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Date Posted: 14:30:24 04/01/02 Mon
The cat swishes her tail. For a time, she says nothing. Suddenly, she feels she has no right to be in his arms anymore, if he knows. She leaps away, landing on a window sill, still roughly at eye level with his. She stays on all four, however; she's too... unsettled to sit.
"Tarkin," she greets, the steadiness in her voice forced. She supposes she should keep things with an air of formality. Unawares, she flicks her tail miniscutely back and forth. "I did not think to see you again. It's been some years—" ((Between 12 and 15 by Sarsar's calculation... but it barely matters in RPG world)) "—I think. I don't keep very good track. How has the world treated you?"
While her conversation is light and conversational, there is a definite look of pain in her eyes as she speaks, no matter how hard she may try to hide it. She knows better than to think he hates her. He's too good for that. And that unsettles her even more. She doesn't deserve his kindess. And it makes it so much harder to forget him...
Miryam dabs her fingers into the cool, crisp holy water, crossing herself, as she leaves the church. Sometimes it seemed strange to her, that Christ would so easily absolve her sins, if she truly sought his forgiveness. But she has no quarrel with it. Her mother was a Christian, and so she was raised by her 'uncle'. Well, done was done, and she's confessed her sins.
She heads over to the Inn (as it's the only one in town, you know), the Green Sheep. She gives Tarkin a small, courteous smile as she passes him, dipping a quick curtsy. She can see that he's busy talking to... a cat... and passes him by. She, after all, talks to a cat... or some form of anything, all the time. She spots Deirdre right away when she enters, and Amadeus flutters back to her shoulder, once again becoming the sleek tabby cat.
"Sorry I took so long," she says, adding in thought, I had a lot to confess. "Do we have a room? I'll go get one now if we don't." She looks curiously at Deirdre's panic. "Is something wrong, Deirdre?"
Connell returns from the stables, but his keen eyes notice the exchange between the phooka-cat and Tarkin and he stays away from it. He had known, of course, that the orange cat was not really a cat. They had been traveling together for some time, having some things quite in common. He passes them by for now, entering the inn.
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