noli timere messorem (defyuntildeath) wrote in summerview, @ 2018-10-08 11:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | jayati guerra, zrasmus rune |
When God closes a door
Who: Rasmus and Jayati
When: October 1st 1998 10PM ish
Where: the roof of 3 Screens
Warnings:
Jayati had been in three days, and it had taken her just that long to get an idea of Rasmus's schedule. Before she had picked Summerview for her new, well, roost almost, she hadn't realized there was already another dragon there. Dragons with non-familial relations hadn't lived in the same town for several generations, even in their lifespan. They tended to be territorial. Lalita and she had always been careful when traveling to another dragon's territory, but at least their intent was always clear - academic, and with Lalita's reputation and even Jayati's as her protector it wasn't a difficult story to sell.
It helped that they were devoted to one another, and posed no threat to anyone in that way. Dragons were not known for infidelity once they tied themselves to another dragon. After all, they weren't mortals.
But she was stubborn. By the time the old friend who had shared the latest Sanctuary City map with her had cleared his throat and shared with her something he had forgotten to share, she was set on Summerview. There was no budging her, and the resigned look on his face told her he knew it. It had taken her a month, even with a century of connections and old wealth to get the things she wanted, to do this sort of thing properly.
They had a way of finding each other. Most races did, but especially Dragons. Could see the faint shimmer that seemed to cling to them in their second shape, could feel their presence like a physical weight. The older they are and the more their trained, the more precise it became, and Jayati had spent most of her life as a combatant in one form or another.
It was those old reflexes that made her frown at his habits that would have made him an easy target for foul play, the roof with the regular smoke breaks, among others. They get stuck in their ways, the longest lived among them. It wasn't, perhaps, the most traditional start. For her to be there when he opened the door, sitting at a small but sturdy table that had been set up. Probably used for rolling cig - no, rolling something else entirely, but at least the wood didn't smell of something worse, like opium. In front of her was a silk wrapped bottle, and a small velvet box. The fact that she was even sitting spoke volumes, back straight but mostly relaxed, leather riding jacket zipped up against the cold with a few errant brown curls escaping her braid.