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i-weep.livejournal.com) wrote in
milliways_bar2005-03-19 09:20 pm
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The door opens, and reality protests. She, it is a she, yes? Yes. Definitely feminine, for all that the eye does not wish to see her, she enters. She is not seen so much as experienced; her robes sound like cessation, her eyes are the color of suicide, her skin is the taste of peace. Tears leak constantly from her eyes.She moves like mortality made flesh as she enters the room. Her steps, like the flow of time, do not falter.
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"Bar, love, could we get some of those fried paradox things?"
He peers curiously at the resultant small basket of pastries, offering it to Astarael.
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"Can you write? It might make it a little easier to communicate. Not that you're not good company as it is..."
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"Uh. Well, that's interesting. Is that your language?"
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It looked like some sort of magic; it might not be able to be taught.
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"That's someone you know?"
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"Okay. I'll let him know. He'll know who I'm talking about if I say 'Sorrowful'?"
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"Okay. I'll let him know you went back home."
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