If her daddy's rich, take her out for a meal. If her daddy's poor, just do what you feel. Speed along the lane, Do a ton, or a ton an' twenty-five.
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@counterpoises
If her daddy's rich, take her out for a meal. If her daddy's poor, just do what you feel. Speed along the lane, Do a ton, or a ton an' twenty-five.
Libra, the bane of an existence— torn from her, a conscience; on bad days one could even call her a walking curse. At best, lately? She was tolerable, but this wasn’t one of those moments. “I do find myself questioning why you’re so intrigued by these elementaries; a simple paintbrush on canvas— this is what you choose to do with your time?” Permitting the inquiry to drift amidst them for a moment, the entity found herself taking a step back; observing the process of darker tones blending in with the lighter. Somewhere within that scene, rested a beautiful symmetry; yet it remained invisible to Scorpio’s eyes.
The moment of tranquility wasn’t meant to remain— and when it was breached, it was accompanied with a sense of discomfort; a growing aversion, which was reflected by a straightening of lips, “I never asked for anything from you, Li.”
A silent smile was extended by the akin. Covert in nature, she cast no glance rearward and so it went unseen in the vision of kept company. Such judgements were yet to click the worn knitwear, but rather were liberated by the very essence of her controlled pastime. "Well, simplicity provides an outlet far more precise."
"-- But I like giving?" The statement couldn't have rang with more validity and yet it remained poised by a tone so modest. With the quirk of her brow, she thought it opportune to lighten the mood a smidgen. "You know, its the human convention that when you find yourself presented with a gift, you're supposed to pretend that you like it." She was seated once bare footsteps had traced a pathway towards congenial furnishings, "-- especially when that gift comes from a relative."
Scorpius Identified: Libra
“There is a certain place where the scorpion with his tail and curving claws sprawls across two signs of the zodiac”, wrote Ovid in his Metamorphoses. He was referring to the ancient Greek version of Scorpius, which was much larger than the constellation we know today. The Greek scorpion was in two halves: one half contained its body and sting, while the front half comprised the claws. The Greeks called this front half Chelae, which means ‘claws’. In the first century BC the Romans made the claws into a separate constellation, Libra, the Balance. — (x)
Though select portions of Greek mythology could be considered as works of fiction to the entities of the Cosmos, there’s a truth in various aspects of them as well; such as the origin of Libra and its connection to Scorpius. Upon the creation of each Zodiac; Scorpius, the constellation of extremes bore too intense in comparison to its kin— there was an instability which couldn’t be rectified on the constellation’s own terms. Which is why the constellation was subjected to a separation— the “balance” of Scorpius would become its own; not to merely function as a balance to each fellow Sign, but to act as an almost conscience to Scorpius directly.
What was once perceived as the claws which were the supposed balance of Scorpius’ portrayal in the skies are now the scales, representing Libra. At the end of the line, they may be two separate constellations, but more intertwined than any of their kin can comprehend.
Late winter chill mixing with the sharpness of hail thrashed at the heights of her cheeks. She then stuffed slender digits forgetful that she wore no jacket towards her non-existent coat’s pockets after having carded one hand through near-to perpetually mussed tresses. Consequence enjoyed the cold weather, she liked the iced air as it pricked at her skin and she enjoyed how it felt to have a scarf coiled with care about one’s neck a few times for warmth — though she wore no scarf in this moment. Pity.
Brows furrowed at the hail-abused pavement beneath her feet after the other’s voice rang like a bell to her ears drawing the ideology’s attentions. Though it took a beat or two of silence before her gaze rose with the residue of confusion marking her features. She hadn’t even been paying attention to where she was going or what she was doing, as per the norm. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been walking or in what direction; she’d been lost in her own thoughts to block out the cacophony of decisive paths and thoughts of passerbys. ❝—- wait… what?❞
"Oh." Her hesitancy mustered up a single note that cut through the downpour. Tightened grip collecting the unbuttoned seams of her winter coat, her bodily core remained warm beneath the thick garment. Extremities however, such exposed skin provided a heavy contrast in temperature.
"Right," Libra allowed the mistake to resonate into her thoughts. "My bad, I guess. I thought you were waiting-- we could've paired-up, spared you the delay." Graceful fingers shot up as she gestured the unimportance of spoken information, now that she knew it was irrelevant. With the flick of her wrist, she implied ignoring this entire interaction, wiping the slate clean as it were. "Well, never mind."
I was following the pack, all swallowed in their coats. With scarves of red tied ‘round their throats, To keep their little heads from falling in the snow, And I turned 'round and there you go.
Public transport had seemingly been slowed by the harshness of winter weather. This evening stood as quintessence to such seasonal stereotype whilst borderline hail lashed downwards unkindly, smothering the city. The shortage of taxis had led to a congregation of impatient souls. Having endured this the longest, peep-toe heels stepped hurriedly forth, but not before she cast a glance rearward. "-- You know, you can share my cab if you'd like."
Hand coiled around the door handle, she was yet to yank. "I'm headed uptown. It'd sure save you from waiting in the rain any longer."
Clouds by Frederic Edwin Church part II.
"I’m certain you have clients who would enjoy it quite a bit more than I would." A strict glance had been shot in the other’s direction; bare collision occurring between shoulders, as graceful steps brought the entity to pass the other; so a more investigative inspection could be given to the canvas, "It’s missing contrast." A statement bearing a returned playful note; the smallest notion of a smile crossing feminine features, "—a deep red, perhaps?" As digits wrapped themselves around the paintbrush, twirling its tip along the rim of the jar, ridding it of any excess water remnants before holding it up for Libra.
"I simply have no interest in it; I do believe that should suffice as a reason."
Rekindled focus fell askew with a head tilted. It was certainly a stimulating criticism-- scenic sky hinted by suggestion of timely sunset, some darker tones would render it more ornate. Tugging the brush from jocular fingertips, upturning lips prodded towards keen familiarity. Dabbing finely amid the varicoloured palette, a serene response became uttered. “I didn’t paint it for clients. I had a very,” blending reddened strokes into thinning clouds, concentration paused her sentence for the moment. “— particular vision in mind.”
Call her curious. "Let me guess. A quick once-over and your instant dislike is based on principle? Y'know, because its new-- different, and you didn't put it there."
Her entrance was marked by the gentlest of collisions of the entity’s side to the adjacent wall; as her gaze remained on the brushing of one’s own fingertips. No effort was spent attempting to obtain visual focus of the kin she’d come to find, as the room seemed entirely deserted, even though it wasn’t— far from.
"Sweetheart, you left a little something at my apartment and I want it gone. Call this an act of common courtesy, or rather— a chance for you to retrieve your precious belonging before it turns to ashes.”
"You want this one too?" The inquiry hung on a playful note, though her crystallised tone was sincerely bright. Her silent ambience wasn't entirely lasting as bursts of colour were seeping into the ivory canvas, slender fingers popped the paintbrush into tinted water to cleanse. Meanwhile, footsteps came to shorten such a reserved gap between them, it was far from hospitable.
"-- So, what qualifies it to be worthily set alight? Honestly, I figured you'd like it."
A philosopher once asked, “Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at the stars because we are human?” Pointless really. Do the stars gaze back? Now, that’s a question.
Stardust, 2007.