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A University student’s notebook, 1300 [700 x 520]

Source: https://reddit.com/r/ArtefactPorn/comments/ce35u9/a_university_students_notebook_1300_700_x_520/

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@bje5454/instagram

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Propositions

Another day, another dose of justice.

Lord Balkrin Sunheart was out on his heels, disowned and disgraced for voicing a distinct….lack of patriotism, in the wrong company. At least, that's how the story went and would continue to be told.

In reality, Lord Sunheart's wife had grown tired of his criticism and his company. She had spoken to a friend who had told her about a friend who had a friend who knew somebody that could help her with her dilemma. 

The process had been completely hands off, left entirely up to the discretion of the hire. In truth, Lady Sunheart had begun to doubt the half sum she paid upfront would ever bear fruit when her husband was whisked from their home in the midst of the dinner hour. It was most unexpected, and most welcome.

The purse was at the drop point and filled with the other half sum and the lady went on her way to freedom, happy to forget the affair as instructed. The purse was filled and left and collected, just as predicted.

The subject had been tedious to observe, difficult to vet- but less vexing to deal with than the demands to get more hands-off as soon as possible. Even as the subject made her tail- AGAIN- it was nice to anticipate less drama in the household. Peace? Perhaps not, but less drama.

She went to wait.

---

The girl just wouldn't give it up. Whatever the reason, the sudden attention was becoming intolerable. At best, her former "sister" was going to blow her cover on the job, sooner or later. At worst, one of them was facing untimely demise.

Severra had to consider her choices before they were made for her. She closed her door, leaned back against it, reached to engage the lock, and glowered at the ceiling.

"Why are you doing this to me?" She muttered.

"Because I asked her to, well--" 

She was dead, she thought, cursing her stupidity as she snapped to attention, to the elf sitting on her bed. The red head was lounging with an arm on Severra's pillows and legs crossed over the edge of the bed, one foot swinging idly at the ankle. She had not a weapon, but a half-eaten apple in her hand, and a Cheshire grin on her face.

"-it is of course more complicated than that."

---

Lady Elde'en Xanatos took in the young elf's body language and expression, watching her battle fear and pass through panic into planning and a look of passive congeniality for the intruder in her home.

"I don't suppose you'd like a cup of tea while you expound on that?"

The reply was clipped, polite but dry. Elde'en bit into her apple, crunching loudly on it, licking the juice off her lips afterward. She offered another wide grin.

"I think that sounds like it would add to a good start, Miss Firefinch."

"What do you want, then?" Severra replied with less patience.

"Mint, honey, no cream. Please."

The girl deadpanned. Elde'en gestured her way with the apple.

"Perhaps you should be thinking what it is you want," the lady mused.

"I want you out of my house."

The lady clucked quiety. "This 'house' is smaller than some prison cells. Think bigger. Dream bigger."

"I'm not about to share my hopes and dreams with you," the younger elf returned with open incredulity.

"No need to," the lady waved her hand dismissively, watching with as little interest as possible as Severra put a teapot on an enchanted plate, the beaten tin vessel whistling in short order.

"I'd prefer that you didn't. The less we see of one another in the future, the better." She held up a hand to forestall a snide reply. "I'd just like to offer you the means to realize them."

---

Andareen was gone. Her sisters were gone, dead, some burned to crisps in open conflict and others murdered afterwards. Everything they had built together was gone, and now…

"You think after everything you've done: after having me threatened, after stalking me, after breaking into my home...you expect me to work for you?"

Severra stared down at the unshaken noble, her only chance to do so as the lady's stately height was sat upon the bed. Elde'en accepted the teacup she offered with a slow smile.

"We are, as I said, off to a good start."

Severra flicked her eyes between the lady's scarred and tattooed face and the blasted teacup in her hands, imagined further marring those thin-lined features. If only.

"You expect me to be your gofer, do you?"

Elde'en shrugged.

"I may have a shopping list that needs seeing to."

The younger elf couldn't miss the weight of suggestion in the other's tone, however slight.

"Are you tired of your husband, Lady Xanatos?"

The lady grinned fiendishly.

"Only when he tires me," she replied with a shake of her head. "But your freelance… experience is half your endorsement."

Severra scowled, imagining the eyes that must be on her while she went about her day to day.

"What's the other half of it?"

"The fact that you're still alive," the Lady answered simply, fixated on her cup as she stirred the tea.

She narrowed her eyes.

"You say that like you didn't choose to leave me that way."

Elde'en pointed the spoon at her.

"I didn't."

"Then maybe I shouldn't be talking to you."

The Lady hummed a smug, knowing note.

"If you'd prefer to work for a man…"

She considered the lady, considered the likelihood she would not be.

"I'm capable of my own agendas," Elde'en dryly read her expression.

Still…

"If you expect me to do any shopping, I hope you have a list for me to sample."

A slip of paper appeared in place of the spoon. The lady was wearing that insufferable grin again.

"Why don't we see how you handle just one thing?" She suggested. "And how much you find it to your liking."

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I’m not used to being loved. I wouldn’t know what to do.

F. Scott Fitzgerald (via bnmxfld)

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Sometimes you have to walk away from what you want to find what you deserve.

(via motivated-mindset)

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@gi.rok

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Made with Picrew

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New Sprezzatura

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Piano  Bar  -  Alberto Sughi

Italian, 1928-2012

Tempera , 70 x 55 cm.

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We understand how dangerous a mask can be. We all become what we pretend to be.

Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind (via quoted-books)