experienced, and had a strong detestation of in practice.
The lavender incense flooded the air in the kitchen (someone had cooked something awful earlier, it seemed -- involving onions, and she was desperate to get the smell out), all the while gripping the Turkish coffee grinder. She cradled its body in her arm, fist enclosed over the handle, and stirred as her mind wandered along with her feet.
She really needed to do something about this physical frustration. It was manifesting itself into an unhealthy sleep deprivation.
What: Talia is grinding coffee ... at 3 AM. With those little coffee grinders. She needs to read her own fortune, and this is how she dew it.
When: 3 AM...
Where: DINING HALL, kitchen, whatever. She's walking around!
Rating: G
This place was so changeable, Talia mused, and yet only by turns and short instances of differentiated existence. This chaotic mass, this subjugating and paralyzing melange of good, of evil, of order and disorder. There was no sense of liberty for her, even though her ties -- and essentially, what chained her to the sentiments and goals to which she remained constant, were absent.
Her personality type was never one that was calculated or crafted to gain her friends.
The closest she had to any here was ... well, in her son. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. She was definitely deviating away from the working model she already had for a family unit. She wanted him to be a strong heir, to not disappoint himself, his mother, his father, or his grandfather.
And yet at times, she wished she could give him a freedom that she only read about, never had experienced, and had a strong detestation of in practice.
The lavender incense flooded the air in the kitchen (someone had cooked something awful earlier, it seemed -- involving onions, and she was desperate to get the smell out), all the while gripping the Turkish coffee grinder. She cradled its body in her arm, fist enclosed over the handle, and stirred as her mind wandered along with her feet.
She really needed to do something about this physical frustration. It was manifesting itself into an unhealthy sleep deprivation.