01-22-2014, 03:55 PM
Had the breeze gusted just then, Aria's reply would have been brushed from all hearing the girl spoke so softly. Dane was generally soft spoken as well, but he had never dampened his voice so profoundly since boyhood.
Invictus summoned a rise in the pitch of her voice. As well it would. The very title itself levied the power to invoke the steerage of destiny. Or so it did for Dane, whose chin elevated upon a stiffened, proud back. His demeanor was usually this calm, but usually painted with a sweeter coating. Perhaps it was the night air lending him confidence. Perhaps it was simply the atmosphere.
She returned his lob with a question of her own. He could ask the same of her, but then again, he cared not to bore himself through her answer. He was, however, interested in reciting more poetry. This cemetery was artful, indeed. An accurate assessment.
If she were a student, she might recognize Lord Byron's words. They were sufficient to fulfill both their motives.
"So, we'll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a roving
By the light of the moon."
He had turned in a circle during the performance, hands folded upon one another behind his back. As he finished, he smiled a sticky, sweet smile, dripping honey and molasses.
He hummed a throaty murmuring, thoughtful and amused. Around them he saw gardens transformed by the light of the moon. "Novodevichy Monastery,"
his accent teased the distinctly Russian word like feathers whispering across naked skin, "is the third most popular tourist destination in all of Moscow."
He gestured with the flat of one palm down the path as though inviting her to accompany him. "By your voice, Aria, I surmise you are likewise far from your homeland. Far and quite alone by the looks of things?"
His voice raised a trifle at the last, curiously studying the emptiness around them.
Far and quite alone. He smiled again, broad and peering so that the expression touched his eyes as well. "Except for me, of course."
A quaint laugh. Again, he offered the obvious.
Invictus summoned a rise in the pitch of her voice. As well it would. The very title itself levied the power to invoke the steerage of destiny. Or so it did for Dane, whose chin elevated upon a stiffened, proud back. His demeanor was usually this calm, but usually painted with a sweeter coating. Perhaps it was the night air lending him confidence. Perhaps it was simply the atmosphere.
She returned his lob with a question of her own. He could ask the same of her, but then again, he cared not to bore himself through her answer. He was, however, interested in reciting more poetry. This cemetery was artful, indeed. An accurate assessment.
If she were a student, she might recognize Lord Byron's words. They were sufficient to fulfill both their motives.
"So, we'll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a roving
By the light of the moon."
He had turned in a circle during the performance, hands folded upon one another behind his back. As he finished, he smiled a sticky, sweet smile, dripping honey and molasses.
He hummed a throaty murmuring, thoughtful and amused. Around them he saw gardens transformed by the light of the moon. "Novodevichy Monastery,"
his accent teased the distinctly Russian word like feathers whispering across naked skin, "is the third most popular tourist destination in all of Moscow."
He gestured with the flat of one palm down the path as though inviting her to accompany him. "By your voice, Aria, I surmise you are likewise far from your homeland. Far and quite alone by the looks of things?"
His voice raised a trifle at the last, curiously studying the emptiness around them.
Far and quite alone. He smiled again, broad and peering so that the expression touched his eyes as well. "Except for me, of course."
A quaint laugh. Again, he offered the obvious.