Day 38: Sun Room [Fourth Shift]
Celes had disdained taking food that was so alien in texture and consistency, and instead had taken her meal in her room. A room, she quickly discovered, did not hold any trace of her roommate’s belongings. It was troubling, very troubling; Celes remembered a promise of protection to the girl, which had fallen by the wayside. Guilt stabbed her between the eyes and she made a note to tell her roommate’s loved ones - should there be any left in this place - the news.
It would be cold comfort, of course, but Celes had never been very good at that. Comfort was for barmaids and nurses, lovers and wives, and since Celes practiced none of those professions, straight talk it would have to be. With a sigh, she wrote a quick note in her neat, masculine script and flourished the signature, just as usual. There was still worry in her heart over the location of Noah and Luxord; the act in and of itself something she chastised herself over. What was the point in worrying over two men that would be unlike to mourn over her own death or disappearance? Especially the literally heartless man.
Celes alighted on a couch and looked up at the afternoon sky, crossing her legs and forcing herself to concentrate on the evening ahead. She hummed one ditty or another - marching songs, none of that foolish, tavern-born, romantic ballad trash - and looked down to her journal, pen poised above paper and waiting for her composition.
[For one Judge Magister]
It would be cold comfort, of course, but Celes had never been very good at that. Comfort was for barmaids and nurses, lovers and wives, and since Celes practiced none of those professions, straight talk it would have to be. With a sigh, she wrote a quick note in her neat, masculine script and flourished the signature, just as usual. There was still worry in her heart over the location of Noah and Luxord; the act in and of itself something she chastised herself over. What was the point in worrying over two men that would be unlike to mourn over her own death or disappearance? Especially the literally heartless man.
Celes alighted on a couch and looked up at the afternoon sky, crossing her legs and forcing herself to concentrate on the evening ahead. She hummed one ditty or another - marching songs, none of that foolish, tavern-born, romantic ballad trash - and looked down to her journal, pen poised above paper and waiting for her composition.
[For one Judge Magister]