[ Arthur's not sure if he'll ever be used to being in strange places and dealing with strange things, and right now he's stuck in the strangest situation of all. He's still trying to wrap his head around this city and just how it all works, but sticking to a bit of routine helps him not lose his mind completely.
Currently, that routine comes in the form of evening tea. A quiet moment with him and a book, and his drink of choice- something with a mild hint of vanilla and honey that smells rather like home. It's easy enough to loose himself in the familiarity of the ritual, and the pages of his book, as he has so often, until a thought strikes him rather suddenly.
It's so quiet.
Back home, Tessa was usually good about giving him his space if he really wanted it, but usually she'd be around. If not futzing around in the kitchen, then she'd be across the table from him, penning a letter to her family, quiet “hmms” and little laughs accompanying the soft scratch of her quill on parchment. And if not that, then it was something else. She'd ask him a question, she'd be practicing her flute of humming softly to herself. Without any of that, the room just felt... empty.
It takes him a moment to realize that the biter taste in his mouth isn't just loneliness. It's his tea. In the span of a breath, the flavor had taken a sharp and sudden turn form a hint of sweetness to almost unbearably bitter, and he coughs and sputters in surprise. Another sip only confirms it- he's ruined a perfectly good pot of tea with his damned loneliness. ]
Gods. I don't need you to tell me I miss her.
[ This, as he sets the teacup aside, giving it a critical eye as if it's somehow responsible.
But, alone as he is, he knows there's no denying it. He's lonesome, and homesick, and so very frightened. Arthur buries his face in his hands, letting out a long, shuddering sigh.
With a sound so soft it goes unheard, there appears in the porcelain teacup a small, subtle crack. ]
Re: Revision
Currently, that routine comes in the form of evening tea. A quiet moment with him and a book, and his drink of choice- something with a mild hint of vanilla and honey that smells rather like home. It's easy enough to loose himself in the familiarity of the ritual, and the pages of his book, as he has so often, until a thought strikes him rather suddenly.
It's so quiet.
Back home, Tessa was usually good about giving him his space if he really wanted it, but usually she'd be around. If not futzing around in the kitchen, then she'd be across the table from him, penning a letter to her family, quiet “hmms” and little laughs accompanying the soft scratch of her quill on parchment. And if not that, then it was something else. She'd ask him a question, she'd be practicing her flute of humming softly to herself. Without any of that, the room just felt... empty.
It takes him a moment to realize that the biter taste in his mouth isn't just loneliness. It's his tea. In the span of a breath, the flavor had taken a sharp and sudden turn form a hint of sweetness to almost unbearably bitter, and he coughs and sputters in surprise. Another sip only confirms it- he's ruined a perfectly good pot of tea with his damned loneliness. ]
Gods. I don't need you to tell me I miss her.
[ This, as he sets the teacup aside, giving it a critical eye as if it's somehow responsible.
But, alone as he is, he knows there's no denying it. He's lonesome, and homesick, and so very frightened. Arthur buries his face in his hands, letting out a long, shuddering sigh.
With a sound so soft it goes unheard, there appears in the porcelain teacup a small, subtle crack. ]