Post by Deleted on Jul 22, 2014 18:17:00 GMT -8
some coincidences are deliberate
open / 468 words
Business and visitors were at bay, far from her calling - she supposed she could find somewhere else to reside for some free time. Avoiding the main bustle of London was tricky, never mind getting caught up in crowds or bumping into people she'd rather not talk to (which includes generally everyone). This she attempted by seeking shortcuts through which to traverse, set in a slow pace for the Gardens. Kensington didn't demand her attention, no, but it was a fair place to spend time alone. Provided today was relenting, she would be alone for at least a little while.
City walks were generally taken when she had 'business' to attend to, though they weren't always as bad as she presumed. Pollution and the general noisiness of people aside, she rather liked hearing what went on in London's shadows. The crimes, the murders, the scandals... such action might at least prove more promising than what awaited her back home. Her worry over her siblings often didn't rise to surface. As she was so well-versed in doing, she could only scold herself for having such little faith and tell herself that they were alright. The little sister of the family can be a strong link, too. Worrying too much would deter her from what she was supposed to be doing.
The tips of her fingers had tucked themselves into jacket pockets, eyes roaming to note those who had gathered around Kensington's fountains. It was a rare occurrence that Natalya ever came here, though she did these areas that were more... in-tune with nature. There was a tree distanced nicely from the center of the park, having long since been claimed by the Belarusian as her own. That was her little spot, yes. She crossed through paths and patches of freshly cut grass, dropping her things by the roots of that tree - it was small enough to sling over her shoulder, light and well-protected enough that she shouldn't have to worry about carrying it around.
She lowered to sit, back leaned sturdily against the trunk of the tree. A book and music device were both pulled from that bag - god forbid she ever referred to it as a purse - her fingers narrowly missing the pocket knife she kept in there. There always had to be some sort of blade on her person. Music blared from the buds which were tucked into her ears, book propped open on the woman's lap. Misery by Stephen King. Words on pages weren't likely to absorb all of Natalya's attention. It was only natural that her senses should remain aware to approaching figures and outside noises - but that volume of music was not so helpful a factor. Either way, the Gardens were temporarily drowned out, reality lost beyond the fictional story of a miss Misery Chastain.
City walks were generally taken when she had 'business' to attend to, though they weren't always as bad as she presumed. Pollution and the general noisiness of people aside, she rather liked hearing what went on in London's shadows. The crimes, the murders, the scandals... such action might at least prove more promising than what awaited her back home. Her worry over her siblings often didn't rise to surface. As she was so well-versed in doing, she could only scold herself for having such little faith and tell herself that they were alright. The little sister of the family can be a strong link, too. Worrying too much would deter her from what she was supposed to be doing.
The tips of her fingers had tucked themselves into jacket pockets, eyes roaming to note those who had gathered around Kensington's fountains. It was a rare occurrence that Natalya ever came here, though she did these areas that were more... in-tune with nature. There was a tree distanced nicely from the center of the park, having long since been claimed by the Belarusian as her own. That was her little spot, yes. She crossed through paths and patches of freshly cut grass, dropping her things by the roots of that tree - it was small enough to sling over her shoulder, light and well-protected enough that she shouldn't have to worry about carrying it around.
She lowered to sit, back leaned sturdily against the trunk of the tree. A book and music device were both pulled from that bag - god forbid she ever referred to it as a purse - her fingers narrowly missing the pocket knife she kept in there. There always had to be some sort of blade on her person. Music blared from the buds which were tucked into her ears, book propped open on the woman's lap. Misery by Stephen King. Words on pages weren't likely to absorb all of Natalya's attention. It was only natural that her senses should remain aware to approaching figures and outside noises - but that volume of music was not so helpful a factor. Either way, the Gardens were temporarily drowned out, reality lost beyond the fictional story of a miss Misery Chastain.
CODED BY DUCKIE OF GS
