sixwordstories | (no subject)

He keeps sipping at his macchiato in the little cafe, seemingly oblivious. Ezio has one leg crossed over the other, his tablet propped up against his knee while he scrolls idly through exchange news. People glance his way here and there, and then past him-- he's just another businessman in a suit and tie, whiling away a little time during the tail end of lunch.

If his model isn't going to notice, he's encouraged to stare more openly and allow himself to turn this quick sketch into a detailed drawing. He needs the practice and a subject who sits still and doesn't see him is the perfect opportunity to do just that.

It's only when he tries refining the eyes that his attention focuses more on the page in front of him. He makes a little noise of discontent and rapidly switches between rubber and pencil.

Around that time, having reached the bottom of his cup, Ezio clues into what's going on. He smiles to himself. absently licking a last trace of foam from his upper lip, and quietly gathers his things while the young man's attention is on his sketch.

"Should I sit closer?" He asks, closing his tablet cover.

When Viatorus looks up and finds his subject has vanished he blinks, confused. That is, until the man speaks and startles the life out of him. He jumps in his seat and has to scramble for the pencil as he sends it flying.

"Sorry! Sorry, I... I didn't mean to... Uh." His cheeks are bright red with embarrassment when he looks at the stranger. "Y-You're... not offended, are you?"

He laughs once, a low, soft note of amusement, and shakes his head where he stands beside the young man's table. Ezio hefts the strap of his bag over his shoulder. "Not at all. It isn't every day I get to model for someone."

A smile eases its way across his mouth, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Are you a student?"

"No- Well. I'm a scholar, so... I'm still learning things. I'll always be learning, but... it's not quite the same." Eyes flicker everywhere while he pushes embarrassment away but they catch the slight hefting of the stranger and his bag. "Are you... Are you busy? Going somewhere, I mean. I... I'm nearly finished this. It wouldn't take long."

In the middle of the cairn she spins in place, arms outstretched, head tipped back, loose curls from her braid escaping. She can feel the blood spilled here, taste the power in the earth. Nothing needs to be done, nothing healed, nothing repaired... Nothing to do but celebrate the connection she has found halfway around the world from home.

Eyes on her, Freya stops, layered skirts swishing around her legs and calf high boots. There on one of the stones a boy, no, the blood that had once spilled on the stones say that he is older, a young man, sketches, charcoal or pencil moving across the page.

Would like to interrupt, to ask what it is that he sees in this place of stone, wide sky, and stunted grasses. But she knows the look of someone in their craft, and would not interrupt until the task is done. Dizzy, she sits, legs crossing, and throwing her senses out into the Circle, learns what she can by the contact he has with the stone's long spilled blood.

The ~~boy~~ young man barely even notices her stop, too busy flitting between charcoal and rubber. It's a feverish rush to try and take what he's seeing and put it to the page that leaves his mind between places.

His connection with the earth is an easy one, practiced often and naturally done. Through this it's clear his energy is thick with power but calm, moving only to mingle with the forces around it, much like water. Though he sits still, it's in this silent way that he's enjoying the cairn and all its gifts, including bringing to him this solitary dancer.

Once the picture is as finished as it's going to get, he looks it over one more time, then sets it next to him so that he can take out a handkerchief to wipe his hands.

Heavy clouds gray, carrying moisture, water equals life. Life equals blood. Breathes in the scent of broken bracken, trampled by her boots, life that will spring back up after she leaves this place.

A red hilted dagger slips out of her boot and the sharp point pierces the pad of an index finger, adding to what was already given in places similar in lives past, not just her own but that of her brother and other keepers. Blood of sacrifice, willing and otherwise, a man's first kill, a woman's first time, so many opportunities for blood, shed in places of power.

Watched as the man finished. Normally Freya wasn't shy and she wasn't now either. Pushed herself up, boots steady and sure-footed, even if some of the dizziness was still with her on the edges.

Waited to speak until she came closer, not wanting to call out over the ever present breeze. "Hey, um," the American West Coast accent slow and her low voice musical, "Can I - May I see?" pointing at the sketchpad.

It's disorienting to be brought back to the present so suddenly. Yes, he'd known she was there, and known she surely had seen him, but the thought that they might speak hadn't occurred to him until now. He blinks at her several times and then looks between his sketchpad and her.

For a few moments his mouth makes wordless shapes, she might be forgiven for wondering if he's mute. "Uh... Um... I-It's... It's not very good."

She waits and doesn't look at him oddly, as if this stumbling and searching for words is normal, and nothing to be thought strange. It's usual with her brother.

"I um," a hitch of a shoulder, "Can't draw at all." Cheek pinching briefly into a grin "Well, maybe stick people an' dogs."

Doesn't pick up the picture, waits for an invitation, "I'm Freya...just visiting."

"Like the goddess?" He wonders briefly if it's her given name or a chosen one. The fidgeting begins. "I'm Viatorus."

He glances to the sketchpad and shimmies his fingers underneath it until he picks it up and offers it to her. "I-If you really want to."

There are things in the picture that aren't around, if one were to look about, and he was clearly looking to capture her movement around the space. It's messy, impressionistic.

"Yes. Please," a nod and a smile answer both the question and the statement, followed by a, "Nice to meet you, Viatorus."

Helping herself to the other side of the fallen stone, her head dips to look at the hastily captured moments, the smile still in her expression if not on her lips. A sunbrowned finger hovers over the lines, not touching, but wanting to.

Contralto hums, "I thought they were there too. Could feel them, but was too dizzy to see for myself. Do you know what they are? Souls?" her own shattered pieces or those who belonged here? "Or something else?"

The smile remains, accompanied by a spark of curiosity in his eyes at the explanation. Fingers open and close on the strap; Ezio hesitates so slightly, thinking, but then nods. "I can make time. Where would you like me to be?"

Thankful that the stranger has time he's willing to spare, Viatorus perks up and gestures to the seat across from him. "If you could sit there and face... that way," he points. "The same as you were before, that would be perfect, thank you. Can I get you another drink?"