Solitude is often described as a positive form of loneliness, just because you spend your time apart from others does not necessarily make you 'lonely', not in a bad context at the very least. Most people can get tired of the mundane talks, and want to take some time for themselves, introspection is a way of healing oneself spiritually. And yet, despite all that...
"I don't wanna' get out of bed..." Marigold mumbled to no one in particular, still cocooned in her blankets, she wasn't sleeping. But she wasn't properly awake either, lingering in the intermission as she had little to no energy to wake up, no power in her muscles to set blankets aside, no motivation to stand up and go outside for a breath of fresh air, no. None of that. Life, being a changing constant is both a blessing, and a curse in disguise. Stagnation causes loss of awareness, degradation, lack of progress. But she'd lie to herself if she didn't say that it was a comforting feeling, far more comforting and orderly than chaotic change that at a whim, could take everything, and everyone from her.
Like it once did.
Sadness isn't a particularly psychotic feeling, it's eerily calm, it always welcomes you when you get back home, it wraps it's net around you, and tells you to sleep, and do nothing else. That you can't do anything else, but above all. It's consistent, unlike feelings of peace or happiness, which can be torn from one's hands at a moments notice. One could just lock themselves in a birdcage, created in canvas of their own mind, as it'd be easier than facing the world of problems, drowning them in unrelenting flood.
But at last, she took it upon herself, slowly, the shaky hand lifted the blanket off, and she dressed up. Those little steps were insignificant in grand scheme of things, less than a droplet in the vastness of cold cosmos, but, for the young huntress, it felt like taking giant steps, small victories made into big ones. Her energy nearly depleted from such show of activity, and yet. She had places to be.
Corellia, she was there for one reason mainly, to have her ship in the docks, modified. And to take on a contract or two in the whiles. Stepping out of her ship and giving hired engineers the specifications of how she wanted her ship to be like, Marigold ventured deeper into the city, her eyes half-closed, but opening wide as she sees gorgeous buildings, large ships, and what not. It was a breath of fresh air, compared to most of mid rim and outer rim territories which seemed to be downright miserable at best.
Both her knowledge in streetwise, as well as some kind of gut feeling... Gravitated her towards one bar in particular.
The Green Devil
Although her social skills weren't the best, she knew how to listen, the bar was popular among the hotshot pilots, scoundrels, all sorts of people walking a fine line between being a hero, and a criminal. The history of the bar proved to be far more extensive, though, it's something she'd come to learn sooner or later. Her wanderlust overpowered sadness holding her back in her bed, and she entered the bar. Oddly content with being there, very few places ever invoked the feeling like she blonged here, even if it was temporary.
Slowly pacing over to the bar, the huntress didn't bother to hide her gear and weaponry, from a single glance, experienced enough spacefarers could tell that she was a bounty hunter. She sat down, not feeling particularly picky, and neither wanting to get drunk during her vulnerable episode, a quiet mumble escaped her. "Beer."
Julius Sedaire
"I don't wanna' get out of bed..." Marigold mumbled to no one in particular, still cocooned in her blankets, she wasn't sleeping. But she wasn't properly awake either, lingering in the intermission as she had little to no energy to wake up, no power in her muscles to set blankets aside, no motivation to stand up and go outside for a breath of fresh air, no. None of that. Life, being a changing constant is both a blessing, and a curse in disguise. Stagnation causes loss of awareness, degradation, lack of progress. But she'd lie to herself if she didn't say that it was a comforting feeling, far more comforting and orderly than chaotic change that at a whim, could take everything, and everyone from her.
Like it once did.
Sadness isn't a particularly psychotic feeling, it's eerily calm, it always welcomes you when you get back home, it wraps it's net around you, and tells you to sleep, and do nothing else. That you can't do anything else, but above all. It's consistent, unlike feelings of peace or happiness, which can be torn from one's hands at a moments notice. One could just lock themselves in a birdcage, created in canvas of their own mind, as it'd be easier than facing the world of problems, drowning them in unrelenting flood.
But at last, she took it upon herself, slowly, the shaky hand lifted the blanket off, and she dressed up. Those little steps were insignificant in grand scheme of things, less than a droplet in the vastness of cold cosmos, but, for the young huntress, it felt like taking giant steps, small victories made into big ones. Her energy nearly depleted from such show of activity, and yet. She had places to be.
Corellia, she was there for one reason mainly, to have her ship in the docks, modified. And to take on a contract or two in the whiles. Stepping out of her ship and giving hired engineers the specifications of how she wanted her ship to be like, Marigold ventured deeper into the city, her eyes half-closed, but opening wide as she sees gorgeous buildings, large ships, and what not. It was a breath of fresh air, compared to most of mid rim and outer rim territories which seemed to be downright miserable at best.
Both her knowledge in streetwise, as well as some kind of gut feeling... Gravitated her towards one bar in particular.
The Green Devil
Although her social skills weren't the best, she knew how to listen, the bar was popular among the hotshot pilots, scoundrels, all sorts of people walking a fine line between being a hero, and a criminal. The history of the bar proved to be far more extensive, though, it's something she'd come to learn sooner or later. Her wanderlust overpowered sadness holding her back in her bed, and she entered the bar. Oddly content with being there, very few places ever invoked the feeling like she blonged here, even if it was temporary.
Slowly pacing over to the bar, the huntress didn't bother to hide her gear and weaponry, from a single glance, experienced enough spacefarers could tell that she was a bounty hunter. She sat down, not feeling particularly picky, and neither wanting to get drunk during her vulnerable episode, a quiet mumble escaped her. "Beer."
Julius Sedaire
