Chapter 17:
Ursula 589
Constantine:
Daniel’s papers came, and I want to do something special for him. I have booked two tickets for the next rocket, and am ready to give him the news. I mean, I am an Ursula 590 native, but even for me, going to Ursula 589 is something of a novel experience.
It is not like it is expensive to get to that moon. It is just that, it takes time. I just hope that Daniel won’t feel overwhelmed, spending a day on board of a rocket. One full of Naga. I go to the kitchen, where Daniel is working on his novel. For that purpose, I have given him my laptop, so he can research the Cosmos as much as he wants.
“Take me to the moon,” I begin to sing. He looks up, his eyes wide.
“We are going into space?” He asks me. I smile brightly at him.
“It is good that you interrupted me when you did. I was just about to break out my emergency nanana,” I say. He chuckles.
“Yes, remembering song lyrics is not your forte,” he then pats the seat next to him. I go, and sit down. “I have been thinking. I need a job.”
I blink at that.
“I can support you,” I say, yet he shakes his head.
“I am going nuts, staying cooped up in here all day. You are great company, but I need a social life,” he says. I feel sort of guilty, for being the one to uproot him from his former circles.
“Well, there is one big problem. You have legs,” I tell him. He looks down at his hands, and I am quick to add. “Still, you can bottle emotions? I mean, yesterday, you got the hang of the orange potion?”
A potion that he practically trusted into my hands moments after the beeper sounded, but it tasted good. Even if there was a slight melancholy aftertaste to it.
“You were uncomfortable after drinking the potion,” he reminds me, and sighs. “I can keep on bottling my emotions, but you are the only one to whom I want to give them.”
I color crimson from neck to cheeks. Does he not realize what he is saying?
I should truly recommend him some books on do and do nots.
He reaches out, and places a hand over my own. His thumb brushes against my fingers, and he sighs again.
“I want to be able to support myself again. I have been practicing my magic. What is it that a shaman does, around here?” He asks me. My eyes are locked on our linked hands.
Humans are strange...
“I told you: speak with spirits, element and weather manipulation,” I say, and then look at him. His shoulders are slumped, and I want that to change. “You could probably do these things too, with a bit of training.”
“You think so?” He asks, looking up from our linked hands, and into my eyes.
“I can help you research the process. Information such as this is available to the masses, seeing as, if a child has the talent to be a shaman, its parents must nurture it. Before the child hurts someone, or itself,” I tell him, and turn the laptop to myself. Our hands are separated for just a second, and then he places his hand over mine again.
Typing with only one hand is a bit hard, but I don’t want to ask him to let go of me. He needs this comfort.
It is my fault, that he has been uprooted.
Human baiting really is crass.
When I go to the Shaman United website, I turn the laptop to him.
“See? Everything is in here. Spells, incantations, meditation exercises,” I say, as he finally let’s go of me. Daniel clicks on the beginner tap, and begins to read the first article. I stay in my seat, reading along with him. I shouldn’t have left him alone, for so long.
He is taking it well, but he must be lonely.
“My magic doesn’t work like that,” he says finally, after closing the article.
“You mean; you don’t feel your mana core?” I ask.
“Well, no. I feel this vibration, that passes all over me,” he says, and I nod.
“Well, you are from Earth. The mages of Nebula 150 have reported something similar to what you just described. Maybe, we should check out their website?” I suggest.
“I have done enough reading for today. I want to play with my magic,” he says, and then smiles mischievously. “I bet I can curl up your hair.”
My hands shoot up to my red locks.
“Don’t you dare,” I say, but his hands are already in my hair.
“I bet I can curl it up permanently,” he teases, and I feel the mana collecting in his hands.
“Daniel!” I protest, but he is already spreading his mana into my hair. When he is done, my shoulder-length hair is divided by big curly clusters. “I look like a girl.”
“You are not seeing yourself right now,” he tells me. There is a faraway look on his face. “You look like a Middle Age French Prince.”
“A what now?” I ask, and he lets go of me, to type that in the search engine. What comes out are paintings of people with curly hair. I huff.
“I won’t wear clothes like that,” I say, and he hits me with his best puppy eyes.
“At least a shirt with puffy sleeves?” He suggests. Then, he bites his lower lip in a way that makes my eyes go wide.
He is shameless!
“It will give me a piece of home,” that is the final nail in the coffin. I sigh, and nod my head. Soon, there is a white shirt with puffy sleeves in his hand. It has little birds stitched on it, but I can’t recognize what they are.
“Prince Tine, I invite you to a turn around the royal castle,” he tells me with an elaborate bow of his head.
“Snob,” I bite out, take my shirt off, and then put on the human one. I have to admit; it is a perfect fit. Now, I only need to find a mirror, and see the extent of the damage.
Chapter 17:
Ursula 589
Constantine:
Daniel’s papers came, and I want to do something special for him. I have booked two tickets for the next rocket, and am ready to give him the news. I mean, I am an Ursula 590 native, but even for me, going to Ursula 589 is something of a novel experience.
It is not like it is expensive to get to that moon. It is just that, it takes time. I just hope that Daniel won’t feel overwhelmed, spending a day on board of a rocket. One full of Naga. I go to the kitchen, where Daniel is working on his novel. For that purpose, I have given him my laptop, so he can research the Cosmos as much as he wants.
“Take me to the moon,” I begin to sing. He looks up, his eyes wide.
“We are going into space?” He asks me. I smile brightly at him.
“It is good that you interrupted me when you did. I was just about to break out my emergency nanana,” I say. He chuckles.
“Yes, remembering song lyrics is not your forte,” he then pats the seat next to him. I go, and sit down. “I have been thinking. I need a job.”
I blink at that.
“I can support you,” I say, yet he shakes his head.
“I am going nuts, staying cooped up in here all day. You are great company, but I need a social life,” he says. I feel sort of guilty, for being the one to uproot him from his former circles.
“Well, there is one big problem. You have legs,” I tell him. He looks down at his hands, and I am quick to add. “Still, you can bottle emotions? I mean, yesterday, you got the hang of the orange potion?”
A potion that he practically trusted into my hands moments after the beeper sounded, but it tasted good. Even if there was a slight melancholy aftertaste to it.
“You were uncomfortable after drinking the potion,” he reminds me, and sighs. “I can keep on bottling my emotions, but you are the only one to whom I want to give them.”
I color crimson from neck to cheeks. Does he not realize what he is saying?
I should truly recommend him some books on do and do nots.
He reaches out, and places a hand over my own. His thumb brushes against my fingers, and he sighs again.
“I want to be able to support myself again. I have been practicing my magic. What is it that a shaman does, around here?” He asks me. My eyes are locked on our linked hands.
Humans are strange...
“I told you: speak with spirits, element and weather manipulation,” I say, and then look at him. His shoulders are slumped, and I want that to change. “You could probably do these things too, with a bit of training.”
“You think so?” He asks, looking up from our linked hands, and into my eyes.
“I can help you research the process. Information such as this is available to the masses, seeing as, if a child has the talent to be a shaman, its parents must nurture it. Before the child hurts someone, or itself,” I tell him, and turn the laptop to myself. Our hands are separated for just a second, and then he places his hand over mine again.
Typing with only one hand is a bit hard, but I don’t want to ask him to let go of me. He needs this comfort.
It is my fault, that he has been uprooted.
Human baiting really is crass.
When I go to the Shaman United website, I turn the laptop to him.
“See? Everything is in here. Spells, incantations, meditation exercises,” I say, as he finally let’s go of me. Daniel clicks on the beginner tap, and begins to read the first article. I stay in my seat, reading along with him. I shouldn’t have left him alone, for so long.
He is taking it well, but he must be lonely.
“My magic doesn’t work like that,” he says finally, after closing the article.
“You mean; you don’t feel your mana core?” I ask.
“Well, no. I feel this vibration, that passes all over me,” he says, and I nod.
“Well, you are from Earth. The mages of Nebula 150 have reported something similar to what you just described. Maybe, we should check out their website?” I suggest.
“I have done enough reading for today. I want to play with my magic,” he says, and then smiles mischievously. “I bet I can curl up your hair.”
My hands shoot up to my red locks.
“Don’t you dare,” I say, but his hands are already in my hair.
“I bet I can curl it up permanently,” he teases, and I feel the mana collecting in his hands.
“Daniel!” I protest, but he is already spreading his mana into my hair. When he is done, my shoulder-length hair is divided by big curly clusters. “I look like a girl.”
“You are not seeing yourself right now,” he tells me. There is a faraway look on his face. “You look like a Middle Age French Prince.”
“A what now?” I ask, and he lets go of me, to type that in the search engine. What comes out are paintings of people with curly hair. I huff.
“I won’t wear clothes like that,” I say, and he hits me with his best puppy eyes.
“At least a shirt with puffy sleeves?” He suggests. Then, he bites his lower lip in a way that makes my eyes go wide.
He is shameless!
“It will give me a piece of home,” that is the final nail in the coffin. I sigh, and nod my head. Soon, there is a white shirt with puffy sleeves in his hand. It has little birds stitched on it, but I can’t recognize what they are.
“Prince Tine, I invite you to a turn around the royal castle,” he tells me with an elaborate bow of his head.
“Snob,” I bite out, take my shirt off, and then put on the human one. I have to admit; it is a perfect fit. Now, I only need to find a mirror, and see the extent of the damage.
