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 Post subject: A window to her mind
Unread postPosted: Mon Aug 31, 2015 11:52 am 
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Last edited by LuxA on Mon May 23, 2016 7:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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 Post subject: I Can Always Leave Tomorrow
Unread postPosted: Mon Aug 31, 2015 11:53 am 
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The woman known as Bathsheba entered her room at the Blade and Stars and slammed the door shut behind her. She turned the key in the lock and spun around to lean against the door, backpack squashed in between. After a few seconds of staring hard at nothing her gaze drifted unseeing across the tidy room. She hadn't slept there for several nights, now. She had been elsewhere.

After some half a minute she slowly inhaled, thoughts and gaze returning to the present from the chaos otherwise known as her mind.

She began swaying ever so slightly, rolling her backpack against the door, the faint creaking of leather and a few soft clinks of glass bottles a result of her movement. She looked down to the floor and a small pile of letters she was more of less standing on. They all bore the official Sword Coast Commercial Exchange seal. She twisted her foot, watching half of the papers do the same, and thought about her situation.

Another half a minute or so passed. As they persisted in lying there she leaned down to pick them up and in doing so an unmarked note fell out of the pile. She picked it up and looked it over. There was just the one line, and it wasn't signed. She frowned, read it a few times, turned it over, then read it again, paused in the middle of the floor. She then dismissed it, passing a tired thought to that if it was intended as a threat it hadn't been a very good one, and proceeded to the table, where she lay the stack of letters down.

I suppose many would see this as a lucky chance, she thought while shrugging her backpack off. The belt holding her light leather armour in place came next. But all I can think of is how to escape it, and what can go wrong.
Good things happen to other people, not me.

A short and fearfully respectful thought was given to Lady Doom, and then she shuddered, trying to shake the feeling of dread.

Once free of the armour she sat down at the table and began opening the letters. One by one she skimmed them, words upon words of what seemed to her like important political plans and discussions flooding her mind. She flipped between them, unable to calmly focus on and properly decipher one, and the sense of dread returned. She would have felt just as lost by reading in-depth theories of bird song (like similarities between related species in the different regions and local variations within the same species despite no geographical borders)...

It made her slightly worried she might be mad, or that all the people writing and sending her these things were. Soon enough she was resting her head in her hands, base of her hands against her temples.

I could leave, she thought. It's past time. It's dangerously past time.
The thought lingered for a while. Its presence calmed her and she breathed a heavy sigh.

She straightened and looked about the room again. It was bare of any mark of anyone currently living there, such a messy bed or used glasses, and any personal effects, save for that one silk dress she bought recently that now hung behind the bathtub curtain. It wasn't visible from the door; the cleaner might not even notice it being there. If she left, it would be quite the surprise for the next tenant. She mused over this for a few seconds.

It was high time to leave, and yet she lingered. She had begun to realize that no amount of thinking would solve the dilemma of whether or not she would stay. The sadness she felt over some of the conditions she was making the decision on reflected in her features.

She habitually glanced over the table for something to drink, then expanded her search to the rest of the room, but there was nothing. This wasn't the Helm. She had brought nothing with her, and so there was nothing to drink.
She found herself looking at the neatly written letters spread before her again. After a little while of intense, wordless thought she slowly reached for one.
I can always leave tomorrow.

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Last edited by LuxA on Tue May 24, 2016 4:52 am, edited 1 time in total.

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 Post subject: Whatever Happens Happens
Unread postPosted: Mon May 23, 2016 7:07 pm 
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I never left.

Close to a year after her first arrival in Baldur's Gate the woman known as Bathsheba rested dangerously on a tilted chair, legs crossed upon stacked crates nearby and head tilted back to let a breath of smoke slowly ascend from parted lips into the hazy city night. Her gaze was unfocused upon the starry sky.

She had left, for a time, but she had come back. What did that say about her?

She reached the conclusion that it didn't matter.

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