10-02-2016, 12:19 PM
Autumn had just rolled in, not so much in word now as it was by deed, and wasn't it the deeds that really mattered? The action, the moving towards a goal to show that you were committed, that you were serious about what was going to happen, serious about a potential future with you in it and that you that is in it is going to be better than the you that stands there today? Autumn was not as unreliable as humans.
He stands, but not so much with stillness as restraint. William Holmes, you see, is a fidgetter. He can't stand still, not entirely anyway; his is a nature that is born of restlessness. Unrest, which is funny because he (as a human being and not a metaphysical concept) can sleep through hurricanes. Stillness is banished for adjusting his hold on equipment- "Oh thank god, you don't want us to make a hedge-giraffe or something," he sounds genuinely relieved. Looks genuinely relieved, too, because... well... Wouldn't you be relieved if you found out that an eccentric old man didn't want you to sculpt lawn ornaments?
Dead heading and vine control is e..aa...oh sweet jesus, he did say thirty six plots, didn't he?
Bravado falters, he gives Margot a look when Nihm's back is turned that mirrors her own. It's a look he wears often: oh holy shit (with delight and horror and exasperation, because this is William and they are not easily untangled, these three feelings).
Perked up and brushed away and replaced quickly by determination, by a feeling of challenge being accepted. Half of him is an upheaval, but the rest is that feeling of pressing forward, striving to be more than you are. A dissatisfaction in good enough- no stopping, no resting, nothing beyond except the everything beyond.
Once they're alone, he listens, and then takes a second before replying.
"We don't necessarily have to get it done in one afternoon, I'd think, but we could always just keep working. You can convince your body not to quit on you, magickally or otherwise," said like he isn't completely overwhelmed by the task, "I've heard horror stories about other people's apprenticeships. Apparently, sometimes people in the Order go all Mister Miyagi on you and there's fence painting and dead headding and library arranging and So. God. Damn. Much. Cleaning."
A second before continuing, "if you think withered weeds are going to be easier to pull, go for it, but be sure you can act in a controlled fashion? Can't do it with the vines, flowers are already spent on what they do and don't need. You can sense what needs to be done and what doesn't, which should cut out a lot of the guess work and save some time.
"Hell we might be able to talk him into quick made compost. Bonus points."
He stands, but not so much with stillness as restraint. William Holmes, you see, is a fidgetter. He can't stand still, not entirely anyway; his is a nature that is born of restlessness. Unrest, which is funny because he (as a human being and not a metaphysical concept) can sleep through hurricanes. Stillness is banished for adjusting his hold on equipment- "Oh thank god, you don't want us to make a hedge-giraffe or something," he sounds genuinely relieved. Looks genuinely relieved, too, because... well... Wouldn't you be relieved if you found out that an eccentric old man didn't want you to sculpt lawn ornaments?
Dead heading and vine control is e..aa...oh sweet jesus, he did say thirty six plots, didn't he?
Bravado falters, he gives Margot a look when Nihm's back is turned that mirrors her own. It's a look he wears often: oh holy shit (with delight and horror and exasperation, because this is William and they are not easily untangled, these three feelings).
Perked up and brushed away and replaced quickly by determination, by a feeling of challenge being accepted. Half of him is an upheaval, but the rest is that feeling of pressing forward, striving to be more than you are. A dissatisfaction in good enough- no stopping, no resting, nothing beyond except the everything beyond.
Once they're alone, he listens, and then takes a second before replying.
"We don't necessarily have to get it done in one afternoon, I'd think, but we could always just keep working. You can convince your body not to quit on you, magickally or otherwise," said like he isn't completely overwhelmed by the task, "I've heard horror stories about other people's apprenticeships. Apparently, sometimes people in the Order go all Mister Miyagi on you and there's fence painting and dead headding and library arranging and So. God. Damn. Much. Cleaning."
A second before continuing, "if you think withered weeds are going to be easier to pull, go for it, but be sure you can act in a controlled fashion? Can't do it with the vines, flowers are already spent on what they do and don't need. You can sense what needs to be done and what doesn't, which should cut out a lot of the guess work and save some time.
"Hell we might be able to talk him into quick made compost. Bonus points."