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Nov. 4th, 2013 06:38 pmAdapting to change was one of the more useful things that came along with being human. By virtue of being a witch, Anathema was a bit more adaptable than most*. Having a Book was also an added benefit, because life was a far less scary place when there was a book chocked full of statements that would be both incredibly relevant and incredibly useful, even if it was always after the fact.
She liked to think that she was adjusting remarkably well. She had cloistered herself away from the general fray for the holiday (something about a Halloween she hadn't had time to map just seemed unseemly). That time had been spent doing research, putting in for subscriptions to the various local papers and rags and figuring out the ways that the Internet had changed.
Fortunately she was a quick study.
That morning she had woken up, dashed about to pick up a few more odds and ends (like decent clothes) before landing where she now was in the early afternoon.
Having taken over a sofa and a half as well as a good portion of one of the low tables, Anathema was preparing to be forced to deal with another change sooner rather than later. The Bean Counter was a rather enjoyable place, though part of her would've preferred to work in a dimly lit pub. She supposed that she could migrate there later, but in the meantime she had a mug of milky tea that had long since gone cold to finish.
The Book was resting in a spot that could very well sit another person. Every now and then it would catch Anathema's eye, a tidy pile of notecards just itching to be filled out with annotations. For now she was idly studying a map of the city spread out over the table, debating how long it would take to get an elevation map from the City Hall.
Tapping her pencil against one of the notecards, she let her mind wander as she scribbled out a few random words. When these things popped into her head, it was easier to just get them out and have a laugh about them later.
A man shall come into your life whose tale is as strange as he is handsome.
Looking down at the words, she let out a soft snort of laughter. It was exactly the sort of trashy prophecy that applied to just about anyone. For instance the next bloke to walk through the door could meet the mark, which would put her exactly nowhere new.
Except maybe yelled at for taking up most of the unoccupied seats.
Just as she rolled her eyes, the chimes over the door rattled bringing her attention away from the words and the map and up to whomever was blowing in. She might down her own words, but that didn't stop a tiny part of her from hoping to be right.
* Except when she was terrible at it. See: The Night After The World Nearly Ended But Ultimately Didn't.
She liked to think that she was adjusting remarkably well. She had cloistered herself away from the general fray for the holiday (something about a Halloween she hadn't had time to map just seemed unseemly). That time had been spent doing research, putting in for subscriptions to the various local papers and rags and figuring out the ways that the Internet had changed.
Fortunately she was a quick study.
That morning she had woken up, dashed about to pick up a few more odds and ends (like decent clothes) before landing where she now was in the early afternoon.
Having taken over a sofa and a half as well as a good portion of one of the low tables, Anathema was preparing to be forced to deal with another change sooner rather than later. The Bean Counter was a rather enjoyable place, though part of her would've preferred to work in a dimly lit pub. She supposed that she could migrate there later, but in the meantime she had a mug of milky tea that had long since gone cold to finish.
The Book was resting in a spot that could very well sit another person. Every now and then it would catch Anathema's eye, a tidy pile of notecards just itching to be filled out with annotations. For now she was idly studying a map of the city spread out over the table, debating how long it would take to get an elevation map from the City Hall.
Tapping her pencil against one of the notecards, she let her mind wander as she scribbled out a few random words. When these things popped into her head, it was easier to just get them out and have a laugh about them later.
A man shall come into your life whose tale is as strange as he is handsome.
Looking down at the words, she let out a soft snort of laughter. It was exactly the sort of trashy prophecy that applied to just about anyone. For instance the next bloke to walk through the door could meet the mark, which would put her exactly nowhere new.
Except maybe yelled at for taking up most of the unoccupied seats.
Just as she rolled her eyes, the chimes over the door rattled bringing her attention away from the words and the map and up to whomever was blowing in. She might down her own words, but that didn't stop a tiny part of her from hoping to be right.
* Except when she was terrible at it. See: The Night After The World Nearly Ended But Ultimately Didn't.
