Alec sometimes wondered if wanderlust would be his undoing.
Nightrunning was difficult in the more populous areas; the technology was unfamiliar to Alec, and that posed its own kind of danger when thievery and sleight of hand were involved. Better to abstain until he knew exactly what he was working with, until he found ways to circumvent the potential hazards they posed. But any skill wasted was bound to be lost, and abandonment in a strange land was no excuse to tarry idle until someone saw fit to rescue him.
They said the spheres hadn't been inhabited in "ages." Who could know what "ages" meant, exactly? Years? Decades? But it seemed as good an opportunity as any to explore, and more importantly, to get in a bit of nightrunning with no one the wiser. Picking old locks, scaling walls and fences, leaping across rooftops, and rifling through empty rooms for hidden compartments. Hell, if these spheres remained open, he could make a habit of this. He'd be a better sneak than Seregil by the time he returned home.
And wasn't that a somber thought? Alec wasn't prone to melancholy, not when there was work to be done. But the more he thought on it, the more homesick he became. He missed Mirror Moon, missed the rewarding work and the golden sunlight. He missed Seregil, his bed was too cold and he'd gone far too long without a kiss. He missed letters from Thero and he wondered how Klia was faring with her pregnancy. Mostly, he wondered when he would see any of it again.
His heart just wasn't in it tonight, and his thoughts brought him to temporary despair. They found him alone on the roof of a non-descript house, on the outskirts of the dome, jacket supporting his head as he stared into the blackness that seemed to unite them all. He wondered if he could manage to sleep here, without tumbling three stories to his death. (Not that death would matter, again, if the rumors were true.) Cold rooftops were possibly preferable to a cold bed.
Alec í Amasa of Kerry | Nightrunner
Alec sometimes wondered if wanderlust would be his undoing.
Nightrunning was difficult in the more populous areas; the technology was unfamiliar to Alec, and that posed its own kind of danger when thievery and sleight of hand were involved. Better to abstain until he knew exactly what he was working with, until he found ways to circumvent the potential hazards they posed. But any skill wasted was bound to be lost, and abandonment in a strange land was no excuse to tarry idle until someone saw fit to rescue him.
They said the spheres hadn't been inhabited in "ages." Who could know what "ages" meant, exactly? Years? Decades? But it seemed as good an opportunity as any to explore, and more importantly, to get in a bit of nightrunning with no one the wiser. Picking old locks, scaling walls and fences, leaping across rooftops, and rifling through empty rooms for hidden compartments. Hell, if these spheres remained open, he could make a habit of this. He'd be a better sneak than Seregil by the time he returned home.
And wasn't that a somber thought? Alec wasn't prone to melancholy, not when there was work to be done. But the more he thought on it, the more homesick he became. He missed Mirror Moon, missed the rewarding work and the golden sunlight. He missed Seregil, his bed was too cold and he'd gone far too long without a kiss. He missed letters from Thero and he wondered how Klia was faring with her pregnancy. Mostly, he wondered when he would see any of it again.
His heart just wasn't in it tonight, and his thoughts brought him to temporary despair. They found him alone on the roof of a non-descript house, on the outskirts of the dome, jacket supporting his head as he stared into the blackness that seemed to unite them all. He wondered if he could manage to sleep here, without tumbling three stories to his death. (Not that death would matter, again, if the rumors were true.) Cold rooftops were possibly preferable to a cold bed.
( b. wildcard... )
[stop him pouting, he is too cute to pout]