Literary endeavors May 26, 2011 1:50:59 GMT -5
Post by Braonan Mac Cionnath on May 26, 2011 1:50:59 GMT -5
For Your Consideration
"I am selfish, I am wrong,
Pawns: Braonan Mac Cionnath, Danara Alexendrei, so far. ^^
I am right. I swear I'm right,
Status: open, active
I swear I knew it all along.
Setting: Library, different parts.
I am flawed, but I am cleaning up so well,
Scene: Braonan is currently in the Library, seeking out some quiet time.
And I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself..."
Braonan looked around the library as he entered. There were a few scattered students, studying in small groups, comfortably seated on the plush, over-stuffed armchairs and reading. Mostly, they were all quiet. Good, just the way I like it. He smiled softly to himself. His lips curved gently, turning the chill of the forbidding expression into the warmth of a smile. The sharp planes of his face looked less like an attacking warrior, and more like the poetic scholar he was. The angles of his face suited that of the bard, with a full sensual mouth set off by a chiseled jaw and cheekbones.
Finding a small table that was near the window he sat down and spread his work out around him to discourage anyone thinking that he may want company. He'd already had quite a few students off to "help" with the grading, and he had been forced to show his extreme disapproval. As he settled in he worked his way through the homework assignments methodically. Working his way through them slowly but surely, his mind started to wander. His eyes traveled over the students he could see through the window. They were walking around the courtyard, laughing, and joking around, throwing a ball of some kind in the crisp, clean air of the mountains. He looked out towards the encircling ring of mountains that closed them off from the rest of the world. It was a nice fall this year. The trees that weren’t evergreens were getting tinges of color on their leaves now. Touches of russet, gold and brass were scattered all across the landscape. Like a painter had just touched his brush to the colors and smudged, ever so slightly, here and there upon the trees of the mountainside.
Shaking himself from his thoughts, he forced a smile onto his face. Best to avoid any problems, he thought grimly.
Focusing back on the papers, the intense look that he always seemed to have in place slowly slid back into place. An hour or so later, and he was done. He truly enjoyed the time where he could just sit and not think about anything. Looking at the clock, he realized he only had about an hour left before the library closed. Tossing his red grading marker back in his messenger bag, he closed the papers back into the folder for the teacher and slid that into the bag as well. Slinging the fairly full bag over his shoulder, he decided to take a walk around the library, and see what everyone else was doing. He may not have been a librarian, but he was the intern to the Literary teacher, and they would expect him to keep an eye on thing.
His long, lanky frame moved around the tables with practiced ease, that of long familiarity with sharp corners, and what they could do to knobby knees and elbows. Catching a few looks here and there, he waved where it was appropriate, and smiled whenever it was expected.