Chương 54: Chapter 46 ~ Early Mornings and Strong Tea

16/11/1111 EotTS 07: 00 The alarm clock, which had reluctantly been set the night before to sound its crow and begin its racket on the dot of the seventh hour, did just that, and woke Gysel, who did not feel rested in the slightest, so clambering out from under the covers, she stood staring at the green wallpaper, as its golden sprigs drifted between a state out of focus and mere gilded smudges, and after a minute, a deep yawn, and a tiring of the ringing, she turned back to the bed, plucked Kawvel up, and produced the divination deck out from beneath the pillows, then languidly dragging her bare feet along the cold floor, she stumbled over to the desk, and sat down in the chair, turned off the alarm, set Kawvel down next to the clock, set the divination deck in her lap, and removed her glasses from the drawer, putting them on.

Papers covered the desk, scattered and out of order from the night before, and atop them sat 'Ihn Yahldox out Tsytiseul', with the last read page marked by a metal ruler, waiting for its reader to return, and once again try, and fail to uncover the secrets held within.

"Kawvel," said Gysel, as she removed the deck from the box and began to shuffle it, "I am not going to stay up that late again... We will always be in bed before the second hour from now on." Setting the divination deck atop 'Ihn Yahldox out Tsytiseul', Gysel said her question, "Good morning, Divination Deck. Will I do anything today besides writing and reading?"

She drew the top card: the Tenth Daughter of Looms; and the image was of two women, one old, and one young, with the latter seated at a loom, and the former seemingly instructing. Gysel turned the card around and showed it to Kawvel.

"All right, Kaw—" the name was interrupted by a yawn, "—vel, what do you think this means? Interesting... I think it means some sort of passing down of skills... Yes, I think that is right... Yes, today will be the same as yesterday; what I was doing is being passed down to today. It will be another day of reading this drivel... We will go for breakfast in a few hours; I need to get some reading done first... No, I will not read to you."

With a sigh, Gysel shuffled the card back into the deck, returned it to its box, and placed both in the far corner of the desk, opposite to Kawvel and the clock.

"You're right, Kawvel." Gysel picked up the clock, and set the alarm for the ninth hour.

"We don't want to miss breakfast." Setting the clock down, Gysel opened 'Ihn Yahldox out Tsytiseul', and stared at the page and its small words and large paragraphs, as her eyes grew heavy, and her head began to sag—what is the term for this? sleep inertia?

it was a terrible idea to stay up late working on this, this will be a horrible— Gysel awoke with a start as the alarm went off: it was now the ninth hour, and as unfortunate as it was to have wasted the last one-hundred forty-six minutes, the impromptu nap was what was needed to disperse that morning grogginess.

"Well it is the ninth hour now, so we are going for breakfast, and I am going to order the strongest tea...

'That was not very responsible of me'? I had no choice in the matter, Kawvel, when the body decides it is time for a nap, the body tends to get what it wants... I can leave you here if you want? Fine, maybe I just will. I certainly will not be long, but you can think about your actions."

Standing from the chair with a huff, Gysel walked over to the wardrobe and pulled open the door; something comfortable would be best to-day: a plain white blouse, with a baggy cable-knit sweater made of a soft, yet still thick and warm brown wool on top, and brown-green plaid twill pants; even if this would not be the most encouraging outfit for keeping one awake, it suited reading. Once changed, Gysel slipped on her shoes and left; Kawvel's one-eyed stare manifesting as an itch upon her back as the door closed.

16/11/1111 EotTS 09: 28 Gysel ate quietly at a table in the far corner of the cafeteria, next to the glass of the botanical garden; but even in these distant reaches, the wanton noise of people was still over powering, even if one closed one's eyes, and focused on the little white star while eating—the noise will still not go away, Father deems studying music pointless as it is about the feeling it evokes, and not the composition, something which gave much shock to his upper class friends, but his Daughter does know that dynamics are extremely important, and the quieter sections make the loud sections louder, and the other way around, it is a shame that the other people eating did not understand this, or, perhaps, the lone eater, who yearns for silence, is simply a flutist who has found herself frolicking amongst the brass section, who know little more than heroics and vigor, and do not take the time to appreciate the simple things in life like how the cheese melts and blends with the white of the eggs, and how the yolk softens the fresh, ever-so-slightly toasted bun, it was perfect, everything about it was just— You could be reading stolen content.

Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"Good Morning, Gysel!" The voice was accompanied by the two booming timpani shots of hands hitting the wooden table. Startled, Gysel dropped her breakfast on to the plate and turned and stared at the percussionist, who happened to be not a percussionist, but a bassoonist, a bassoonist named: Lyvahn Togwaer.

With her mouth agape, and a half-chewed bite on full display, a morsel of cheese and egg began to slide out, down her lip and chin, so Gysel quickly licked it up and shut her mouth: there was no reason to waste good food upon such a rude disturbance. Now intent on ignoring the perpetrator of such a horrendous false start, she picked up her sandwich, which had managed to stay in one piece after such an atrocious tumble, and raised it to her mouth, returning to eating.

"What?" Lyvahn recoiled slightly and sat down across from Gysel.

"Is it not a good morning?" Gysel gave Lyvahn a glance over the rim of her glasses—it certainly has not been a good morning, it has been a morning full of grogginess, and wasted time—and continued to eat.

"Fine." He huffed, and crossed his arms in front of him.

"I can do that too." Popping the last bite of the sandwich into her mouth, Gysel washed it down with some tea (the cafeteria had a few options for tea to help wake one up, or in this case, keep them awake, and one could not taste the ephedra through the mint) and sat there silently; at first a minute passed, then another, and by the third minute, the table was shaking in time with Lyvahn's leg.

With his lips pursed so tight they had long since gone white, he looked at her from beneath his knit coppery brow, took a sharp breath in, and finally began to speak his surrender: "Malo and I are going to the docks for fun and to leave an offering for Mihlae before winter."

"Who is Malo?" asked Gysel.

"My sister? Ly-Ma-Lo-Va. Your roommate, Ly-Ma-Lo-Va." Gysel removed the white napkin from the tray and wiped her face with it.

"I know who she is. Why did you call her Malo?" She asked from behind the cloth.

"Because she hates it and it's funny knowing there is nothing she can do about it because she is not here."

"Hmm." Gysel nodded, and returned the cloth to the tray.

"So why are you not with her?"

"She told me to see if you were in the cafeteria while she checked the dorms. We tried getting you earlier, but you didn't respond when we knocked on your door."

"Oh. Yes, I was asleep."

"So do you want to come?" Gysel raised an eye-brow—one could see the gulls, and perhaps some puffins, it might be an interesting excursion, far more interesting than that book, sorry, Kawvel... — "Yes." Lyvahn pushed the chair back with a screech and stood.

"She said she would meet us at the board. It is surprisingly warm out, so you probably won't need more than you already have on. But if it gets bad, you can have my coat." He tugged on the lapel of his flaxen, tweed great-coat, which extended down to his ankles: he was not dressed as someone who neither expected, nor planned for, good weather.

"All right," Gysel said, as she raised her glass to her lips and hurriedly drank the rest of her tea, then she did the same as Lyvahn, but quietly, and she followed through with the proper etiquette that was expected when one stands from the table: tucking in the chair. Lyvahn took Gysel's tray and started for the counter.

"Come on." He motioned with his head; his usual bun was not there; instead, his bangs were pulled back and tied as a ponytail with a bowed cream ribbon. Gysel followed Lyvahn's hurried steps out of the cafeteria.

"Lyma said she meant to ask you yesterday but forgot," said Lyvahn.

"She also said you went to see Tsininokha with Wyohla. Did you like it?"

"Yes, I did. Have you seen it?"

"I've seen it from the orchestra pit."

"It was not a musical." The bookstore was busy to-day; there was respite in the fact that there were likely people far worse off when it came to the essay and that book and its jargon.

"Who told you I played an instrument?"

"Visi said you play bassoon."

"That I do. But it is an opera, it's been around for a few hundred years; everything gets turned into a musical eventually if some rich person likes the source material enough to commission it." Pausing, Lyvahn pulled open the Library door, and ushered Gysel through and into the cloister.

"My teacher's daughter died a few years back, and he couldn't make it to the premiere, so I had to learn his parts. Who played Pyrletox? was it a really tall man?"

"Yes."

"Good. He plays Pyrletox in the opera as well. Moul Kyrd, bass singer. Really nice guy. I think he lives in Thoranyn; he must be back for Faerthryne's reign. They ran Dher'Gevehohnah in the capital over Hahmehlyn's reign; he plays the Captain of the Knights and the Stone statue that torments Gevehohnah. Have you seen it?" Gysel pulled open the door to the entrance hall, as Lyvahn had spent the whole trek across the cloister gesticulating.

"No."

"If they are running it next year, you should go," said Lyvahn, as he followed Gysel through the door and down the steps.

"I wish they put on more operas here; I could definitely pull some strings and get a spot in the orchestra—""What took you so long, Lyvahn?" asked Lyma, in the same tone she uses to chastise Visi.