#ingeniumx

[nocturnalpoets]

i just love your blog!! 🧚‍♀️💕

omg thank you!!!! reading stuff like this makes my day better 🥺

[lindzcn-blog]

Darjeeling, earl grey

Darjeeling: What languages do you speak?

¿Hablar bien?, muy, muy, muy pocos, pero sé preguntar ‘dónde está el baño’ en inglés, español, portugués, alemán, ruso, japonés y chino. 

6. Earl Grey: Which countries have you visited? 

No tengo ni idea de cómo responder a esto sin sonar como una maldita snob, así que dejémoslo en que tengo bastantes sellos en mi pasaporte.

[baciossee]

--♦; вυℓℓα αqυαє |AU|

        --☼; Svelte fingers that bear the seemingly permanent callouses of day to day physical exertion and training are currently adorned with the suds of cheap dish soap, appendages bereft of fabric or cloth submerged in the depths of a, thankfully, generously sized sink. There are worse jobs to be handed out, Marco supposes as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear with a soapy hand that leaves traces of minute bubbles clinging to dark locks that vaguely resemble burnt wood in coloration. It's ignored, not particularly important by any means and the bubbles are already popping in contained silence as she plucks another dish from the abundant pile of dirty platters and drowns it beneath the mounds of foam that have settled thickly over the dishwater.

        A million plates it seems and she's either been assigned to this task alone, or whatever trainee was to accompany her ditched--she likes to assume it was the former, but she also isn't an idiot. It's common knowledge that most of cadets are slackers in terms of chores and thus she concludes, with a tired expel of air from forth slightly parted brims, that she is doing this task on her own. No complaints will fall freely from coral tiers however, keeping her metaphorical glass half-full and deciding it could always be worse.

        A boring task does not necessarily mean a difficult one, and for that, Marco assumes she can be grateful.

        Another lock of hair falls over her shoulder and with the second sigh that evening, she tucks it back behind her ear once more, throwing the dark coffee colored tress behind her. She only pauses when placing a now clean dish upon the counter to her right when the sound of a door closing echoes through the quiet building, tanned lids fluttering over umber irises twice in succession as a display of curiosity and confusion. Removing sopping fingers from the rugged body of a chipped plate--the chip not her own doing but a rather careless trainee's some time ago--she paces over to archway leading into the kitchen, peeking out into the mess hall. 

        ❝Oh, Armin! Did you forget something at one of the tables?❞

        She asks, deciding a minute or two of idle chit-chat won't kill her nor harm the waiting dishes assigned to her, a bright smile painted upon her face as she yet again throws a long tress of hair over her shoulder. She'd need to borrow a ribbon from Mina or Sasha, assuming they have one, or she'll drive herself insane with the constant flicking of brunette locks.