S
Sarre
Guest
Original poster
"Who knows. We've always understood that the human mind can be incredibly malleable," Amber replied. "With such infinite possibilities, I'm content to wait," she said, scratching at her nose. The elevator doors opened, and she stepped out before Perry. They had set aside a few hours to meet with the man, but with his rejection, there was an uncomfortable emptiness in their schedule, and it was still dark. Nothing to do. She couldn't go back to her private apartment while it was still nighttime - that would feel wrong.
"Well, I guess there are always stars waiting for me," she murmured, looking upwards. Despite the soft blue light that washed itself over the streets, she could still see some of them, not twinkling but sitting solemly on the black sky.
She knew her horoscope - she knew every day. She checked it herself. It was a common thing to do in the department, to peer at them in curiosity, but as an unspoken rule, nobody talked about them - shared them. It was a mutual, quiet, indulgence.
Amber took hers seriously, though, and sometimes she wondered how seriously the others took it. Their research - the one they spent hours documenting and testing for - was far from applicable, yet. It was all so theoretical - attempts to standardise; to organise the stars, and the messiness of a personal horoscope was useless in that grid of information. Why she intuitively trusted such an amorphous, cryptic set of predictions was a mystery.
But what that horoscope was telling her was something she didn't particularly want Perry to be part of. She'd already made the mistake of telling him of her wish to visit the old man. And it was only by him that she'd gotten the chance - they were going on-shift. Unwittingly, she'd planted a scientific curiosity in him, and now she wanted to do anything she could to take away nourishment from those seeds she had sown.
So she looked to him for further instructions. "What now?"
"Well, I guess there are always stars waiting for me," she murmured, looking upwards. Despite the soft blue light that washed itself over the streets, she could still see some of them, not twinkling but sitting solemly on the black sky.
She knew her horoscope - she knew every day. She checked it herself. It was a common thing to do in the department, to peer at them in curiosity, but as an unspoken rule, nobody talked about them - shared them. It was a mutual, quiet, indulgence.
Amber took hers seriously, though, and sometimes she wondered how seriously the others took it. Their research - the one they spent hours documenting and testing for - was far from applicable, yet. It was all so theoretical - attempts to standardise; to organise the stars, and the messiness of a personal horoscope was useless in that grid of information. Why she intuitively trusted such an amorphous, cryptic set of predictions was a mystery.
But what that horoscope was telling her was something she didn't particularly want Perry to be part of. She'd already made the mistake of telling him of her wish to visit the old man. And it was only by him that she'd gotten the chance - they were going on-shift. Unwittingly, she'd planted a scientific curiosity in him, and now she wanted to do anything she could to take away nourishment from those seeds she had sown.
So she looked to him for further instructions. "What now?"