And again he is not what she expects. Once, when first she saw him, she thought it must be lonely to live his sort of life; never a stranger to strangers, tethered to power you do not wield, always in the public eye. That had been before she had come to know anything of his lover, and perhaps that is unfair. Oriencor scares Aeriel; nominally they both want the same things-- the health and preservation of the natural world-- but, she thinks, their views are so far apart as to oppose, somehow. Aeriel cannot conceive of improving upon the marvels she studies; Oriencor would reshape all things to shadow her own, sharp ideal. Stronger. More enduring. But different, Aeriel thinks, above all else. Utterly changed.
She nods at his question. "You know my brother," she acknowledges, and does not need to name him because Irrylath has eyes, of course he knows. It's a simple way of acknowledging the links between them; and, perhaps, of keeping a distance. A plausible reason he might walk her to Talb's office, a simple courtesy because she is Roshka's sister, and no one can know Roshka and not think of him at least faintly as a friend. So Aeriel believes, at any rate.
"It may be out of your way," she warns, but doesn't shy away from him. Her hand on his arm is surprisingly rough for its small size and fine bones. There is a greedy little part of her that loves the excuse to touch him, not because he is so desired but because he is beautiful, and wild and strange and that is the sort of thing she has always loved best, like tiny crabs in tide pools and blind fish at the lips of volcanic vents. Eoduin would pout and sigh to hear of it, which is why Aeriel will not tell her, though it stings to keep secrets from the only female friend she has made so far.
"It's in the Old Wing." The near-unused part of this building, its purpose usurped by clean, bright, new lecture halls and state-of-the-art labs in the renovated New Wing. Talb favors the quiet, the privacy of it; and besides, it would be a nightmare to move his tanks from his basement office, sunk deep enough that only two narrow windows near the ceiling offer any trickle of sunlight, through the maze of doors and corridors into some other space.
She carefully does not glance toward's Oriencor's door, as though to do so would conjur the older woman up.
no subject
She nods at his question. "You know my brother," she acknowledges, and does not need to name him because Irrylath has eyes, of course he knows. It's a simple way of acknowledging the links between them; and, perhaps, of keeping a distance. A plausible reason he might walk her to Talb's office, a simple courtesy because she is Roshka's sister, and no one can know Roshka and not think of him at least faintly as a friend. So Aeriel believes, at any rate.
"It may be out of your way," she warns, but doesn't shy away from him. Her hand on his arm is surprisingly rough for its small size and fine bones. There is a greedy little part of her that loves the excuse to touch him, not because he is so desired but because he is beautiful, and wild and strange and that is the sort of thing she has always loved best, like tiny crabs in tide pools and blind fish at the lips of volcanic vents. Eoduin would pout and sigh to hear of it, which is why Aeriel will not tell her, though it stings to keep secrets from the only female friend she has made so far.
"It's in the Old Wing." The near-unused part of this building, its purpose usurped by clean, bright, new lecture halls and state-of-the-art labs in the renovated New Wing. Talb favors the quiet, the privacy of it; and besides, it would be a nightmare to move his tanks from his basement office, sunk deep enough that only two narrow windows near the ceiling offer any trickle of sunlight, through the maze of doors and corridors into some other space.
She carefully does not glance toward's Oriencor's door, as though to do so would conjur the older woman up.