Post by --»s t a r g e m on Jun 4, 2008 23:21:07 GMT -5
Puddles, forming pools; one drop abstracting the silhouette of the girl who is peering into the puddle and graciously keep the keeping the heel of her shoe just at the edge of it. One step, Qual knows, and she’ll destroy it, the little formless puddle. Her shoe will carry some of the water for a while before eventually that would leave too. It would be forgotten, gone, careless, and Qual stares down at it, squinting at her reflection while the sunlight pours down on her and the rest of the town, and it warms her shoulders and back. Her reflection is seen clearer with the added light, which jumps to and fro on the street, leaving certain areas in shadow before it brightens them up again. Qual shrugs lightly, and in disturbing glee steps precisely into the puddle before walking away, her posture no different than before her shoe was wet and dripping a trail of drops into the direction she is heading. A bird sings, and clouds wisp away from the sun. What will be, will be.
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The air smelled of mist, the moisture sweet with the trees to lend their scent, fresh and filled with wilderness. (bushes rustle every now and then to remind her just how full of life this place is) The faint roaring sound, just within reach and out of sight—the tune of the river, since the calm splashes and rustling leaves get drowned out by the sound of something greater; the waterfall. But barefoot feet against the humid grass (tendrils of heat made up in terms of cold) , the leaves rustling as brief flashes of wind passed her now and then, playing with her hair and cooling off her neck. Clouds rushed on by above them, their eternal game of tag until they wisp away and turn into the mist, into rain, dropping wetly against the grass as they did last night.
Her shoes were held by her right hand, bent at the elbow and swung over her shoulder, thumping in rhyme with her footsteps against the bone there. They are sneakers, practically muggle if one didn’t care to look at the details. Everything is in the details, in the simplistic charm that makes it different from other brands. The calm blue of her robe marked the female as one from the Sournis House, and to most that were prejudiced against houses—one to snark at simply because of it. In all, they had good reason; the Sournis House had an impressive record. (She would not mention the pride that came with it, and she was as proud of her house as her house was of itself)
If excitement was ahead, then this was surely the weekend or perhaps a holiday break. (but it wasn’t, and what was ahead was perhaps the alluring mermaids to converse with while the waterfall raged on, crashing water against the pool—get underneath it and suffer) Qual, stepping lightly onto a flat rock, one leg only (the other one was trying to touch the water, balance was a fickle thing, but wise words say that nearly everything is). The front part of her foot pressed against it, the other leg stretched out. Her toes wriggled against the rock, and she lifted her heel. Standing on (tippy toes, wriggling upon the rock), head turned, the waterfall in view, right across from her. The water’s edge was the fall’s pool.
(Flicker of a smile, bending slightly over to catch the reflection of her hand in the pool, turning it over so that back of her hand was facing the water, and she cupped her hand; hello fishes, mermaids, grindylows. They always did like politeness, Qual would say) Grace was another thing all together, and testing out gymnastics was something that stroke her fancy. She had seen Estrella do this before and in all honesty—was not beyond copying it enough to boast. Her other hand had dropped the shoes to the right side of her, (a soft thump against the grass). Her heel settled back down against the rock, instead, her other leg stretched out in front of her, ballerinas pose (almost), and her head leaned back, one hand tilted back—bending further. (one tumble and she would fall). Qual’s other hand crossed sideways behind her back for a better sense of balance, her head being titled to look at the grass—if only slightly, (the blades trembled as she breathed).
Magic was her gift, balance was a natural thing. She had gotten it, balanced, balance, two different meanings, or the same, connect and view them over and over again. Balance (her hand touched the grass, fingers curling as though to keep herself more level). Her leg, the one stretched out moved upward—her head turning to be vertical with the grass as the one that was standing on the rock began to lift. Her arm trembled, just slightly, as the extra weight began to be put on (or prepared to be put on), but then she kicked off with her other leg and instinctively swiped out her other hand to touch the ground and then refused. Her other hand twisted—turning to the opposite side, and the leg that was lifted the longest began to bent toward the ground on the other side.
It wasn’t hard, and it was fast, her hands spinning to meet the way her head and face and body turned, eyes bright. (secret) Qual stretches out near the water, on her stomach and one hand already in the water, moving side to side.
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thoughts; bah. it's odd and I tried to hard. -shrugs- Whatever. I'm tired and my head hurts.
word count; 908
for; anyone and everyone.
