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Hypatia had no idea why this particular decision on that singular morning was so determinedly difficult. She stood in her under things and bare from the waist upwards in the certain of her borrowed chambers within the household of Lord Alexios. Her hair was a tumble of thick locks that could not decide whether they were to hang straight or curl into feminine ringlets and had, instead, found some wild in-between of youthful abandon. The tawny shades of blonde, ochre and little glimmers of copper hung long past her shoulder blades and to the middle of her back, yet she gave no thought to drawing the locks forward to offer herself more modesty.
For it was perfectly natural for a Grecian lady to stand before her ladies’ maids without a stick of clothing upon her person. Who else was to dress her and see to her raiment from the skin outwards? The deep blushes of colour and odd way in which the Judean maids assigned to her kept looking away from her figure had distracted Hypatia upon first arriving in the lands of sand of sun, and yet she now simply ignored it. If they wished to see such a natural thing as nudity be considered inappropriate then that was a strange assessment as far as she was concerned. Everyone had skin, did they not?
That afternoon in particular - for she corrected herself to discover that the sun had indeed passed over the noon day peak into the afternoon - she was distinctly ignorant and unobservant of cultural differences because she was intent upon the gowns laid before her all over her large and soft bed. Blues, yellows, ceruleans, pinks, oranges and lavenders lay in a stream of rainbow colour. Gossamer, silks and chiton were a waft of fabric on all directions to the point where, had she not known each dress and its shape and style, she might not have been able to distinguish her options of dress.
Feeling silly that it was taking her so long to decide upon her preferred garment for the day, Hypatia's very delay and hesitancy was what spurred her to choosing the one that she felt the most comfortable in and served the softest and sweetest purpose: making her feel pretty.
A gown that she had chosen herself, it had was made of fine silks and dyed in a reverse pattern so that the colour was at the top. At its deepest point upon her right shoulder the gown was pomegranate in shade. It then paled through to rose and ended in purest white by the time it reached her feet. Decal in the form of silver and white beads had been embroidered into the hip and across the line that stretched across her collarbone. More sedate than some of the flashier pieces that her mother was always making her wear, there were no slits or cuts within the gown. Only bare arms and an exposed shoulder provided that she did not walk with too great a speed and cause the skirts to kick up around her legs. Instead, the gowns only 'saving grace' as far as Europa would consider it was the bright hue that identified it as expensive. For graduated dyes were difficult to achieve.
Slipping into the gown and fitting white, goat leather sandals around her feet, Hypatia then diligently sat whilst her hair was curled into a thousand little corkscrews. It took the reheating of the pole of metal several times in the fire but by the time it was done it looked excessively luxuriant and Hypatia was very pleased. Several strands of white kid around her head, half hidden amongst her strawberry blonde locks and she was set to face the guest she had spent such an embarrassing amount of time ensuring her appearance for. For surely the man would care little for the careful applications of powder, paint, curling apparatus and silver filigree. He was a man of Judea and would likely see her as some strange alien being of odd taste.
Such an uncharacteristically chastising thought, and so unprovoked in her mind, had a little of the shine dim from Hypatia's mood but it was replaced only a moment later when a serving maid, preceded by her own knock upon Hypatia's door announced the arrival of an 'Adon Isaiah of Matthias' whom she had seen to one of the solar rooms in Alexios' Grecian style home.
With a murmur of thanks, Hypatia ordered that study things - clay tablets, styluses, ink and parchment were all to be brought to that room along with wine, fruits and dried meats for refreshment. It was the work of a moment to see the maid hurry away and then stand to straighten her skirts and step out in the corridor that would lead her from her own little world to the strange void between cultures and nations that her time with Isaiah seemed to construct...
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Feb 5, 2020 20:21:03 GMT
Posted In With Feeling on Feb 5, 2020 20:21:03 GMT
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Hypatia had no idea why this particular decision on that singular morning was so determinedly difficult. She stood in her under things and bare from the waist upwards in the certain of her borrowed chambers within the household of Lord Alexios. Her hair was a tumble of thick locks that could not decide whether they were to hang straight or curl into feminine ringlets and had, instead, found some wild in-between of youthful abandon. The tawny shades of blonde, ochre and little glimmers of copper hung long past her shoulder blades and to the middle of her back, yet she gave no thought to drawing the locks forward to offer herself more modesty.
For it was perfectly natural for a Grecian lady to stand before her ladies’ maids without a stick of clothing upon her person. Who else was to dress her and see to her raiment from the skin outwards? The deep blushes of colour and odd way in which the Judean maids assigned to her kept looking away from her figure had distracted Hypatia upon first arriving in the lands of sand of sun, and yet she now simply ignored it. If they wished to see such a natural thing as nudity be considered inappropriate then that was a strange assessment as far as she was concerned. Everyone had skin, did they not?
That afternoon in particular - for she corrected herself to discover that the sun had indeed passed over the noon day peak into the afternoon - she was distinctly ignorant and unobservant of cultural differences because she was intent upon the gowns laid before her all over her large and soft bed. Blues, yellows, ceruleans, pinks, oranges and lavenders lay in a stream of rainbow colour. Gossamer, silks and chiton were a waft of fabric on all directions to the point where, had she not known each dress and its shape and style, she might not have been able to distinguish her options of dress.
Feeling silly that it was taking her so long to decide upon her preferred garment for the day, Hypatia's very delay and hesitancy was what spurred her to choosing the one that she felt the most comfortable in and served the softest and sweetest purpose: making her feel pretty.
A gown that she had chosen herself, it had was made of fine silks and dyed in a reverse pattern so that the colour was at the top. At its deepest point upon her right shoulder the gown was pomegranate in shade. It then paled through to rose and ended in purest white by the time it reached her feet. Decal in the form of silver and white beads had been embroidered into the hip and across the line that stretched across her collarbone. More sedate than some of the flashier pieces that her mother was always making her wear, there were no slits or cuts within the gown. Only bare arms and an exposed shoulder provided that she did not walk with too great a speed and cause the skirts to kick up around her legs. Instead, the gowns only 'saving grace' as far as Europa would consider it was the bright hue that identified it as expensive. For graduated dyes were difficult to achieve.
Slipping into the gown and fitting white, goat leather sandals around her feet, Hypatia then diligently sat whilst her hair was curled into a thousand little corkscrews. It took the reheating of the pole of metal several times in the fire but by the time it was done it looked excessively luxuriant and Hypatia was very pleased. Several strands of white kid around her head, half hidden amongst her strawberry blonde locks and she was set to face the guest she had spent such an embarrassing amount of time ensuring her appearance for. For surely the man would care little for the careful applications of powder, paint, curling apparatus and silver filigree. He was a man of Judea and would likely see her as some strange alien being of odd taste.
Such an uncharacteristically chastising thought, and so unprovoked in her mind, had a little of the shine dim from Hypatia's mood but it was replaced only a moment later when a serving maid, preceded by her own knock upon Hypatia's door announced the arrival of an 'Adon Isaiah of Matthias' whom she had seen to one of the solar rooms in Alexios' Grecian style home.
With a murmur of thanks, Hypatia ordered that study things - clay tablets, styluses, ink and parchment were all to be brought to that room along with wine, fruits and dried meats for refreshment. It was the work of a moment to see the maid hurry away and then stand to straighten her skirts and step out in the corridor that would lead her from her own little world to the strange void between cultures and nations that her time with Isaiah seemed to construct...
Hypatia had no idea why this particular decision on that singular morning was so determinedly difficult. She stood in her under things and bare from the waist upwards in the certain of her borrowed chambers within the household of Lord Alexios. Her hair was a tumble of thick locks that could not decide whether they were to hang straight or curl into feminine ringlets and had, instead, found some wild in-between of youthful abandon. The tawny shades of blonde, ochre and little glimmers of copper hung long past her shoulder blades and to the middle of her back, yet she gave no thought to drawing the locks forward to offer herself more modesty.
For it was perfectly natural for a Grecian lady to stand before her ladies’ maids without a stick of clothing upon her person. Who else was to dress her and see to her raiment from the skin outwards? The deep blushes of colour and odd way in which the Judean maids assigned to her kept looking away from her figure had distracted Hypatia upon first arriving in the lands of sand of sun, and yet she now simply ignored it. If they wished to see such a natural thing as nudity be considered inappropriate then that was a strange assessment as far as she was concerned. Everyone had skin, did they not?
That afternoon in particular - for she corrected herself to discover that the sun had indeed passed over the noon day peak into the afternoon - she was distinctly ignorant and unobservant of cultural differences because she was intent upon the gowns laid before her all over her large and soft bed. Blues, yellows, ceruleans, pinks, oranges and lavenders lay in a stream of rainbow colour. Gossamer, silks and chiton were a waft of fabric on all directions to the point where, had she not known each dress and its shape and style, she might not have been able to distinguish her options of dress.
Feeling silly that it was taking her so long to decide upon her preferred garment for the day, Hypatia's very delay and hesitancy was what spurred her to choosing the one that she felt the most comfortable in and served the softest and sweetest purpose: making her feel pretty.
A gown that she had chosen herself, it had was made of fine silks and dyed in a reverse pattern so that the colour was at the top. At its deepest point upon her right shoulder the gown was pomegranate in shade. It then paled through to rose and ended in purest white by the time it reached her feet. Decal in the form of silver and white beads had been embroidered into the hip and across the line that stretched across her collarbone. More sedate than some of the flashier pieces that her mother was always making her wear, there were no slits or cuts within the gown. Only bare arms and an exposed shoulder provided that she did not walk with too great a speed and cause the skirts to kick up around her legs. Instead, the gowns only 'saving grace' as far as Europa would consider it was the bright hue that identified it as expensive. For graduated dyes were difficult to achieve.
Slipping into the gown and fitting white, goat leather sandals around her feet, Hypatia then diligently sat whilst her hair was curled into a thousand little corkscrews. It took the reheating of the pole of metal several times in the fire but by the time it was done it looked excessively luxuriant and Hypatia was very pleased. Several strands of white kid around her head, half hidden amongst her strawberry blonde locks and she was set to face the guest she had spent such an embarrassing amount of time ensuring her appearance for. For surely the man would care little for the careful applications of powder, paint, curling apparatus and silver filigree. He was a man of Judea and would likely see her as some strange alien being of odd taste.
Such an uncharacteristically chastising thought, and so unprovoked in her mind, had a little of the shine dim from Hypatia's mood but it was replaced only a moment later when a serving maid, preceded by her own knock upon Hypatia's door announced the arrival of an 'Adon Isaiah of Matthias' whom she had seen to one of the solar rooms in Alexios' Grecian style home.
With a murmur of thanks, Hypatia ordered that study things - clay tablets, styluses, ink and parchment were all to be brought to that room along with wine, fruits and dried meats for refreshment. It was the work of a moment to see the maid hurry away and then stand to straighten her skirts and step out in the corridor that would lead her from her own little world to the strange void between cultures and nations that her time with Isaiah seemed to construct...
Isaiah had never been more painfully aware of not being a cunning person than these past few days. Though his mother appeared to make up her own mind about what Hypatia was or wasn’t, any time the topic even hinted towards Commander Alexios’s household, she got such a momentarily evil expression and aimed it right in his direction. He was certain that, deep down, she knew. While his father and brother blathered away to each other over the evening meals, Isaiah felt his mother’s attention straying to him far more often than it usually did. To make matters worse, she didn’t speak to him about it. Not since the market had Hypatia’s name passed between them.
In the evening of the first day, after the blissful few minutes he’d spent in Hypatia’s presence in the market, he’d done what he usually did and sat with his mother in the kitchen, assisting her with the dishes. Her silence on the topic was so loud, so absolute, that he felt just by its avoidance that she was shouting at him. The next evening, he didn’t go to the kitchen at all and sat with the rest of his family, but so unused to having secrets as he was, he sat in a near constant state of agitation. His father had to know, didn’t he? Yet, if the older man did know, he said nothing to Isaiah about it.
At night, lying in bed, hugging the blanket tight against his chest, Isaiah stared at the ceiling. His brows creased in the middle and his lips pressed into a firm line. Yes, he was sure that his mother either knew or suspected more than she was letting on. He accurately guessed the reason for her silence. She wanted him to forget Hypatia. Even if what he said was true, and it was nothing, the mere idea of him having some sort of wish for a pagan girl was near enough to sin. It didn’t matter if nothing came of it, as Isaiah knew would be the case. If they didn’t talk about Hypatia, then his mother wouldn’t be encouraging him. That had to be it.
For him, he felt it didn’t matter too much anymore if he let his attention center on Hypatia. It didn’t matter if she actually liked him back. The gratifying part was that he felt she probably did, at least a little. What he knew to be true was that they would never, ever be together. That’s what made all of this so safe; he couldn’t have her. He was free to think of her to his heart’s content, free to be near her, free to waste his time on her, because at the end of the day, he knew that even if she flung herself at him, he wouldn’t actually take her. She was pagan. Several days of talking to a pretty girl couldn’t undo the years of true, devout faith etched into every fiber of Isaiah’s being. Unless...she renounced her heathen ways and took on Judean vows instead……..
Isaiah turned over onto his side, sliding his palm under the pillow and using that to prop his head up. Like she’d do that. He smiled to himself, thankful that he’d never have to actually choose to make her uncomfortable, or to destroy her cushy life by even offering to live with him as his wife. She would say no, of course, but this way, he’d never have to make that offer. Every single thing they did was safe as long as they maintained an appropriate distance. He’d go and teach her, content to be only that to her, not caring if this was an idiotic way to exist. Caught up in the tragic romance of youthfulness, Isaiah was sure that these things would be enough to last him forever.
---
Despite assurances to himself that this was nothing abnormal, Isaiah had taken as much or more care in bathing and dressing than he had on market day. He chose a white under robe and put on a red outer robe, both plain with little decoration, but clean. Isaiah was fairly sure that his clothing wouldn’t impress Hypatia, but he didn’t think too much on that score. It was freeing, in a way, to know that whatever he did didn’t matter. It let him leave the house with no trouble, sailing past his mother and sister in law, who were the only ones home, with nary a guilty conscience. He’d managed to get around telling anyone his actual business today. Lying was something he was loathe to do and had only narrowly avoided it several times by simply being terribly vague. Providence had been on his side during these times, saving him from answering because he’d managed to redirect the conversation to more important or, in two cases, toward a topic he knew would create an argument - thus saving himself.
He walked through the city streets, humming a tune he’d heard in Temple a thousand times over, pleased with everything around him. At first. The view of the buildings, the faces of the people he passed, all seemed lovely and friendly to him. Though, the closer he came to the ‘Greek’ part of the city, the less he felt that way. Most of the pale people he passed didn’t even look at him, and if they did, he was only the mildest of curiosities. No need to stare. But he noticed that most people were carrying something, whilst he walked over the stone streets with nothing in his hands. No offering of any kind. Should he have brought something? If he was to be her teacher, so really, she should give something to him, but he was suddenly struck by the thought that, no, Hypatia would expect a gift, or at least a small token.
“Uhh,” he said under his breath, stopping dead in the street. An impatient grunt, followed by a man throwing him a rude gesture made Isaiah think better of standing stock still. He walked at a much slower pace, trying to remember if there were any stalls around here and thinking, no. There weren’t. Nor did he have time to take the half hour walk from here to the market, peruse, and then haggle for a small gift Hypatia might not even like anyway.
He chewed the inside of his lower lip, staring in the direction of the market, when he heard the most welcome voice in the entire world in that moment - ”Flowers!” Whirling about, eyes searching, he finally found the source. A girl who couldn’t be much older than twelve stood with her younger brother, attempting to sell what were clearly wild flowers plucked that morning. Precious water kept the flowers fresh and they floated in the wooden box that the boy squatted next to. Perhaps these weren’t the fine sort that Hypatia was used to, but they were here, and what he could afford.
A handful took only a single coin and he was off again, water seeping from between his fingers as he clutched the flowers. All was right with the world again, now that he had something to offer. Commander Alexios’s house came into view and Isaiah strode toward it, not thinking about how he had no teaching experience, really nothing to truly offer this woman except a few wildflowers he’d just bought, and knocked on the main door, rather than the servant’s door.
He stood for what felt like seconds, much less time than he ever stood at the servant’s door, anyway, and squared his shoulders the second someone opened the door. Having the presence of mind to hid the flowers behind his back, he presented himself with a nod, mentioning he was here to instruct Hypatia, and breathed a sigh of relief when he was admitted into the house. Isaiah did not look around as they swept through the corridors because all of this was familiar - until they left the main area and took hallways he’d never been in. The way to Hypatia’s room was simple enough and before too many minutes had passed, he found himself announced and then left in the doorway of her room.
She was as pretty as she’d been in the market, still made up in her foreign way, but he wouldn’t have changed her for anything in that moment. Swallowing hard, he thought he’d have to force a smile but realized, belatedly, that he was already smiling like a besotted imbecile, and only managed to float into the room, rather than walk. “Good morning,” he greeted in Hebrew, thinking after a second or two that he should probably just keep talking but now stuck for what to say.
“Here,” his arm shot out and he held the still dripping flowers level with her chest. In the few seconds, where his arm hung suspended and he had a moment or two of clarity, he mentally kicked himself. Why, why, why when he was around this woman was he rendered immediately stupid? Couldn’t he have the same normal behavior of other people? Or was he overthinking it? Did he actually appear as idiotic as he felt? There was no way to know.
Once Hypatia took the flowers, Isaiah cleared his throat and tried not to think about the fact that they had now reached the very end of his real contribution to this entire afternoon. He was capable of handing her flowers, but actually teaching her Hebrew? That remained to be seen. It had been a grand plan at the time but the want and will to teach were entirely different from the knowledge and knowhow.
He glanced around the room, noting the tablets and styluses and papyrus. Hmm. She’d had that little paper with her, translating what she wanted to say to him in the market, and while he wanted her to be able to do that again, the problem was he didn’t understand enough Greek to be able to make that happen. If he did, the notes would be meaningless and they could just converse with each other in a common tongue. Isaiah looked toward the fruit on the table, with the dried meats beside it. The jug of wine behind these two plates made the whole thing picturesque and added more to the feeling that he was an imposter than anything else had. These things were for guests to set them at ease. He didn’t feel much like a guest; he felt like he wouldn’t be overly helpful and had come here under false pretenses...which he sort of had.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he edged toward the table, swallowing hard again. It was he who’d been the one to offer this service in the first place. He’d walked all the way across town for this, he’d bought her flowers. There was no reason he couldn’t keep pretending his way through this until she either called him on what he clearly was unqualified to teach, or, she didn’t know better and let him keep going. Or, he thought, as ever an optimist, maybe he did have some teaching ability? Maybe they would start this and he’d end up being an amazing teacher. Though, as he looked over at her, that thought faded rather quickly.
“Sit,” he instructed, waving his arm towards a chair, a smile on his face as he did it, bowing his head to her in a respectful nod. “Please,” he added. “You’ve got quite a few things here,” he said, attempting to keep up a lyrical conversation. On his way in, he’d noticed that there were definitely judean servants here and they would know everything he said to her. Not that he would have said anything untoward, but it did make him a little more conscientious of his speech than he usually tended to be.
To buy himself time, he pushed a tablet toward her and took one for himself, making sure to keep his fingers free of the soft clay. Everything could be erased in a tablet, of course, but it was a pain. More than that, he didn’t want to seem like he didn’t know what he was doing. Clearing his throat for a second time within five minutes, he licked his bottom lip and then said, “What did your other tutor go over with you? Fruit?” he gestured to the bowl and picked up one of the pieces at random. “Date,” he said, placing it on the table. “Fig,” he plucked out another, and then took out an apple, repeating its name. This was rudimentary, and about all he knew to do at this point. Yes. This would go wonderfully and would not fail. He hoped.
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Feb 16, 2020 14:04:49 GMT
Posted In With Feeling on Feb 16, 2020 14:04:49 GMT
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Check out their information page here.
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Isaiah had never been more painfully aware of not being a cunning person than these past few days. Though his mother appeared to make up her own mind about what Hypatia was or wasn’t, any time the topic even hinted towards Commander Alexios’s household, she got such a momentarily evil expression and aimed it right in his direction. He was certain that, deep down, she knew. While his father and brother blathered away to each other over the evening meals, Isaiah felt his mother’s attention straying to him far more often than it usually did. To make matters worse, she didn’t speak to him about it. Not since the market had Hypatia’s name passed between them.
In the evening of the first day, after the blissful few minutes he’d spent in Hypatia’s presence in the market, he’d done what he usually did and sat with his mother in the kitchen, assisting her with the dishes. Her silence on the topic was so loud, so absolute, that he felt just by its avoidance that she was shouting at him. The next evening, he didn’t go to the kitchen at all and sat with the rest of his family, but so unused to having secrets as he was, he sat in a near constant state of agitation. His father had to know, didn’t he? Yet, if the older man did know, he said nothing to Isaiah about it.
At night, lying in bed, hugging the blanket tight against his chest, Isaiah stared at the ceiling. His brows creased in the middle and his lips pressed into a firm line. Yes, he was sure that his mother either knew or suspected more than she was letting on. He accurately guessed the reason for her silence. She wanted him to forget Hypatia. Even if what he said was true, and it was nothing, the mere idea of him having some sort of wish for a pagan girl was near enough to sin. It didn’t matter if nothing came of it, as Isaiah knew would be the case. If they didn’t talk about Hypatia, then his mother wouldn’t be encouraging him. That had to be it.
For him, he felt it didn’t matter too much anymore if he let his attention center on Hypatia. It didn’t matter if she actually liked him back. The gratifying part was that he felt she probably did, at least a little. What he knew to be true was that they would never, ever be together. That’s what made all of this so safe; he couldn’t have her. He was free to think of her to his heart’s content, free to be near her, free to waste his time on her, because at the end of the day, he knew that even if she flung herself at him, he wouldn’t actually take her. She was pagan. Several days of talking to a pretty girl couldn’t undo the years of true, devout faith etched into every fiber of Isaiah’s being. Unless...she renounced her heathen ways and took on Judean vows instead……..
Isaiah turned over onto his side, sliding his palm under the pillow and using that to prop his head up. Like she’d do that. He smiled to himself, thankful that he’d never have to actually choose to make her uncomfortable, or to destroy her cushy life by even offering to live with him as his wife. She would say no, of course, but this way, he’d never have to make that offer. Every single thing they did was safe as long as they maintained an appropriate distance. He’d go and teach her, content to be only that to her, not caring if this was an idiotic way to exist. Caught up in the tragic romance of youthfulness, Isaiah was sure that these things would be enough to last him forever.
---
Despite assurances to himself that this was nothing abnormal, Isaiah had taken as much or more care in bathing and dressing than he had on market day. He chose a white under robe and put on a red outer robe, both plain with little decoration, but clean. Isaiah was fairly sure that his clothing wouldn’t impress Hypatia, but he didn’t think too much on that score. It was freeing, in a way, to know that whatever he did didn’t matter. It let him leave the house with no trouble, sailing past his mother and sister in law, who were the only ones home, with nary a guilty conscience. He’d managed to get around telling anyone his actual business today. Lying was something he was loathe to do and had only narrowly avoided it several times by simply being terribly vague. Providence had been on his side during these times, saving him from answering because he’d managed to redirect the conversation to more important or, in two cases, toward a topic he knew would create an argument - thus saving himself.
He walked through the city streets, humming a tune he’d heard in Temple a thousand times over, pleased with everything around him. At first. The view of the buildings, the faces of the people he passed, all seemed lovely and friendly to him. Though, the closer he came to the ‘Greek’ part of the city, the less he felt that way. Most of the pale people he passed didn’t even look at him, and if they did, he was only the mildest of curiosities. No need to stare. But he noticed that most people were carrying something, whilst he walked over the stone streets with nothing in his hands. No offering of any kind. Should he have brought something? If he was to be her teacher, so really, she should give something to him, but he was suddenly struck by the thought that, no, Hypatia would expect a gift, or at least a small token.
“Uhh,” he said under his breath, stopping dead in the street. An impatient grunt, followed by a man throwing him a rude gesture made Isaiah think better of standing stock still. He walked at a much slower pace, trying to remember if there were any stalls around here and thinking, no. There weren’t. Nor did he have time to take the half hour walk from here to the market, peruse, and then haggle for a small gift Hypatia might not even like anyway.
He chewed the inside of his lower lip, staring in the direction of the market, when he heard the most welcome voice in the entire world in that moment - ”Flowers!” Whirling about, eyes searching, he finally found the source. A girl who couldn’t be much older than twelve stood with her younger brother, attempting to sell what were clearly wild flowers plucked that morning. Precious water kept the flowers fresh and they floated in the wooden box that the boy squatted next to. Perhaps these weren’t the fine sort that Hypatia was used to, but they were here, and what he could afford.
A handful took only a single coin and he was off again, water seeping from between his fingers as he clutched the flowers. All was right with the world again, now that he had something to offer. Commander Alexios’s house came into view and Isaiah strode toward it, not thinking about how he had no teaching experience, really nothing to truly offer this woman except a few wildflowers he’d just bought, and knocked on the main door, rather than the servant’s door.
He stood for what felt like seconds, much less time than he ever stood at the servant’s door, anyway, and squared his shoulders the second someone opened the door. Having the presence of mind to hid the flowers behind his back, he presented himself with a nod, mentioning he was here to instruct Hypatia, and breathed a sigh of relief when he was admitted into the house. Isaiah did not look around as they swept through the corridors because all of this was familiar - until they left the main area and took hallways he’d never been in. The way to Hypatia’s room was simple enough and before too many minutes had passed, he found himself announced and then left in the doorway of her room.
She was as pretty as she’d been in the market, still made up in her foreign way, but he wouldn’t have changed her for anything in that moment. Swallowing hard, he thought he’d have to force a smile but realized, belatedly, that he was already smiling like a besotted imbecile, and only managed to float into the room, rather than walk. “Good morning,” he greeted in Hebrew, thinking after a second or two that he should probably just keep talking but now stuck for what to say.
“Here,” his arm shot out and he held the still dripping flowers level with her chest. In the few seconds, where his arm hung suspended and he had a moment or two of clarity, he mentally kicked himself. Why, why, why when he was around this woman was he rendered immediately stupid? Couldn’t he have the same normal behavior of other people? Or was he overthinking it? Did he actually appear as idiotic as he felt? There was no way to know.
Once Hypatia took the flowers, Isaiah cleared his throat and tried not to think about the fact that they had now reached the very end of his real contribution to this entire afternoon. He was capable of handing her flowers, but actually teaching her Hebrew? That remained to be seen. It had been a grand plan at the time but the want and will to teach were entirely different from the knowledge and knowhow.
He glanced around the room, noting the tablets and styluses and papyrus. Hmm. She’d had that little paper with her, translating what she wanted to say to him in the market, and while he wanted her to be able to do that again, the problem was he didn’t understand enough Greek to be able to make that happen. If he did, the notes would be meaningless and they could just converse with each other in a common tongue. Isaiah looked toward the fruit on the table, with the dried meats beside it. The jug of wine behind these two plates made the whole thing picturesque and added more to the feeling that he was an imposter than anything else had. These things were for guests to set them at ease. He didn’t feel much like a guest; he felt like he wouldn’t be overly helpful and had come here under false pretenses...which he sort of had.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he edged toward the table, swallowing hard again. It was he who’d been the one to offer this service in the first place. He’d walked all the way across town for this, he’d bought her flowers. There was no reason he couldn’t keep pretending his way through this until she either called him on what he clearly was unqualified to teach, or, she didn’t know better and let him keep going. Or, he thought, as ever an optimist, maybe he did have some teaching ability? Maybe they would start this and he’d end up being an amazing teacher. Though, as he looked over at her, that thought faded rather quickly.
“Sit,” he instructed, waving his arm towards a chair, a smile on his face as he did it, bowing his head to her in a respectful nod. “Please,” he added. “You’ve got quite a few things here,” he said, attempting to keep up a lyrical conversation. On his way in, he’d noticed that there were definitely judean servants here and they would know everything he said to her. Not that he would have said anything untoward, but it did make him a little more conscientious of his speech than he usually tended to be.
To buy himself time, he pushed a tablet toward her and took one for himself, making sure to keep his fingers free of the soft clay. Everything could be erased in a tablet, of course, but it was a pain. More than that, he didn’t want to seem like he didn’t know what he was doing. Clearing his throat for a second time within five minutes, he licked his bottom lip and then said, “What did your other tutor go over with you? Fruit?” he gestured to the bowl and picked up one of the pieces at random. “Date,” he said, placing it on the table. “Fig,” he plucked out another, and then took out an apple, repeating its name. This was rudimentary, and about all he knew to do at this point. Yes. This would go wonderfully and would not fail. He hoped.
Isaiah had never been more painfully aware of not being a cunning person than these past few days. Though his mother appeared to make up her own mind about what Hypatia was or wasn’t, any time the topic even hinted towards Commander Alexios’s household, she got such a momentarily evil expression and aimed it right in his direction. He was certain that, deep down, she knew. While his father and brother blathered away to each other over the evening meals, Isaiah felt his mother’s attention straying to him far more often than it usually did. To make matters worse, she didn’t speak to him about it. Not since the market had Hypatia’s name passed between them.
In the evening of the first day, after the blissful few minutes he’d spent in Hypatia’s presence in the market, he’d done what he usually did and sat with his mother in the kitchen, assisting her with the dishes. Her silence on the topic was so loud, so absolute, that he felt just by its avoidance that she was shouting at him. The next evening, he didn’t go to the kitchen at all and sat with the rest of his family, but so unused to having secrets as he was, he sat in a near constant state of agitation. His father had to know, didn’t he? Yet, if the older man did know, he said nothing to Isaiah about it.
At night, lying in bed, hugging the blanket tight against his chest, Isaiah stared at the ceiling. His brows creased in the middle and his lips pressed into a firm line. Yes, he was sure that his mother either knew or suspected more than she was letting on. He accurately guessed the reason for her silence. She wanted him to forget Hypatia. Even if what he said was true, and it was nothing, the mere idea of him having some sort of wish for a pagan girl was near enough to sin. It didn’t matter if nothing came of it, as Isaiah knew would be the case. If they didn’t talk about Hypatia, then his mother wouldn’t be encouraging him. That had to be it.
For him, he felt it didn’t matter too much anymore if he let his attention center on Hypatia. It didn’t matter if she actually liked him back. The gratifying part was that he felt she probably did, at least a little. What he knew to be true was that they would never, ever be together. That’s what made all of this so safe; he couldn’t have her. He was free to think of her to his heart’s content, free to be near her, free to waste his time on her, because at the end of the day, he knew that even if she flung herself at him, he wouldn’t actually take her. She was pagan. Several days of talking to a pretty girl couldn’t undo the years of true, devout faith etched into every fiber of Isaiah’s being. Unless...she renounced her heathen ways and took on Judean vows instead……..
Isaiah turned over onto his side, sliding his palm under the pillow and using that to prop his head up. Like she’d do that. He smiled to himself, thankful that he’d never have to actually choose to make her uncomfortable, or to destroy her cushy life by even offering to live with him as his wife. She would say no, of course, but this way, he’d never have to make that offer. Every single thing they did was safe as long as they maintained an appropriate distance. He’d go and teach her, content to be only that to her, not caring if this was an idiotic way to exist. Caught up in the tragic romance of youthfulness, Isaiah was sure that these things would be enough to last him forever.
---
Despite assurances to himself that this was nothing abnormal, Isaiah had taken as much or more care in bathing and dressing than he had on market day. He chose a white under robe and put on a red outer robe, both plain with little decoration, but clean. Isaiah was fairly sure that his clothing wouldn’t impress Hypatia, but he didn’t think too much on that score. It was freeing, in a way, to know that whatever he did didn’t matter. It let him leave the house with no trouble, sailing past his mother and sister in law, who were the only ones home, with nary a guilty conscience. He’d managed to get around telling anyone his actual business today. Lying was something he was loathe to do and had only narrowly avoided it several times by simply being terribly vague. Providence had been on his side during these times, saving him from answering because he’d managed to redirect the conversation to more important or, in two cases, toward a topic he knew would create an argument - thus saving himself.
He walked through the city streets, humming a tune he’d heard in Temple a thousand times over, pleased with everything around him. At first. The view of the buildings, the faces of the people he passed, all seemed lovely and friendly to him. Though, the closer he came to the ‘Greek’ part of the city, the less he felt that way. Most of the pale people he passed didn’t even look at him, and if they did, he was only the mildest of curiosities. No need to stare. But he noticed that most people were carrying something, whilst he walked over the stone streets with nothing in his hands. No offering of any kind. Should he have brought something? If he was to be her teacher, so really, she should give something to him, but he was suddenly struck by the thought that, no, Hypatia would expect a gift, or at least a small token.
“Uhh,” he said under his breath, stopping dead in the street. An impatient grunt, followed by a man throwing him a rude gesture made Isaiah think better of standing stock still. He walked at a much slower pace, trying to remember if there were any stalls around here and thinking, no. There weren’t. Nor did he have time to take the half hour walk from here to the market, peruse, and then haggle for a small gift Hypatia might not even like anyway.
He chewed the inside of his lower lip, staring in the direction of the market, when he heard the most welcome voice in the entire world in that moment - ”Flowers!” Whirling about, eyes searching, he finally found the source. A girl who couldn’t be much older than twelve stood with her younger brother, attempting to sell what were clearly wild flowers plucked that morning. Precious water kept the flowers fresh and they floated in the wooden box that the boy squatted next to. Perhaps these weren’t the fine sort that Hypatia was used to, but they were here, and what he could afford.
A handful took only a single coin and he was off again, water seeping from between his fingers as he clutched the flowers. All was right with the world again, now that he had something to offer. Commander Alexios’s house came into view and Isaiah strode toward it, not thinking about how he had no teaching experience, really nothing to truly offer this woman except a few wildflowers he’d just bought, and knocked on the main door, rather than the servant’s door.
He stood for what felt like seconds, much less time than he ever stood at the servant’s door, anyway, and squared his shoulders the second someone opened the door. Having the presence of mind to hid the flowers behind his back, he presented himself with a nod, mentioning he was here to instruct Hypatia, and breathed a sigh of relief when he was admitted into the house. Isaiah did not look around as they swept through the corridors because all of this was familiar - until they left the main area and took hallways he’d never been in. The way to Hypatia’s room was simple enough and before too many minutes had passed, he found himself announced and then left in the doorway of her room.
She was as pretty as she’d been in the market, still made up in her foreign way, but he wouldn’t have changed her for anything in that moment. Swallowing hard, he thought he’d have to force a smile but realized, belatedly, that he was already smiling like a besotted imbecile, and only managed to float into the room, rather than walk. “Good morning,” he greeted in Hebrew, thinking after a second or two that he should probably just keep talking but now stuck for what to say.
“Here,” his arm shot out and he held the still dripping flowers level with her chest. In the few seconds, where his arm hung suspended and he had a moment or two of clarity, he mentally kicked himself. Why, why, why when he was around this woman was he rendered immediately stupid? Couldn’t he have the same normal behavior of other people? Or was he overthinking it? Did he actually appear as idiotic as he felt? There was no way to know.
Once Hypatia took the flowers, Isaiah cleared his throat and tried not to think about the fact that they had now reached the very end of his real contribution to this entire afternoon. He was capable of handing her flowers, but actually teaching her Hebrew? That remained to be seen. It had been a grand plan at the time but the want and will to teach were entirely different from the knowledge and knowhow.
He glanced around the room, noting the tablets and styluses and papyrus. Hmm. She’d had that little paper with her, translating what she wanted to say to him in the market, and while he wanted her to be able to do that again, the problem was he didn’t understand enough Greek to be able to make that happen. If he did, the notes would be meaningless and they could just converse with each other in a common tongue. Isaiah looked toward the fruit on the table, with the dried meats beside it. The jug of wine behind these two plates made the whole thing picturesque and added more to the feeling that he was an imposter than anything else had. These things were for guests to set them at ease. He didn’t feel much like a guest; he felt like he wouldn’t be overly helpful and had come here under false pretenses...which he sort of had.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he edged toward the table, swallowing hard again. It was he who’d been the one to offer this service in the first place. He’d walked all the way across town for this, he’d bought her flowers. There was no reason he couldn’t keep pretending his way through this until she either called him on what he clearly was unqualified to teach, or, she didn’t know better and let him keep going. Or, he thought, as ever an optimist, maybe he did have some teaching ability? Maybe they would start this and he’d end up being an amazing teacher. Though, as he looked over at her, that thought faded rather quickly.
“Sit,” he instructed, waving his arm towards a chair, a smile on his face as he did it, bowing his head to her in a respectful nod. “Please,” he added. “You’ve got quite a few things here,” he said, attempting to keep up a lyrical conversation. On his way in, he’d noticed that there were definitely judean servants here and they would know everything he said to her. Not that he would have said anything untoward, but it did make him a little more conscientious of his speech than he usually tended to be.
To buy himself time, he pushed a tablet toward her and took one for himself, making sure to keep his fingers free of the soft clay. Everything could be erased in a tablet, of course, but it was a pain. More than that, he didn’t want to seem like he didn’t know what he was doing. Clearing his throat for a second time within five minutes, he licked his bottom lip and then said, “What did your other tutor go over with you? Fruit?” he gestured to the bowl and picked up one of the pieces at random. “Date,” he said, placing it on the table. “Fig,” he plucked out another, and then took out an apple, repeating its name. This was rudimentary, and about all he knew to do at this point. Yes. This would go wonderfully and would not fail. He hoped.
Whilst Isaiah worried that his appearance, behaviour and mannerisms might suggest a lack of intelligence on his part when in the company of young Hypatia, such a concern was void and null. For she never noticed any such thing.
Though his internal thoughts might have been less than stellar by his own reckoning, Isaiah held a sense of calm about him; a manner in which his limbs, expressions and reactions were only spurred by great happenstance - their general countenance one of peaceful consideration. It was this mask of dignity only that Hypatia seemed able to see. And it caused her to wonder on more than one occasion since their last meeting, how the young man before her could appear at once so very calm - as her mother had always insisted she should emulate - and yet perfectly natural at the same time. Lessons in frosty etiquette - to organised one's features into such a settled expression of quiet seemed only to yield expressions of falsehood as far as Hypatia was concerned. You had to wear a mask in order to conceal the emotions beneath. Yet, Isaiah appeared to be able to simply keep his emotions in check without the need for a mask at all, permitting his natural personality to shine through whenever it was summoned.
It was this soft and genuine nature that made Hypatia feel perhaps more safe and secure with the man than she should or might with another of his sex so soon after their first meeting.
Yet, regardless of the reason, it was there: a sense of contentedness in his company that would be neither denied nor distrusted.
When Isaiah entered the room, Hypatia felt her chest tighten with excitement at his advent and her spine shift to appear as appropriate in posture and grace as she had always been taught when in company, as she murmured a repetition of his greeting back to him in his own language. Whilst she was certain, where she asked, that Europa's determination of 'company' could hardly include the Jew that now attended her, Hypatia had never seemed to hold either the inclination or the intelligence to differential in her lessons between likeability in respectability. If she liked someone, instant lessons of respect and courtesy transfused into her muscles and had her behaving as she had been taught. A dislike to an individual rendered it harder to behave with such polite decorum, despite all lessons to the contrary.
And she so very much liked Isaiah.
Whether it was the manner in which he watched her or the gentle pace of his step, the way in which he was taller than her and yet never seemed to loom... perhaps it was the manner in which his hair appeared to have a life of its own regardless of how often he pushed it back from his face... or the pretty hue of his skin or that smile that he occasionally let loose to potent effects upon her breathing... Whatever the reason... she liked him very much.
So, when he stepped forward in order to offer her in a rustic and rudimentary manner a set of flowers that his fingers claimed the stems of, Hypatia felt her face break into a similar smile - one that was not hindered by polite society nor corralled in order to meet with expectations of feminine demurity. Instead, she simply smiled with an openness of genuine joy at the gift.
Reaching out, Hypatia took the gift, not realising that each bloom was individual - for purchased bouquets were so often sold with some form of string to unite them together. Immediately, the flowers divided, falling in their own directions and Hypatia reached up quickly with her other hand in order to steady them before they could separate in a manner that went beyond rescue and were sent tumbling to the ground. In securing the blossoms, Isaiah's hand became trapped momentarily between her own and Hypatia felt the warmth of the sun from his journey, coupled with the cool trickle of water slipping from his skin to hers.
For reasons entirely unknown to her, Hypatia's cheeks immediately flooded with colour, her smile slipped from her face in a gasp and her heartbeat sped up into her throat. Quickly, she brought to flowers to herself, breaking the connection and sending droplets of water across the bodice of her gown.
Seeming to ignore the specks of darkened fabric, Hypatia appeared more concerned with raising the flowers to her nose and breathing in their scent. Her smile immediately returned with their delicate perfume and bright colours - for they were so very pretty and exotic looking - and her light eyes looked up to meet the dark and soulful gaze of the man who had gifted her such beauty.
"Thank you." She spoke, in a soft and sweetly melodic tone of Hebrew, the repeated phrase becoming more natural now upon her lips.
Allowing Isaiah a moment to collect himself and assess the room for the study materials that she had insisted be brought to the solar room, Hypatia turned from her companion in order to seek out a container for the flowers.
Spotting a little sculpture in the corner of the room - some strange work of art that was clearly a preference for her mother's host - Hypatia walked quickly over to secure the piece in her hands and assess it. It was tall, thin and appeared like a sort of portrayal for a musical instrument - like a horn of some kind. Seeing no relevance to the piece and surely no possible damage for simply water, Hypatia took the item across to the low table that sat amongst the chaise and cushions of their teaching area and pictured up the water jug from where it had sat indistinct beside its wine-filled brother. Hypatia poured some of the water specified for their drinking into the art piece and then settled it carefully on the table, popping the floors in its open spout at the top. Smiling as she spread the blooms so that each could feel the sunlight from the windows, Hypatia was careful not to damage their petals before she then looked up to obey the instructions of her new tutor.
Obeying his instructions, Hypatia moved to descend to one of the chaise lounges and in a spread of pink silks, she was settled quickly, reaching forward to take up the tablet and stylus that was pushed towards her. She held each with an elegant sort of gentleness - as if they were both spun from glass.
When Isaiah began to question her past lessons and reach forward to select each item from the fruit bowl, Hypatia's look of quite contentment was replaced with an expression of concentration. Her eyes watched his fingers as he selected piece after piece, detailing their name in a way that was with emphasis and clear enunciation. After a few, Hypatia took over...
'Date, fig, apple...' He began.
"Grapes, pear, plum, avocado..." She finished, remembering her lessons from before. As he spoke the words, Hypatia then dropped her gaze to the tablet in her hands and set to work, carefully and with infinite slowness so as to preserve the accurate depiction of lettering, producing the names of the fruit in written Hebrew.
After the fruit, they moved onto the colours of said fruit, again repeating lessons she had taken before and yet encouraging her to use her memory, summon her recall of the ways in which such words were formed in ink and testing how much of the vocabulary had stuck after her previous tutorship.
When they were done with fruit and colours, numbers came next but Hypatia proved herself to be quick with those as they were perhaps her first lesson in Hebrew. Then came the formation of sentences - 'I have three green apples' and such.... putting the words together into useful lessons of syntax if not truly useful phrases.
As the lesson went on, Hypatia instinctively changed her behaviour. When before she was laid in decadent elegance over the chaise, her side against its arm and her tablet carefully balanced upon it, the prolonged tutoring left her falling into more natural and comfortable postures that were less to do with her training in social dignity and more to do with her level of concentration when it came to Isaiah's teachings.
By the time the second hour had come around to its conclusions, Hypatia was now seated cross-legged in a most unlady-like fashion, her skirts draped over her knees and feel in a cloud of pink gossamer shine and her tablet sitting in her lap. Her shoulders were drawn in, along with her brows, as she bent over her work with a studiousness that she had not often possessed before. She had no knowledge at all of the fact that the tip of her tongue was held firm between her turned in lips and that a little groove had formed above the bridge of her nose.
It was perhaps not unsurprising that Hypatia - a young girl famous for her lack of application and day-dreaming ways when it came to lessons of any kind - was far more determined to actually learn when the value of such lessons sat immediately before her. For, if she could master Hebrew, she might be able to actually speak with Isaiah in a manner befitting both of their intellects. It was a constant reminder of the worthy of her attempts and worked well at keeping her focused on the task at hand.
Yet, even curiosity and reminders of reward could not turn an unstudious mind into that of a scholar in one sitting. Sooner than she would wish, Hypatia's eyes started to hurt with the focus and her hands hurt with the awkward position in which she held the stylus in order to write so unfamiliar letters. There was a smudge of clay upon her cheek and another on her forehead at her hair line, covered only slightly by the curl that was partially stuck to it. Her fingers were dusty with clay and there was a strain settling in between her shoulders.
With the raising of her hand and a single word in Greek - "Enough." - she gave in to her body's demands for respite and set aside her tablet, taking up a linen cloth to wipe at her fingers and then resettling herself into a more delicate position.
Reaching out to take up one of the silver plates of snacks, she offered it out to her tutor who - from her perspective - had been patience itself as she had worked slowly through the words and sentences that they had created together.
"No more writing." Hypatia stated with a soft smile and an awkward feeling that came with the admittance of surrender. "We talk, please." For she knew that practicing the language and the intricacies of how such learned vocabulary could then be utilised by the tongue and lips was just as important as the building of word knowledge.
"Talk me about you." She said in what she hoped was accurate Hebrew. "You have mother? Father? Brothers, sisters?" When the plate she held was no longer needed, Hypatia moved to pour drinks aware that - as the woman and he the man, despite all ranks, it was deemed appropriate that she serve him a cup of refreshment. In doing so, she tried to push aside the nagging criticism in the form of her mother’s voice that assured her that she should have offered the man some form of replenishment long ago – especially has he had spent just as much of her study time talking as she had. And her throat was surely parched with the effort. Feeling her cheeks heat once more at the remiss of her manners, Hypatia hoped that Isaiah might not notice or hold to different social traditions that would allow her faux pas to slip by unnoticed. Instead, she was careful in her pouring of him some wine and then moved to hold the cup out to him, having no understanding that Judeans rarely drank alcohol.
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Posted In With Feeling on Feb 16, 2020 21:05:22 GMT
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Whilst Isaiah worried that his appearance, behaviour and mannerisms might suggest a lack of intelligence on his part when in the company of young Hypatia, such a concern was void and null. For she never noticed any such thing.
Though his internal thoughts might have been less than stellar by his own reckoning, Isaiah held a sense of calm about him; a manner in which his limbs, expressions and reactions were only spurred by great happenstance - their general countenance one of peaceful consideration. It was this mask of dignity only that Hypatia seemed able to see. And it caused her to wonder on more than one occasion since their last meeting, how the young man before her could appear at once so very calm - as her mother had always insisted she should emulate - and yet perfectly natural at the same time. Lessons in frosty etiquette - to organised one's features into such a settled expression of quiet seemed only to yield expressions of falsehood as far as Hypatia was concerned. You had to wear a mask in order to conceal the emotions beneath. Yet, Isaiah appeared to be able to simply keep his emotions in check without the need for a mask at all, permitting his natural personality to shine through whenever it was summoned.
It was this soft and genuine nature that made Hypatia feel perhaps more safe and secure with the man than she should or might with another of his sex so soon after their first meeting.
Yet, regardless of the reason, it was there: a sense of contentedness in his company that would be neither denied nor distrusted.
When Isaiah entered the room, Hypatia felt her chest tighten with excitement at his advent and her spine shift to appear as appropriate in posture and grace as she had always been taught when in company, as she murmured a repetition of his greeting back to him in his own language. Whilst she was certain, where she asked, that Europa's determination of 'company' could hardly include the Jew that now attended her, Hypatia had never seemed to hold either the inclination or the intelligence to differential in her lessons between likeability in respectability. If she liked someone, instant lessons of respect and courtesy transfused into her muscles and had her behaving as she had been taught. A dislike to an individual rendered it harder to behave with such polite decorum, despite all lessons to the contrary.
And she so very much liked Isaiah.
Whether it was the manner in which he watched her or the gentle pace of his step, the way in which he was taller than her and yet never seemed to loom... perhaps it was the manner in which his hair appeared to have a life of its own regardless of how often he pushed it back from his face... or the pretty hue of his skin or that smile that he occasionally let loose to potent effects upon her breathing... Whatever the reason... she liked him very much.
So, when he stepped forward in order to offer her in a rustic and rudimentary manner a set of flowers that his fingers claimed the stems of, Hypatia felt her face break into a similar smile - one that was not hindered by polite society nor corralled in order to meet with expectations of feminine demurity. Instead, she simply smiled with an openness of genuine joy at the gift.
Reaching out, Hypatia took the gift, not realising that each bloom was individual - for purchased bouquets were so often sold with some form of string to unite them together. Immediately, the flowers divided, falling in their own directions and Hypatia reached up quickly with her other hand in order to steady them before they could separate in a manner that went beyond rescue and were sent tumbling to the ground. In securing the blossoms, Isaiah's hand became trapped momentarily between her own and Hypatia felt the warmth of the sun from his journey, coupled with the cool trickle of water slipping from his skin to hers.
For reasons entirely unknown to her, Hypatia's cheeks immediately flooded with colour, her smile slipped from her face in a gasp and her heartbeat sped up into her throat. Quickly, she brought to flowers to herself, breaking the connection and sending droplets of water across the bodice of her gown.
Seeming to ignore the specks of darkened fabric, Hypatia appeared more concerned with raising the flowers to her nose and breathing in their scent. Her smile immediately returned with their delicate perfume and bright colours - for they were so very pretty and exotic looking - and her light eyes looked up to meet the dark and soulful gaze of the man who had gifted her such beauty.
"Thank you." She spoke, in a soft and sweetly melodic tone of Hebrew, the repeated phrase becoming more natural now upon her lips.
Allowing Isaiah a moment to collect himself and assess the room for the study materials that she had insisted be brought to the solar room, Hypatia turned from her companion in order to seek out a container for the flowers.
Spotting a little sculpture in the corner of the room - some strange work of art that was clearly a preference for her mother's host - Hypatia walked quickly over to secure the piece in her hands and assess it. It was tall, thin and appeared like a sort of portrayal for a musical instrument - like a horn of some kind. Seeing no relevance to the piece and surely no possible damage for simply water, Hypatia took the item across to the low table that sat amongst the chaise and cushions of their teaching area and pictured up the water jug from where it had sat indistinct beside its wine-filled brother. Hypatia poured some of the water specified for their drinking into the art piece and then settled it carefully on the table, popping the floors in its open spout at the top. Smiling as she spread the blooms so that each could feel the sunlight from the windows, Hypatia was careful not to damage their petals before she then looked up to obey the instructions of her new tutor.
Obeying his instructions, Hypatia moved to descend to one of the chaise lounges and in a spread of pink silks, she was settled quickly, reaching forward to take up the tablet and stylus that was pushed towards her. She held each with an elegant sort of gentleness - as if they were both spun from glass.
When Isaiah began to question her past lessons and reach forward to select each item from the fruit bowl, Hypatia's look of quite contentment was replaced with an expression of concentration. Her eyes watched his fingers as he selected piece after piece, detailing their name in a way that was with emphasis and clear enunciation. After a few, Hypatia took over...
'Date, fig, apple...' He began.
"Grapes, pear, plum, avocado..." She finished, remembering her lessons from before. As he spoke the words, Hypatia then dropped her gaze to the tablet in her hands and set to work, carefully and with infinite slowness so as to preserve the accurate depiction of lettering, producing the names of the fruit in written Hebrew.
After the fruit, they moved onto the colours of said fruit, again repeating lessons she had taken before and yet encouraging her to use her memory, summon her recall of the ways in which such words were formed in ink and testing how much of the vocabulary had stuck after her previous tutorship.
When they were done with fruit and colours, numbers came next but Hypatia proved herself to be quick with those as they were perhaps her first lesson in Hebrew. Then came the formation of sentences - 'I have three green apples' and such.... putting the words together into useful lessons of syntax if not truly useful phrases.
As the lesson went on, Hypatia instinctively changed her behaviour. When before she was laid in decadent elegance over the chaise, her side against its arm and her tablet carefully balanced upon it, the prolonged tutoring left her falling into more natural and comfortable postures that were less to do with her training in social dignity and more to do with her level of concentration when it came to Isaiah's teachings.
By the time the second hour had come around to its conclusions, Hypatia was now seated cross-legged in a most unlady-like fashion, her skirts draped over her knees and feel in a cloud of pink gossamer shine and her tablet sitting in her lap. Her shoulders were drawn in, along with her brows, as she bent over her work with a studiousness that she had not often possessed before. She had no knowledge at all of the fact that the tip of her tongue was held firm between her turned in lips and that a little groove had formed above the bridge of her nose.
It was perhaps not unsurprising that Hypatia - a young girl famous for her lack of application and day-dreaming ways when it came to lessons of any kind - was far more determined to actually learn when the value of such lessons sat immediately before her. For, if she could master Hebrew, she might be able to actually speak with Isaiah in a manner befitting both of their intellects. It was a constant reminder of the worthy of her attempts and worked well at keeping her focused on the task at hand.
Yet, even curiosity and reminders of reward could not turn an unstudious mind into that of a scholar in one sitting. Sooner than she would wish, Hypatia's eyes started to hurt with the focus and her hands hurt with the awkward position in which she held the stylus in order to write so unfamiliar letters. There was a smudge of clay upon her cheek and another on her forehead at her hair line, covered only slightly by the curl that was partially stuck to it. Her fingers were dusty with clay and there was a strain settling in between her shoulders.
With the raising of her hand and a single word in Greek - "Enough." - she gave in to her body's demands for respite and set aside her tablet, taking up a linen cloth to wipe at her fingers and then resettling herself into a more delicate position.
Reaching out to take up one of the silver plates of snacks, she offered it out to her tutor who - from her perspective - had been patience itself as she had worked slowly through the words and sentences that they had created together.
"No more writing." Hypatia stated with a soft smile and an awkward feeling that came with the admittance of surrender. "We talk, please." For she knew that practicing the language and the intricacies of how such learned vocabulary could then be utilised by the tongue and lips was just as important as the building of word knowledge.
"Talk me about you." She said in what she hoped was accurate Hebrew. "You have mother? Father? Brothers, sisters?" When the plate she held was no longer needed, Hypatia moved to pour drinks aware that - as the woman and he the man, despite all ranks, it was deemed appropriate that she serve him a cup of refreshment. In doing so, she tried to push aside the nagging criticism in the form of her mother’s voice that assured her that she should have offered the man some form of replenishment long ago – especially has he had spent just as much of her study time talking as she had. And her throat was surely parched with the effort. Feeling her cheeks heat once more at the remiss of her manners, Hypatia hoped that Isaiah might not notice or hold to different social traditions that would allow her faux pas to slip by unnoticed. Instead, she was careful in her pouring of him some wine and then moved to hold the cup out to him, having no understanding that Judeans rarely drank alcohol.
Whilst Isaiah worried that his appearance, behaviour and mannerisms might suggest a lack of intelligence on his part when in the company of young Hypatia, such a concern was void and null. For she never noticed any such thing.
Though his internal thoughts might have been less than stellar by his own reckoning, Isaiah held a sense of calm about him; a manner in which his limbs, expressions and reactions were only spurred by great happenstance - their general countenance one of peaceful consideration. It was this mask of dignity only that Hypatia seemed able to see. And it caused her to wonder on more than one occasion since their last meeting, how the young man before her could appear at once so very calm - as her mother had always insisted she should emulate - and yet perfectly natural at the same time. Lessons in frosty etiquette - to organised one's features into such a settled expression of quiet seemed only to yield expressions of falsehood as far as Hypatia was concerned. You had to wear a mask in order to conceal the emotions beneath. Yet, Isaiah appeared to be able to simply keep his emotions in check without the need for a mask at all, permitting his natural personality to shine through whenever it was summoned.
It was this soft and genuine nature that made Hypatia feel perhaps more safe and secure with the man than she should or might with another of his sex so soon after their first meeting.
Yet, regardless of the reason, it was there: a sense of contentedness in his company that would be neither denied nor distrusted.
When Isaiah entered the room, Hypatia felt her chest tighten with excitement at his advent and her spine shift to appear as appropriate in posture and grace as she had always been taught when in company, as she murmured a repetition of his greeting back to him in his own language. Whilst she was certain, where she asked, that Europa's determination of 'company' could hardly include the Jew that now attended her, Hypatia had never seemed to hold either the inclination or the intelligence to differential in her lessons between likeability in respectability. If she liked someone, instant lessons of respect and courtesy transfused into her muscles and had her behaving as she had been taught. A dislike to an individual rendered it harder to behave with such polite decorum, despite all lessons to the contrary.
And she so very much liked Isaiah.
Whether it was the manner in which he watched her or the gentle pace of his step, the way in which he was taller than her and yet never seemed to loom... perhaps it was the manner in which his hair appeared to have a life of its own regardless of how often he pushed it back from his face... or the pretty hue of his skin or that smile that he occasionally let loose to potent effects upon her breathing... Whatever the reason... she liked him very much.
So, when he stepped forward in order to offer her in a rustic and rudimentary manner a set of flowers that his fingers claimed the stems of, Hypatia felt her face break into a similar smile - one that was not hindered by polite society nor corralled in order to meet with expectations of feminine demurity. Instead, she simply smiled with an openness of genuine joy at the gift.
Reaching out, Hypatia took the gift, not realising that each bloom was individual - for purchased bouquets were so often sold with some form of string to unite them together. Immediately, the flowers divided, falling in their own directions and Hypatia reached up quickly with her other hand in order to steady them before they could separate in a manner that went beyond rescue and were sent tumbling to the ground. In securing the blossoms, Isaiah's hand became trapped momentarily between her own and Hypatia felt the warmth of the sun from his journey, coupled with the cool trickle of water slipping from his skin to hers.
For reasons entirely unknown to her, Hypatia's cheeks immediately flooded with colour, her smile slipped from her face in a gasp and her heartbeat sped up into her throat. Quickly, she brought to flowers to herself, breaking the connection and sending droplets of water across the bodice of her gown.
Seeming to ignore the specks of darkened fabric, Hypatia appeared more concerned with raising the flowers to her nose and breathing in their scent. Her smile immediately returned with their delicate perfume and bright colours - for they were so very pretty and exotic looking - and her light eyes looked up to meet the dark and soulful gaze of the man who had gifted her such beauty.
"Thank you." She spoke, in a soft and sweetly melodic tone of Hebrew, the repeated phrase becoming more natural now upon her lips.
Allowing Isaiah a moment to collect himself and assess the room for the study materials that she had insisted be brought to the solar room, Hypatia turned from her companion in order to seek out a container for the flowers.
Spotting a little sculpture in the corner of the room - some strange work of art that was clearly a preference for her mother's host - Hypatia walked quickly over to secure the piece in her hands and assess it. It was tall, thin and appeared like a sort of portrayal for a musical instrument - like a horn of some kind. Seeing no relevance to the piece and surely no possible damage for simply water, Hypatia took the item across to the low table that sat amongst the chaise and cushions of their teaching area and pictured up the water jug from where it had sat indistinct beside its wine-filled brother. Hypatia poured some of the water specified for their drinking into the art piece and then settled it carefully on the table, popping the floors in its open spout at the top. Smiling as she spread the blooms so that each could feel the sunlight from the windows, Hypatia was careful not to damage their petals before she then looked up to obey the instructions of her new tutor.
Obeying his instructions, Hypatia moved to descend to one of the chaise lounges and in a spread of pink silks, she was settled quickly, reaching forward to take up the tablet and stylus that was pushed towards her. She held each with an elegant sort of gentleness - as if they were both spun from glass.
When Isaiah began to question her past lessons and reach forward to select each item from the fruit bowl, Hypatia's look of quite contentment was replaced with an expression of concentration. Her eyes watched his fingers as he selected piece after piece, detailing their name in a way that was with emphasis and clear enunciation. After a few, Hypatia took over...
'Date, fig, apple...' He began.
"Grapes, pear, plum, avocado..." She finished, remembering her lessons from before. As he spoke the words, Hypatia then dropped her gaze to the tablet in her hands and set to work, carefully and with infinite slowness so as to preserve the accurate depiction of lettering, producing the names of the fruit in written Hebrew.
After the fruit, they moved onto the colours of said fruit, again repeating lessons she had taken before and yet encouraging her to use her memory, summon her recall of the ways in which such words were formed in ink and testing how much of the vocabulary had stuck after her previous tutorship.
When they were done with fruit and colours, numbers came next but Hypatia proved herself to be quick with those as they were perhaps her first lesson in Hebrew. Then came the formation of sentences - 'I have three green apples' and such.... putting the words together into useful lessons of syntax if not truly useful phrases.
As the lesson went on, Hypatia instinctively changed her behaviour. When before she was laid in decadent elegance over the chaise, her side against its arm and her tablet carefully balanced upon it, the prolonged tutoring left her falling into more natural and comfortable postures that were less to do with her training in social dignity and more to do with her level of concentration when it came to Isaiah's teachings.
By the time the second hour had come around to its conclusions, Hypatia was now seated cross-legged in a most unlady-like fashion, her skirts draped over her knees and feel in a cloud of pink gossamer shine and her tablet sitting in her lap. Her shoulders were drawn in, along with her brows, as she bent over her work with a studiousness that she had not often possessed before. She had no knowledge at all of the fact that the tip of her tongue was held firm between her turned in lips and that a little groove had formed above the bridge of her nose.
It was perhaps not unsurprising that Hypatia - a young girl famous for her lack of application and day-dreaming ways when it came to lessons of any kind - was far more determined to actually learn when the value of such lessons sat immediately before her. For, if she could master Hebrew, she might be able to actually speak with Isaiah in a manner befitting both of their intellects. It was a constant reminder of the worthy of her attempts and worked well at keeping her focused on the task at hand.
Yet, even curiosity and reminders of reward could not turn an unstudious mind into that of a scholar in one sitting. Sooner than she would wish, Hypatia's eyes started to hurt with the focus and her hands hurt with the awkward position in which she held the stylus in order to write so unfamiliar letters. There was a smudge of clay upon her cheek and another on her forehead at her hair line, covered only slightly by the curl that was partially stuck to it. Her fingers were dusty with clay and there was a strain settling in between her shoulders.
With the raising of her hand and a single word in Greek - "Enough." - she gave in to her body's demands for respite and set aside her tablet, taking up a linen cloth to wipe at her fingers and then resettling herself into a more delicate position.
Reaching out to take up one of the silver plates of snacks, she offered it out to her tutor who - from her perspective - had been patience itself as she had worked slowly through the words and sentences that they had created together.
"No more writing." Hypatia stated with a soft smile and an awkward feeling that came with the admittance of surrender. "We talk, please." For she knew that practicing the language and the intricacies of how such learned vocabulary could then be utilised by the tongue and lips was just as important as the building of word knowledge.
"Talk me about you." She said in what she hoped was accurate Hebrew. "You have mother? Father? Brothers, sisters?" When the plate she held was no longer needed, Hypatia moved to pour drinks aware that - as the woman and he the man, despite all ranks, it was deemed appropriate that she serve him a cup of refreshment. In doing so, she tried to push aside the nagging criticism in the form of her mother’s voice that assured her that she should have offered the man some form of replenishment long ago – especially has he had spent just as much of her study time talking as she had. And her throat was surely parched with the effort. Feeling her cheeks heat once more at the remiss of her manners, Hypatia hoped that Isaiah might not notice or hold to different social traditions that would allow her faux pas to slip by unnoticed. Instead, she was careful in her pouring of him some wine and then moved to hold the cup out to him, having no understanding that Judeans rarely drank alcohol.
When speaking with Hypatia the other day, when she’d worn the devastatingly gorgeous grey gown, he’d had only a little trouble concentrating. They’d been in a market full of people and as much as he’d have loved to stare at her, there had been so many other things vying for his attention. Not least of which were the societal requirements to rein in his behavior to not look at her too much or too long. All the varied people brushing past them, the shouting and haggling going on - there were things that he could use to divert his attention and to keep his thoughts relatively pure.
Now? There were no such diversions. He sat in a majestically lovely room, which was so still and undisturbed by the outside world that all of Hypatia’s movements were all the more distracting because of it. She moved about the room with the sort of poise and grace that he assumed came naturally to women of rank. They all, without exception, floated through their lives like lillies on a glassy pond; tranquil and undisturbed. Today, she even wore the soft pink that reminded him of flower petals. Her skirt swished around her legs, giving an enchanting appearance to her figure, falling from her hips in a dreamy cascade of silk, the hem of which hovering just above the floor. When she walked, she gave the impression of walking not on the stone floor, but on clouds, as though she could not be tethered to something so common as earth.
Hypatia had taken the flowers from him so demurely, and was so ardently looking for a vase in which to place them, that he felt he should have brought her some that were better suited to their surroundings. They definitely looked rustic amidst the glamor of this room and positively homely inside the vase. Isaiah chose not to brood too much on the flowers. It was evident enough that Hypatia was not merely being polite. If she was, she’d have simply thanked him and lain them somewhere to be forgotten. Instead, she was taking the time to make sure that they would live a least a few days to be enjoyed. Perhaps they were good enough, then. Or, and this he couldn’t actually imagine to be the case, perhaps she didn’t receive many gifts. Surely she did? Surely there was a line of men at her door, tripping and falling over themselves to be the one upon whom she bestowed the warmest smile.
Isaiah watched her place the vase on the windowsill with great care, and then tried not to stare at her too much as she draped herself on the kline. Her posture and presence were so overtly feminine that he found himself struggling to look somewhere else. There was nothing in this room quite as interesting to look at as her. Once he forced himself to look away, he found the materials needed for study and grasped onto those like a drowning man.
At first, he didn’t think the lesson was going particularly well. She knew most of what he was attempting to teach her and the further they went along, the more of a fraud he felt like. Or, he reasoned, this could be laying groundwork. Going over the same words, refreshing knowledge, making sure the two of them were on the same page. It wasn’t like his Greek was anywhere near her level of Hebrew, and that being said, he couldn’t simply ask her what all she knew. They went over things in a glazing manner, as far as he was concerned. One of the scholars at the temple could do this so much better - but none of the scholars had the same interest in this outcome as he did.
While he didn’t feel like he was an apt teacher, she was definitely an adept student, picking up the language quicker than he’d have assumed she would. In that sense, the lesson went beautifully. To sit and be able to listen to her sounding out the words, hearing more of her voice than he ever had, and with no distractions, no life threatening happenstances? It was perfect. Isaiah leaned an elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand, and watched her, smiling softly, nodding every once in awhile to encourage her to keep going.
As the minutes slipped by, Isaiah found himself more comfortable in her presence, less awed by her than he had been. This was not to say he thought her any less beautiful, but was less paralyzed by it and he slid down in his chair, adopted a more relaxed posture, one arm crossed over his chest, the other elbow resting on his wrist, gesturing along with his words, watching Hypatia sitting cross legged across from him and finding nothing wrong with this. He didn’t bat an eye when she took up the position and thought nothing of it afterward. He’d fallen into speaking in very simple phrases, teaching her whatever came to mind, but most of it had to do with haggling. His thoughts naturally turned towards what he did a majority of the time; sell.
Movement from the kline drew his eye away from the ceiling, where he’d been looking as he searched for more phrases, and found her rubbing her face, brows drawn together, clay on her face, hair somehow a mess, and fatigue etched on her features. With a single raised hand, she stopped him mid-sentence and he sat up straight, hands curled into fists on his thighs, waiting in the sort of pose adopted by those men listening intently, waiting for her to tell him to go.
"No more writing," she said and instead offered him fruit, rather than ordering him out. "We talk, please." He breathed out a sigh of relief and smiled, reaching out for a snack, though he barely tasted it as he ate it. Despite having been here for over two hours, he wasn’t hungry. Not in the slightest and unless she offered him more food, he didn’t get any on his own.
“Yes,” he agreed, hands clasping in his lap as he leaned forward. “What would you like to talk about?”
"Talk me about you."
“Me?” he raised his eyebrows, blinked, and looked above her head, scrambling to think of anything even remotely interesting about himself.
"You have mother?” she prompted. ”Father? Brothers, sisters?"
“Yes,” the word came out in a short, self deprecating laugh. “I have those.” Hypatia moved to pour him drink that he only touched out of politeness, though after the first sip, he did take another, realizing his throat was a bit drier than he’d initially thought. In simple words, he told her that he did indeed have a mother, a father, and a brother. He told her their names, that he had a sister in law who’d just given birth to his nephew. He explained that they all lived in the same house and how his brother would hopefully be getting a house of his own soon, and was quick to add that his brother wasn’t a freeloader, nor a burden on his parents. That was important, lest she think something ill of his family. In that spirit, he left out how much he disliked his sister in law. There was no need to drag that into this conversation, especially because he couldn’t adequately explain the nuances of the dislike and also because he didn’t like spreading gossip that way.
“And you?” he asked. “Tell me about your home.”
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Posted In With Feeling on Mar 3, 2020 20:26:22 GMT
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When speaking with Hypatia the other day, when she’d worn the devastatingly gorgeous grey gown, he’d had only a little trouble concentrating. They’d been in a market full of people and as much as he’d have loved to stare at her, there had been so many other things vying for his attention. Not least of which were the societal requirements to rein in his behavior to not look at her too much or too long. All the varied people brushing past them, the shouting and haggling going on - there were things that he could use to divert his attention and to keep his thoughts relatively pure.
Now? There were no such diversions. He sat in a majestically lovely room, which was so still and undisturbed by the outside world that all of Hypatia’s movements were all the more distracting because of it. She moved about the room with the sort of poise and grace that he assumed came naturally to women of rank. They all, without exception, floated through their lives like lillies on a glassy pond; tranquil and undisturbed. Today, she even wore the soft pink that reminded him of flower petals. Her skirt swished around her legs, giving an enchanting appearance to her figure, falling from her hips in a dreamy cascade of silk, the hem of which hovering just above the floor. When she walked, she gave the impression of walking not on the stone floor, but on clouds, as though she could not be tethered to something so common as earth.
Hypatia had taken the flowers from him so demurely, and was so ardently looking for a vase in which to place them, that he felt he should have brought her some that were better suited to their surroundings. They definitely looked rustic amidst the glamor of this room and positively homely inside the vase. Isaiah chose not to brood too much on the flowers. It was evident enough that Hypatia was not merely being polite. If she was, she’d have simply thanked him and lain them somewhere to be forgotten. Instead, she was taking the time to make sure that they would live a least a few days to be enjoyed. Perhaps they were good enough, then. Or, and this he couldn’t actually imagine to be the case, perhaps she didn’t receive many gifts. Surely she did? Surely there was a line of men at her door, tripping and falling over themselves to be the one upon whom she bestowed the warmest smile.
Isaiah watched her place the vase on the windowsill with great care, and then tried not to stare at her too much as she draped herself on the kline. Her posture and presence were so overtly feminine that he found himself struggling to look somewhere else. There was nothing in this room quite as interesting to look at as her. Once he forced himself to look away, he found the materials needed for study and grasped onto those like a drowning man.
At first, he didn’t think the lesson was going particularly well. She knew most of what he was attempting to teach her and the further they went along, the more of a fraud he felt like. Or, he reasoned, this could be laying groundwork. Going over the same words, refreshing knowledge, making sure the two of them were on the same page. It wasn’t like his Greek was anywhere near her level of Hebrew, and that being said, he couldn’t simply ask her what all she knew. They went over things in a glazing manner, as far as he was concerned. One of the scholars at the temple could do this so much better - but none of the scholars had the same interest in this outcome as he did.
While he didn’t feel like he was an apt teacher, she was definitely an adept student, picking up the language quicker than he’d have assumed she would. In that sense, the lesson went beautifully. To sit and be able to listen to her sounding out the words, hearing more of her voice than he ever had, and with no distractions, no life threatening happenstances? It was perfect. Isaiah leaned an elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand, and watched her, smiling softly, nodding every once in awhile to encourage her to keep going.
As the minutes slipped by, Isaiah found himself more comfortable in her presence, less awed by her than he had been. This was not to say he thought her any less beautiful, but was less paralyzed by it and he slid down in his chair, adopted a more relaxed posture, one arm crossed over his chest, the other elbow resting on his wrist, gesturing along with his words, watching Hypatia sitting cross legged across from him and finding nothing wrong with this. He didn’t bat an eye when she took up the position and thought nothing of it afterward. He’d fallen into speaking in very simple phrases, teaching her whatever came to mind, but most of it had to do with haggling. His thoughts naturally turned towards what he did a majority of the time; sell.
Movement from the kline drew his eye away from the ceiling, where he’d been looking as he searched for more phrases, and found her rubbing her face, brows drawn together, clay on her face, hair somehow a mess, and fatigue etched on her features. With a single raised hand, she stopped him mid-sentence and he sat up straight, hands curled into fists on his thighs, waiting in the sort of pose adopted by those men listening intently, waiting for her to tell him to go.
"No more writing," she said and instead offered him fruit, rather than ordering him out. "We talk, please." He breathed out a sigh of relief and smiled, reaching out for a snack, though he barely tasted it as he ate it. Despite having been here for over two hours, he wasn’t hungry. Not in the slightest and unless she offered him more food, he didn’t get any on his own.
“Yes,” he agreed, hands clasping in his lap as he leaned forward. “What would you like to talk about?”
"Talk me about you."
“Me?” he raised his eyebrows, blinked, and looked above her head, scrambling to think of anything even remotely interesting about himself.
"You have mother?” she prompted. ”Father? Brothers, sisters?"
“Yes,” the word came out in a short, self deprecating laugh. “I have those.” Hypatia moved to pour him drink that he only touched out of politeness, though after the first sip, he did take another, realizing his throat was a bit drier than he’d initially thought. In simple words, he told her that he did indeed have a mother, a father, and a brother. He told her their names, that he had a sister in law who’d just given birth to his nephew. He explained that they all lived in the same house and how his brother would hopefully be getting a house of his own soon, and was quick to add that his brother wasn’t a freeloader, nor a burden on his parents. That was important, lest she think something ill of his family. In that spirit, he left out how much he disliked his sister in law. There was no need to drag that into this conversation, especially because he couldn’t adequately explain the nuances of the dislike and also because he didn’t like spreading gossip that way.
“And you?” he asked. “Tell me about your home.”
When speaking with Hypatia the other day, when she’d worn the devastatingly gorgeous grey gown, he’d had only a little trouble concentrating. They’d been in a market full of people and as much as he’d have loved to stare at her, there had been so many other things vying for his attention. Not least of which were the societal requirements to rein in his behavior to not look at her too much or too long. All the varied people brushing past them, the shouting and haggling going on - there were things that he could use to divert his attention and to keep his thoughts relatively pure.
Now? There were no such diversions. He sat in a majestically lovely room, which was so still and undisturbed by the outside world that all of Hypatia’s movements were all the more distracting because of it. She moved about the room with the sort of poise and grace that he assumed came naturally to women of rank. They all, without exception, floated through their lives like lillies on a glassy pond; tranquil and undisturbed. Today, she even wore the soft pink that reminded him of flower petals. Her skirt swished around her legs, giving an enchanting appearance to her figure, falling from her hips in a dreamy cascade of silk, the hem of which hovering just above the floor. When she walked, she gave the impression of walking not on the stone floor, but on clouds, as though she could not be tethered to something so common as earth.
Hypatia had taken the flowers from him so demurely, and was so ardently looking for a vase in which to place them, that he felt he should have brought her some that were better suited to their surroundings. They definitely looked rustic amidst the glamor of this room and positively homely inside the vase. Isaiah chose not to brood too much on the flowers. It was evident enough that Hypatia was not merely being polite. If she was, she’d have simply thanked him and lain them somewhere to be forgotten. Instead, she was taking the time to make sure that they would live a least a few days to be enjoyed. Perhaps they were good enough, then. Or, and this he couldn’t actually imagine to be the case, perhaps she didn’t receive many gifts. Surely she did? Surely there was a line of men at her door, tripping and falling over themselves to be the one upon whom she bestowed the warmest smile.
Isaiah watched her place the vase on the windowsill with great care, and then tried not to stare at her too much as she draped herself on the kline. Her posture and presence were so overtly feminine that he found himself struggling to look somewhere else. There was nothing in this room quite as interesting to look at as her. Once he forced himself to look away, he found the materials needed for study and grasped onto those like a drowning man.
At first, he didn’t think the lesson was going particularly well. She knew most of what he was attempting to teach her and the further they went along, the more of a fraud he felt like. Or, he reasoned, this could be laying groundwork. Going over the same words, refreshing knowledge, making sure the two of them were on the same page. It wasn’t like his Greek was anywhere near her level of Hebrew, and that being said, he couldn’t simply ask her what all she knew. They went over things in a glazing manner, as far as he was concerned. One of the scholars at the temple could do this so much better - but none of the scholars had the same interest in this outcome as he did.
While he didn’t feel like he was an apt teacher, she was definitely an adept student, picking up the language quicker than he’d have assumed she would. In that sense, the lesson went beautifully. To sit and be able to listen to her sounding out the words, hearing more of her voice than he ever had, and with no distractions, no life threatening happenstances? It was perfect. Isaiah leaned an elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand, and watched her, smiling softly, nodding every once in awhile to encourage her to keep going.
As the minutes slipped by, Isaiah found himself more comfortable in her presence, less awed by her than he had been. This was not to say he thought her any less beautiful, but was less paralyzed by it and he slid down in his chair, adopted a more relaxed posture, one arm crossed over his chest, the other elbow resting on his wrist, gesturing along with his words, watching Hypatia sitting cross legged across from him and finding nothing wrong with this. He didn’t bat an eye when she took up the position and thought nothing of it afterward. He’d fallen into speaking in very simple phrases, teaching her whatever came to mind, but most of it had to do with haggling. His thoughts naturally turned towards what he did a majority of the time; sell.
Movement from the kline drew his eye away from the ceiling, where he’d been looking as he searched for more phrases, and found her rubbing her face, brows drawn together, clay on her face, hair somehow a mess, and fatigue etched on her features. With a single raised hand, she stopped him mid-sentence and he sat up straight, hands curled into fists on his thighs, waiting in the sort of pose adopted by those men listening intently, waiting for her to tell him to go.
"No more writing," she said and instead offered him fruit, rather than ordering him out. "We talk, please." He breathed out a sigh of relief and smiled, reaching out for a snack, though he barely tasted it as he ate it. Despite having been here for over two hours, he wasn’t hungry. Not in the slightest and unless she offered him more food, he didn’t get any on his own.
“Yes,” he agreed, hands clasping in his lap as he leaned forward. “What would you like to talk about?”
"Talk me about you."
“Me?” he raised his eyebrows, blinked, and looked above her head, scrambling to think of anything even remotely interesting about himself.
"You have mother?” she prompted. ”Father? Brothers, sisters?"
“Yes,” the word came out in a short, self deprecating laugh. “I have those.” Hypatia moved to pour him drink that he only touched out of politeness, though after the first sip, he did take another, realizing his throat was a bit drier than he’d initially thought. In simple words, he told her that he did indeed have a mother, a father, and a brother. He told her their names, that he had a sister in law who’d just given birth to his nephew. He explained that they all lived in the same house and how his brother would hopefully be getting a house of his own soon, and was quick to add that his brother wasn’t a freeloader, nor a burden on his parents. That was important, lest she think something ill of his family. In that spirit, he left out how much he disliked his sister in law. There was no need to drag that into this conversation, especially because he couldn’t adequately explain the nuances of the dislike and also because he didn’t like spreading gossip that way.
“And you?” he asked. “Tell me about your home.”
Whilst Isaiah may have feared that he was in no way the appropriate or apt teacher that he had hoped to be in service to the young Grecian lady, Hypatia saw little at fault. Where he covered a subject that she already knew the terminology for, she felt pride and accomplishment at being able to offer more to the discussion than blank looks and stilted linguistics. When the topic moved on to something new, to a new form of challenge or engagement, her attention was so wrapped up in the learning at hand that she ne'er noticed if the young man opposite her was suffering with his confidence. To Hypatia, she was simply within the company of an individual whose presence she enjoyed and was more enraptured by a form of study than she had been in many years. Ergo, to her, he was a perfect steward of tutorship.
The only element of Isaiah that Hypatia found challenging held little to do with his teaching and more his physiology, as she was recognising within herself an odd tendency to stare. As the Hebrew spoke his native language, enunciating words and terms with a careful contortion of his lips and tongue, Hypatia had found her gaze dropping to his mouth. A natural and understandable tool for mimicking syntax and dialogue to be sure but, upon several occasions, Hypatia had blinked, noticing that she had forgotten to watch and had simply stared. Was it possible for a human being to have a mouth that one could consider to be... nice? It was a peculiar turn of phrase in her head - even in her Grecian mind - and she cast it aside, swallowing and narrowing her eyes to pay closer attention to what she was doing. In such moments, she would turn her focus elsewhere - to his gestures and articulations in other ways of his body or to her own work laying in her lap.
His hands were another distraction altogether however and Hypatia found the same strange phenomenon happen when she witnessed the mannerisms he used to assist in the points he was making. She watched as his fingers crooked, his wrists turned and his hands flexed in the simple ways that people did when executing a point. Hypatia herself was one to gesticulate quiet often and, whilst always in an elegant manner that her mother had trained into her, perhaps a little too often. Isaiah, on the other hand, was calmer in his manners. He would move and make points with his hands only when he felt it truly necessary and Hypatia found herself almost smiling as she began to learn when and how such a requirement was deemed necessary by his subconscious; whenever he came particular determined on a point or word, she assumed him to gesture in a certain way. And each time he did, she felt a bubble of victory at reading him correctly.
It was a strange sort of game that she seemed unable to help playing and it helped in naught in her studies.
Perhaps this was part of the reason for which she called a halt to her writing and her terminology study. Not only was she not the greatest of scholars and had turned her hand to the responsibility for long enough but at least if they were speaking she would not have to concentrate on too many tasks from which Isaiah's lips and fingers seemed determined to deter her mind.
When she insisted that they talk over study, Isaiah smiled and Hypatia found her lips immediately pulling back into a reflection of the expression, leaving them both smiling like fools. But she could not help it. For Isaiah held something in his grin that was both soothing and wildly infectious. Like a secret that you could not help but hold close and feel joy at being one of the privileged few to know it.
As Isaiah leant forwards, Hypatia found her own seat shifting also. Ensuring that her legs were curled up onto the chaise, her skirts a waterfall of peach across her limbs and the recline, she found support upon the arm and leant forwards, her own eagerness in the conversation as obvious as his own.
Listening as Isaiah explained his life and livelihood, Hypatia watched the crinkles at the edges of his eyes as he smiled self-consciously and the way his lips drew back at the corner when he made some form of admittance that seemed to challenge his humility. He spoke of his parents, of his brother, a woman called Rebecca whom she wasn't entirely sure of the relation; he used the word but she had to repeat it asking for confirmation. When he explained that she was married to his brother, she then tried to remember the phrase of 'in-law' that he had used. When he mentioned having a nephew, his expression changed and his eyes widened. Then it turned into a frown when he explained that they all lived in one house. Any concerns for her chastisement of his family's living conditions were worries of folly, for Hypatia held no such judgement. All of her family still lived together, after all, and she had no concept of the difference between the large estate that her parents owned and the home that Isaiah was more familiar with.
Through whatever reason and whatever purpose, it was clear with Hypatia that Isaiah loved his family - how could one not if they were living together for so long and his tone was so soft upon the mention of Benjamin and his nephew?
When the tables were turned and Hypatia was asked about her own life in return, her smile and confidence flickered a little in hesitation and her carefully designed brows moved into a little frown of concentration. The tip of her tongue drew out to moisten her lips as she considered how to describe her family with the limited vocabulary she had and the terms she had picked up from his explanation of his own.
"My family is..." She had been about to say 'normal' and yet, for one, she knew not the word but for another she had no concept of what Isaiah might consider to be normal - so how was that a useful description? After a moment of awkward quiet, she began again, striving forward. "I have three brothers and three sisters." She stated, her language adequate because the sentences were simple in structure. She then listened their names, pressing the first digit of her right hand into each of the fingers of her left as she counted out their names in age order. "Eurydice, Aetius, Inotius, Damon, Hypatia-" She smiled a little and wiggled her head at the man as if to say 'that's me!' "-Anara, Essena." She lowered her hands, only to immediately have them take flight again as she held them out fairly wide. "We live in large house in Taengea. My father is a..." Her frown grew more intense as she realised that she did not know the word for 'physician' in Hebrew. "...he... makes well... horses." She pulled a face, knowing that that wasn't the right way to say it but wondering if the meaning at least could be understood. "...and my mother she..." Again, she pulled a very subtle face, the lower of her lips pulling back in a gesture of frustration for lack of language. Then she smiled brightly and leaned forwards a little. She breathed her words low as if she feared Europa would hear from her from her own chambers. "My mother does not work a job. She is... er... important person." She had no idea how to say courtier or noble so instead, she had to mimic. The best she could do was to suddenly sit up straight, place her hands with exaggerated demurity into her lap, lift her head with her nose in the air and suck in her cheeks. She was the epitome of pompous haughtiness - a peacock queen of pink, sitting on her perch.
She then immediately relaxed, adopted a genuine expression of amused shock and pressed her fingers to her lips that attempted to spread wide in mirth, her eyes glancing towards the door. It was clear that she couldn't believe that she had mocked her own mother before this man who made her more comfortable than was safe for her mother's reputation.
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Posted In With Feeling on Mar 4, 2020 16:48:28 GMT
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Whilst Isaiah may have feared that he was in no way the appropriate or apt teacher that he had hoped to be in service to the young Grecian lady, Hypatia saw little at fault. Where he covered a subject that she already knew the terminology for, she felt pride and accomplishment at being able to offer more to the discussion than blank looks and stilted linguistics. When the topic moved on to something new, to a new form of challenge or engagement, her attention was so wrapped up in the learning at hand that she ne'er noticed if the young man opposite her was suffering with his confidence. To Hypatia, she was simply within the company of an individual whose presence she enjoyed and was more enraptured by a form of study than she had been in many years. Ergo, to her, he was a perfect steward of tutorship.
The only element of Isaiah that Hypatia found challenging held little to do with his teaching and more his physiology, as she was recognising within herself an odd tendency to stare. As the Hebrew spoke his native language, enunciating words and terms with a careful contortion of his lips and tongue, Hypatia had found her gaze dropping to his mouth. A natural and understandable tool for mimicking syntax and dialogue to be sure but, upon several occasions, Hypatia had blinked, noticing that she had forgotten to watch and had simply stared. Was it possible for a human being to have a mouth that one could consider to be... nice? It was a peculiar turn of phrase in her head - even in her Grecian mind - and she cast it aside, swallowing and narrowing her eyes to pay closer attention to what she was doing. In such moments, she would turn her focus elsewhere - to his gestures and articulations in other ways of his body or to her own work laying in her lap.
His hands were another distraction altogether however and Hypatia found the same strange phenomenon happen when she witnessed the mannerisms he used to assist in the points he was making. She watched as his fingers crooked, his wrists turned and his hands flexed in the simple ways that people did when executing a point. Hypatia herself was one to gesticulate quiet often and, whilst always in an elegant manner that her mother had trained into her, perhaps a little too often. Isaiah, on the other hand, was calmer in his manners. He would move and make points with his hands only when he felt it truly necessary and Hypatia found herself almost smiling as she began to learn when and how such a requirement was deemed necessary by his subconscious; whenever he came particular determined on a point or word, she assumed him to gesture in a certain way. And each time he did, she felt a bubble of victory at reading him correctly.
It was a strange sort of game that she seemed unable to help playing and it helped in naught in her studies.
Perhaps this was part of the reason for which she called a halt to her writing and her terminology study. Not only was she not the greatest of scholars and had turned her hand to the responsibility for long enough but at least if they were speaking she would not have to concentrate on too many tasks from which Isaiah's lips and fingers seemed determined to deter her mind.
When she insisted that they talk over study, Isaiah smiled and Hypatia found her lips immediately pulling back into a reflection of the expression, leaving them both smiling like fools. But she could not help it. For Isaiah held something in his grin that was both soothing and wildly infectious. Like a secret that you could not help but hold close and feel joy at being one of the privileged few to know it.
As Isaiah leant forwards, Hypatia found her own seat shifting also. Ensuring that her legs were curled up onto the chaise, her skirts a waterfall of peach across her limbs and the recline, she found support upon the arm and leant forwards, her own eagerness in the conversation as obvious as his own.
Listening as Isaiah explained his life and livelihood, Hypatia watched the crinkles at the edges of his eyes as he smiled self-consciously and the way his lips drew back at the corner when he made some form of admittance that seemed to challenge his humility. He spoke of his parents, of his brother, a woman called Rebecca whom she wasn't entirely sure of the relation; he used the word but she had to repeat it asking for confirmation. When he explained that she was married to his brother, she then tried to remember the phrase of 'in-law' that he had used. When he mentioned having a nephew, his expression changed and his eyes widened. Then it turned into a frown when he explained that they all lived in one house. Any concerns for her chastisement of his family's living conditions were worries of folly, for Hypatia held no such judgement. All of her family still lived together, after all, and she had no concept of the difference between the large estate that her parents owned and the home that Isaiah was more familiar with.
Through whatever reason and whatever purpose, it was clear with Hypatia that Isaiah loved his family - how could one not if they were living together for so long and his tone was so soft upon the mention of Benjamin and his nephew?
When the tables were turned and Hypatia was asked about her own life in return, her smile and confidence flickered a little in hesitation and her carefully designed brows moved into a little frown of concentration. The tip of her tongue drew out to moisten her lips as she considered how to describe her family with the limited vocabulary she had and the terms she had picked up from his explanation of his own.
"My family is..." She had been about to say 'normal' and yet, for one, she knew not the word but for another she had no concept of what Isaiah might consider to be normal - so how was that a useful description? After a moment of awkward quiet, she began again, striving forward. "I have three brothers and three sisters." She stated, her language adequate because the sentences were simple in structure. She then listened their names, pressing the first digit of her right hand into each of the fingers of her left as she counted out their names in age order. "Eurydice, Aetius, Inotius, Damon, Hypatia-" She smiled a little and wiggled her head at the man as if to say 'that's me!' "-Anara, Essena." She lowered her hands, only to immediately have them take flight again as she held them out fairly wide. "We live in large house in Taengea. My father is a..." Her frown grew more intense as she realised that she did not know the word for 'physician' in Hebrew. "...he... makes well... horses." She pulled a face, knowing that that wasn't the right way to say it but wondering if the meaning at least could be understood. "...and my mother she..." Again, she pulled a very subtle face, the lower of her lips pulling back in a gesture of frustration for lack of language. Then she smiled brightly and leaned forwards a little. She breathed her words low as if she feared Europa would hear from her from her own chambers. "My mother does not work a job. She is... er... important person." She had no idea how to say courtier or noble so instead, she had to mimic. The best she could do was to suddenly sit up straight, place her hands with exaggerated demurity into her lap, lift her head with her nose in the air and suck in her cheeks. She was the epitome of pompous haughtiness - a peacock queen of pink, sitting on her perch.
She then immediately relaxed, adopted a genuine expression of amused shock and pressed her fingers to her lips that attempted to spread wide in mirth, her eyes glancing towards the door. It was clear that she couldn't believe that she had mocked her own mother before this man who made her more comfortable than was safe for her mother's reputation.
Whilst Isaiah may have feared that he was in no way the appropriate or apt teacher that he had hoped to be in service to the young Grecian lady, Hypatia saw little at fault. Where he covered a subject that she already knew the terminology for, she felt pride and accomplishment at being able to offer more to the discussion than blank looks and stilted linguistics. When the topic moved on to something new, to a new form of challenge or engagement, her attention was so wrapped up in the learning at hand that she ne'er noticed if the young man opposite her was suffering with his confidence. To Hypatia, she was simply within the company of an individual whose presence she enjoyed and was more enraptured by a form of study than she had been in many years. Ergo, to her, he was a perfect steward of tutorship.
The only element of Isaiah that Hypatia found challenging held little to do with his teaching and more his physiology, as she was recognising within herself an odd tendency to stare. As the Hebrew spoke his native language, enunciating words and terms with a careful contortion of his lips and tongue, Hypatia had found her gaze dropping to his mouth. A natural and understandable tool for mimicking syntax and dialogue to be sure but, upon several occasions, Hypatia had blinked, noticing that she had forgotten to watch and had simply stared. Was it possible for a human being to have a mouth that one could consider to be... nice? It was a peculiar turn of phrase in her head - even in her Grecian mind - and she cast it aside, swallowing and narrowing her eyes to pay closer attention to what she was doing. In such moments, she would turn her focus elsewhere - to his gestures and articulations in other ways of his body or to her own work laying in her lap.
His hands were another distraction altogether however and Hypatia found the same strange phenomenon happen when she witnessed the mannerisms he used to assist in the points he was making. She watched as his fingers crooked, his wrists turned and his hands flexed in the simple ways that people did when executing a point. Hypatia herself was one to gesticulate quiet often and, whilst always in an elegant manner that her mother had trained into her, perhaps a little too often. Isaiah, on the other hand, was calmer in his manners. He would move and make points with his hands only when he felt it truly necessary and Hypatia found herself almost smiling as she began to learn when and how such a requirement was deemed necessary by his subconscious; whenever he came particular determined on a point or word, she assumed him to gesture in a certain way. And each time he did, she felt a bubble of victory at reading him correctly.
It was a strange sort of game that she seemed unable to help playing and it helped in naught in her studies.
Perhaps this was part of the reason for which she called a halt to her writing and her terminology study. Not only was she not the greatest of scholars and had turned her hand to the responsibility for long enough but at least if they were speaking she would not have to concentrate on too many tasks from which Isaiah's lips and fingers seemed determined to deter her mind.
When she insisted that they talk over study, Isaiah smiled and Hypatia found her lips immediately pulling back into a reflection of the expression, leaving them both smiling like fools. But she could not help it. For Isaiah held something in his grin that was both soothing and wildly infectious. Like a secret that you could not help but hold close and feel joy at being one of the privileged few to know it.
As Isaiah leant forwards, Hypatia found her own seat shifting also. Ensuring that her legs were curled up onto the chaise, her skirts a waterfall of peach across her limbs and the recline, she found support upon the arm and leant forwards, her own eagerness in the conversation as obvious as his own.
Listening as Isaiah explained his life and livelihood, Hypatia watched the crinkles at the edges of his eyes as he smiled self-consciously and the way his lips drew back at the corner when he made some form of admittance that seemed to challenge his humility. He spoke of his parents, of his brother, a woman called Rebecca whom she wasn't entirely sure of the relation; he used the word but she had to repeat it asking for confirmation. When he explained that she was married to his brother, she then tried to remember the phrase of 'in-law' that he had used. When he mentioned having a nephew, his expression changed and his eyes widened. Then it turned into a frown when he explained that they all lived in one house. Any concerns for her chastisement of his family's living conditions were worries of folly, for Hypatia held no such judgement. All of her family still lived together, after all, and she had no concept of the difference between the large estate that her parents owned and the home that Isaiah was more familiar with.
Through whatever reason and whatever purpose, it was clear with Hypatia that Isaiah loved his family - how could one not if they were living together for so long and his tone was so soft upon the mention of Benjamin and his nephew?
When the tables were turned and Hypatia was asked about her own life in return, her smile and confidence flickered a little in hesitation and her carefully designed brows moved into a little frown of concentration. The tip of her tongue drew out to moisten her lips as she considered how to describe her family with the limited vocabulary she had and the terms she had picked up from his explanation of his own.
"My family is..." She had been about to say 'normal' and yet, for one, she knew not the word but for another she had no concept of what Isaiah might consider to be normal - so how was that a useful description? After a moment of awkward quiet, she began again, striving forward. "I have three brothers and three sisters." She stated, her language adequate because the sentences were simple in structure. She then listened their names, pressing the first digit of her right hand into each of the fingers of her left as she counted out their names in age order. "Eurydice, Aetius, Inotius, Damon, Hypatia-" She smiled a little and wiggled her head at the man as if to say 'that's me!' "-Anara, Essena." She lowered her hands, only to immediately have them take flight again as she held them out fairly wide. "We live in large house in Taengea. My father is a..." Her frown grew more intense as she realised that she did not know the word for 'physician' in Hebrew. "...he... makes well... horses." She pulled a face, knowing that that wasn't the right way to say it but wondering if the meaning at least could be understood. "...and my mother she..." Again, she pulled a very subtle face, the lower of her lips pulling back in a gesture of frustration for lack of language. Then she smiled brightly and leaned forwards a little. She breathed her words low as if she feared Europa would hear from her from her own chambers. "My mother does not work a job. She is... er... important person." She had no idea how to say courtier or noble so instead, she had to mimic. The best she could do was to suddenly sit up straight, place her hands with exaggerated demurity into her lap, lift her head with her nose in the air and suck in her cheeks. She was the epitome of pompous haughtiness - a peacock queen of pink, sitting on her perch.
She then immediately relaxed, adopted a genuine expression of amused shock and pressed her fingers to her lips that attempted to spread wide in mirth, her eyes glancing towards the door. It was clear that she couldn't believe that she had mocked her own mother before this man who made her more comfortable than was safe for her mother's reputation.
Isaiah wasn’t sure what he’d expected the gorgeous woman across from him to do with his revelations of his family. Was she supposed to faint in shock? Or perhaps her perfect lips form a demure pout that would both chastise him for being poor but also draw him in with their luxurious velvet softness? Perhaps she was supposed to lean forward and tell him that she didn’t care about such things, that his family sounded lovely. Of course, all of those reactions were over dramatic and unrealistic. He found himself breathing a lot more easily when Hypatia didn’t react much at all. She appeared to take in the information he gave, mulled it over, and once she’d decided what he’d said, didn’t think all that much about it. It was the sort of reaction that a polite, real person would make and Isaiah knew, in that instant, that he was overthinking everything. The room wasn’t going to set itself on fire if he said the wrong thing, and that was a relief.
He tried to pay her the same courtesy as she worked at communicating with him. Her halting description of her family didn’t include the word ‘husband’, which he’d expected, but liked conformation of. After all, misunderstandings happened all the time. Though, with the absence of Commander Alexios’s name, Isaiah thought maybe the Commander was a cousin of some kind. That was less safe than a brother, but then again, he reminded himself, it shouldn’t matter much to him personally anyway. He’d keep telling himself that, too. The big house wasn’t a shock and he glazed a bit on the word Taengea - a place he’d likely never see.
When she mentioned the well horses, Isaiah blinked, frowned, narrowed his eyes, and put his hand over his mouth, considering her. Well horses? Horses in wells was ridiculous, and yet he had the image of a man, presumably her father, putting horses down into a well, and then climbing up a ladder, leaving the poor animals there. No, that wasn’t at all what she meant and he thought again, assuming the she might mean physician? He was a horse physician? Isaiah hadn’t met one of those before and he wasn’t sure how such a one would make so much money, either. Judea didn’t boast a ton of horses and a physician who focused solely on those would be a poor man indeed. Was the land of her birth covered with horses? He imagined a flat expanse of desert where horses roamed around, nibbling on tufts of grass they found.
Hypatia went on to tell him something about her mother he’d already expected. The woman didn’t hold a job, and he’d have been more shocked if she did than about the horses in wells. What would a great lady do as a job? Any sort of trade was beneath them and they couldn’t possibly do manual labor like either a commoner or a man. Isaiah, for example, would never have expected Hypatia to do a job. She was delicate and lovely and meant to be observed. Someone like her floated above the ground as she moved, too good and pure for mortal man. Her mother, Isaiah assumed, was much the same.
He smiled at Hypatia’s mimicry of someone he assumed to be her mother and nodded. She relaxed immediately and glanced to the door, his eyes following suit. For a few moments, there was silence between them as he shifted, trying to figure out how to broach the next topic of conversation, all the while knowing that he really should be excusing himself to leave. He didn’t have business here past the initial flimsy excuse. There would come a day when Hypatia realized that he was no teacher, if she hadn’t already, but he’d bask in her presence until she knew better.
“Do you have pets?” he asked, glancing around and feeling like he knew the answer to that. “And what do you do? For fun?” he clarified. Probably she painted and drew and turned all things magical and wonderful just by being there. Leaning his elbows on the table, he gazed at her without hiding his admiration.
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Mar 9, 2020 14:49:56 GMT
Posted In With Feeling on Mar 9, 2020 14:49:56 GMT
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Isaiah wasn’t sure what he’d expected the gorgeous woman across from him to do with his revelations of his family. Was she supposed to faint in shock? Or perhaps her perfect lips form a demure pout that would both chastise him for being poor but also draw him in with their luxurious velvet softness? Perhaps she was supposed to lean forward and tell him that she didn’t care about such things, that his family sounded lovely. Of course, all of those reactions were over dramatic and unrealistic. He found himself breathing a lot more easily when Hypatia didn’t react much at all. She appeared to take in the information he gave, mulled it over, and once she’d decided what he’d said, didn’t think all that much about it. It was the sort of reaction that a polite, real person would make and Isaiah knew, in that instant, that he was overthinking everything. The room wasn’t going to set itself on fire if he said the wrong thing, and that was a relief.
He tried to pay her the same courtesy as she worked at communicating with him. Her halting description of her family didn’t include the word ‘husband’, which he’d expected, but liked conformation of. After all, misunderstandings happened all the time. Though, with the absence of Commander Alexios’s name, Isaiah thought maybe the Commander was a cousin of some kind. That was less safe than a brother, but then again, he reminded himself, it shouldn’t matter much to him personally anyway. He’d keep telling himself that, too. The big house wasn’t a shock and he glazed a bit on the word Taengea - a place he’d likely never see.
When she mentioned the well horses, Isaiah blinked, frowned, narrowed his eyes, and put his hand over his mouth, considering her. Well horses? Horses in wells was ridiculous, and yet he had the image of a man, presumably her father, putting horses down into a well, and then climbing up a ladder, leaving the poor animals there. No, that wasn’t at all what she meant and he thought again, assuming the she might mean physician? He was a horse physician? Isaiah hadn’t met one of those before and he wasn’t sure how such a one would make so much money, either. Judea didn’t boast a ton of horses and a physician who focused solely on those would be a poor man indeed. Was the land of her birth covered with horses? He imagined a flat expanse of desert where horses roamed around, nibbling on tufts of grass they found.
Hypatia went on to tell him something about her mother he’d already expected. The woman didn’t hold a job, and he’d have been more shocked if she did than about the horses in wells. What would a great lady do as a job? Any sort of trade was beneath them and they couldn’t possibly do manual labor like either a commoner or a man. Isaiah, for example, would never have expected Hypatia to do a job. She was delicate and lovely and meant to be observed. Someone like her floated above the ground as she moved, too good and pure for mortal man. Her mother, Isaiah assumed, was much the same.
He smiled at Hypatia’s mimicry of someone he assumed to be her mother and nodded. She relaxed immediately and glanced to the door, his eyes following suit. For a few moments, there was silence between them as he shifted, trying to figure out how to broach the next topic of conversation, all the while knowing that he really should be excusing himself to leave. He didn’t have business here past the initial flimsy excuse. There would come a day when Hypatia realized that he was no teacher, if she hadn’t already, but he’d bask in her presence until she knew better.
“Do you have pets?” he asked, glancing around and feeling like he knew the answer to that. “And what do you do? For fun?” he clarified. Probably she painted and drew and turned all things magical and wonderful just by being there. Leaning his elbows on the table, he gazed at her without hiding his admiration.
Isaiah wasn’t sure what he’d expected the gorgeous woman across from him to do with his revelations of his family. Was she supposed to faint in shock? Or perhaps her perfect lips form a demure pout that would both chastise him for being poor but also draw him in with their luxurious velvet softness? Perhaps she was supposed to lean forward and tell him that she didn’t care about such things, that his family sounded lovely. Of course, all of those reactions were over dramatic and unrealistic. He found himself breathing a lot more easily when Hypatia didn’t react much at all. She appeared to take in the information he gave, mulled it over, and once she’d decided what he’d said, didn’t think all that much about it. It was the sort of reaction that a polite, real person would make and Isaiah knew, in that instant, that he was overthinking everything. The room wasn’t going to set itself on fire if he said the wrong thing, and that was a relief.
He tried to pay her the same courtesy as she worked at communicating with him. Her halting description of her family didn’t include the word ‘husband’, which he’d expected, but liked conformation of. After all, misunderstandings happened all the time. Though, with the absence of Commander Alexios’s name, Isaiah thought maybe the Commander was a cousin of some kind. That was less safe than a brother, but then again, he reminded himself, it shouldn’t matter much to him personally anyway. He’d keep telling himself that, too. The big house wasn’t a shock and he glazed a bit on the word Taengea - a place he’d likely never see.
When she mentioned the well horses, Isaiah blinked, frowned, narrowed his eyes, and put his hand over his mouth, considering her. Well horses? Horses in wells was ridiculous, and yet he had the image of a man, presumably her father, putting horses down into a well, and then climbing up a ladder, leaving the poor animals there. No, that wasn’t at all what she meant and he thought again, assuming the she might mean physician? He was a horse physician? Isaiah hadn’t met one of those before and he wasn’t sure how such a one would make so much money, either. Judea didn’t boast a ton of horses and a physician who focused solely on those would be a poor man indeed. Was the land of her birth covered with horses? He imagined a flat expanse of desert where horses roamed around, nibbling on tufts of grass they found.
Hypatia went on to tell him something about her mother he’d already expected. The woman didn’t hold a job, and he’d have been more shocked if she did than about the horses in wells. What would a great lady do as a job? Any sort of trade was beneath them and they couldn’t possibly do manual labor like either a commoner or a man. Isaiah, for example, would never have expected Hypatia to do a job. She was delicate and lovely and meant to be observed. Someone like her floated above the ground as she moved, too good and pure for mortal man. Her mother, Isaiah assumed, was much the same.
He smiled at Hypatia’s mimicry of someone he assumed to be her mother and nodded. She relaxed immediately and glanced to the door, his eyes following suit. For a few moments, there was silence between them as he shifted, trying to figure out how to broach the next topic of conversation, all the while knowing that he really should be excusing himself to leave. He didn’t have business here past the initial flimsy excuse. There would come a day when Hypatia realized that he was no teacher, if she hadn’t already, but he’d bask in her presence until she knew better.
“Do you have pets?” he asked, glancing around and feeling like he knew the answer to that. “And what do you do? For fun?” he clarified. Probably she painted and drew and turned all things magical and wonderful just by being there. Leaning his elbows on the table, he gazed at her without hiding his admiration.
Pleased at the amusement Isaiah seemed to take in her description of her family and the oddly accurate yet worryingly disrespectful impression of her mother - for truly such company must be causing her to relax too much; normally she would have only ever said such things to Eurydice or Damon. Not a man whom she had known for less than two weeks!
And yet time didn't seem to be at all the issue that language was between them. In fact, the difficulties in their language seemed to have had a neutering affect over such time frames, as well as the difference in their gender and their class. It had become the great leveller and forced them both upon the even footing of awkward translation. There was no ability to be rude nor better excuse to step over social boundaries when the primary excuse for any such awkwardness was the different in native tongues. As such... Boundaries had been removed and Hypatia felt herself grow closer to a man whom she might have otherwise discounted from her life had they not been forced to bungle, blush and bluster through their first meeting over oil and honey. It had endeared them to one another.
When Isaiah asked about pets and hobbies, the first she could have answered with ease. Back home on their Taengean estate they had many horses, several dogs and a large, fat cat that liked to occupy its time pretending to catch mice in the stables. Whilst Eurydice had never been convinced that the feline was worth its cost in food and that she had never seen one dead rat for his troubles, Hypatia had a soft spot for the animal regardless and the way he purred so loudly that it was comedic when stroked.
The other query,however, though earnestly meant, had her stuck. What did she do for fun? Was there anything? Most of her days were spent under the tutorship of her mother, attending social functions as a tempting face to those of import. Learning crafts in the form of singing, music and artistry - none of which she was particularly good at. Not like Eurydice.
She felt a moment of discontent, for the first time in Isaiah's company and her eyes widened as her lips parted with no noise to follow. He looked at her with such attention, such a riveted gaze, that she swallowed, not wanting to burst some apparition that he saw before her features; an apparition of a girl far more exciting and enigmatic than herself. His gaze - a pretty colour somewhere between brown and olive green - focused on her features in a way that suddenly had her tongue tied. As a blush stained her cheeks she wondered for a moment is this was how it felt to young women like her sister; the women that were given the fine and rapt attention of men wherever they went. And yet she could not suppose that it would be accompanied by the same feeling of anxious avoidance. For Eurydice had the talent to offer such expectation. To raise the standard of a room and prove to all hose willing to listen - for there were many - that she was everything that the mysterious charisma she wielded promised her to be.
And yet Hypatia could not think of a single activity that she might partake in simply for fun. Even excursions that she arranged herself, in the privacy of her own friendships were turned into some form of exercise when her mother tasked her with learning particular gossip or extracting promises of house visits so that they might dine with them and others of notable rank in the future. Even now, whilst she lived in a land away from her home, in a manner that was, for all intents and purposes a vacation as well as a plan for engagement, she had not been able to fill her says with anything that was not sanctioned as an attractive action to partake in when living under the Commander's roof.
Curiously, Hypatia had never seemed to notice this before.
Content in her own life, the luxury it afforded and the care that she was given at every moment of the day, Hypatia had absorbed her mother's missions and assigned tasks as signs of attention and affection. Even this trip itself - a moment of weeks with older siblings to naturally claim the spotlight and for her to be seen as important. Yet being orchestrated by her mother could hardly be considered something fun.
And she couldn't very well say 'talking with you' as her answer without seeming moronic or avoiding of the questions true meaning.
Despite the long tangent that her thoughts had taken her on, such revelations took only a few seconds to speed through Hypatia's mind before she was brought back to the conversation at hand.
Moulding her lips around what she hoped was an accurate description of the word 'dog', Hypatia was saved from offering further answers when the doorway to the parlour was filled with the austere presence of her mother's chief retainer Anali.
Immediately, Hypatia was on her feet, all relaxation in her frame evaporating and an expression of calm demurity upon her face.
Anali - a forceful, older woman in her own right who saw it as her purpose and duty in life to be the extension of Europa's will - looked between Hypatia and the young Judean alone in a room with the door pushed closed. It was clear from her expression that she approved of not one element of the scene before her eyes and Hypatia was quick to explain, in Greek, that the young man across from her had been teaching her Hebrew. Anali's sharp eyes flickered from the study materials to the flowers in their mark shift vase to the guilty look upon Hypatia's face.
"Your mother requests your presence immediately, my Lady." She stated simply, her nose wrinkling a little in distaste when her stare fell once more upon Isaiah. "She says that it is time to dress for the evening repast with Commander Alexios."
Hypatia swallowed, the light column of her delicate throat bobbing with the gesture.
"I understand, Anali."
Despite her attempts to make the words appear like a disregard and a subtle message to leave, the lady's maid remained where she was, just inside the room. Knowing her mother, Hypatia suspected that she had been ordered to bring Hypatia in person for fear of day dreams or incompetence keeping her any longer than was strictly necessary.
Which meant that their lesson was succinctly over.
Feeling an unfurling sense of disappointment twist in her lower belly, Hypatia turned to offer Isaiah a less natural smile than was her norm and shifted back into Hebrew for his benefit.
"I apologise." She told him with a wrinkle of repent to her brow. "I think it time for you to go." A dip formed between her eyebrows as she hoped that to be a correct and polite way to dismiss him from the building.
It was not, after all, his fault that her mother was not the most patient of women.
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Mar 9, 2020 22:50:49 GMT
Posted In With Feeling on Mar 9, 2020 22:50:49 GMT
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Pleased at the amusement Isaiah seemed to take in her description of her family and the oddly accurate yet worryingly disrespectful impression of her mother - for truly such company must be causing her to relax too much; normally she would have only ever said such things to Eurydice or Damon. Not a man whom she had known for less than two weeks!
And yet time didn't seem to be at all the issue that language was between them. In fact, the difficulties in their language seemed to have had a neutering affect over such time frames, as well as the difference in their gender and their class. It had become the great leveller and forced them both upon the even footing of awkward translation. There was no ability to be rude nor better excuse to step over social boundaries when the primary excuse for any such awkwardness was the different in native tongues. As such... Boundaries had been removed and Hypatia felt herself grow closer to a man whom she might have otherwise discounted from her life had they not been forced to bungle, blush and bluster through their first meeting over oil and honey. It had endeared them to one another.
When Isaiah asked about pets and hobbies, the first she could have answered with ease. Back home on their Taengean estate they had many horses, several dogs and a large, fat cat that liked to occupy its time pretending to catch mice in the stables. Whilst Eurydice had never been convinced that the feline was worth its cost in food and that she had never seen one dead rat for his troubles, Hypatia had a soft spot for the animal regardless and the way he purred so loudly that it was comedic when stroked.
The other query,however, though earnestly meant, had her stuck. What did she do for fun? Was there anything? Most of her days were spent under the tutorship of her mother, attending social functions as a tempting face to those of import. Learning crafts in the form of singing, music and artistry - none of which she was particularly good at. Not like Eurydice.
She felt a moment of discontent, for the first time in Isaiah's company and her eyes widened as her lips parted with no noise to follow. He looked at her with such attention, such a riveted gaze, that she swallowed, not wanting to burst some apparition that he saw before her features; an apparition of a girl far more exciting and enigmatic than herself. His gaze - a pretty colour somewhere between brown and olive green - focused on her features in a way that suddenly had her tongue tied. As a blush stained her cheeks she wondered for a moment is this was how it felt to young women like her sister; the women that were given the fine and rapt attention of men wherever they went. And yet she could not suppose that it would be accompanied by the same feeling of anxious avoidance. For Eurydice had the talent to offer such expectation. To raise the standard of a room and prove to all hose willing to listen - for there were many - that she was everything that the mysterious charisma she wielded promised her to be.
And yet Hypatia could not think of a single activity that she might partake in simply for fun. Even excursions that she arranged herself, in the privacy of her own friendships were turned into some form of exercise when her mother tasked her with learning particular gossip or extracting promises of house visits so that they might dine with them and others of notable rank in the future. Even now, whilst she lived in a land away from her home, in a manner that was, for all intents and purposes a vacation as well as a plan for engagement, she had not been able to fill her says with anything that was not sanctioned as an attractive action to partake in when living under the Commander's roof.
Curiously, Hypatia had never seemed to notice this before.
Content in her own life, the luxury it afforded and the care that she was given at every moment of the day, Hypatia had absorbed her mother's missions and assigned tasks as signs of attention and affection. Even this trip itself - a moment of weeks with older siblings to naturally claim the spotlight and for her to be seen as important. Yet being orchestrated by her mother could hardly be considered something fun.
And she couldn't very well say 'talking with you' as her answer without seeming moronic or avoiding of the questions true meaning.
Despite the long tangent that her thoughts had taken her on, such revelations took only a few seconds to speed through Hypatia's mind before she was brought back to the conversation at hand.
Moulding her lips around what she hoped was an accurate description of the word 'dog', Hypatia was saved from offering further answers when the doorway to the parlour was filled with the austere presence of her mother's chief retainer Anali.
Immediately, Hypatia was on her feet, all relaxation in her frame evaporating and an expression of calm demurity upon her face.
Anali - a forceful, older woman in her own right who saw it as her purpose and duty in life to be the extension of Europa's will - looked between Hypatia and the young Judean alone in a room with the door pushed closed. It was clear from her expression that she approved of not one element of the scene before her eyes and Hypatia was quick to explain, in Greek, that the young man across from her had been teaching her Hebrew. Anali's sharp eyes flickered from the study materials to the flowers in their mark shift vase to the guilty look upon Hypatia's face.
"Your mother requests your presence immediately, my Lady." She stated simply, her nose wrinkling a little in distaste when her stare fell once more upon Isaiah. "She says that it is time to dress for the evening repast with Commander Alexios."
Hypatia swallowed, the light column of her delicate throat bobbing with the gesture.
"I understand, Anali."
Despite her attempts to make the words appear like a disregard and a subtle message to leave, the lady's maid remained where she was, just inside the room. Knowing her mother, Hypatia suspected that she had been ordered to bring Hypatia in person for fear of day dreams or incompetence keeping her any longer than was strictly necessary.
Which meant that their lesson was succinctly over.
Feeling an unfurling sense of disappointment twist in her lower belly, Hypatia turned to offer Isaiah a less natural smile than was her norm and shifted back into Hebrew for his benefit.
"I apologise." She told him with a wrinkle of repent to her brow. "I think it time for you to go." A dip formed between her eyebrows as she hoped that to be a correct and polite way to dismiss him from the building.
It was not, after all, his fault that her mother was not the most patient of women.
Pleased at the amusement Isaiah seemed to take in her description of her family and the oddly accurate yet worryingly disrespectful impression of her mother - for truly such company must be causing her to relax too much; normally she would have only ever said such things to Eurydice or Damon. Not a man whom she had known for less than two weeks!
And yet time didn't seem to be at all the issue that language was between them. In fact, the difficulties in their language seemed to have had a neutering affect over such time frames, as well as the difference in their gender and their class. It had become the great leveller and forced them both upon the even footing of awkward translation. There was no ability to be rude nor better excuse to step over social boundaries when the primary excuse for any such awkwardness was the different in native tongues. As such... Boundaries had been removed and Hypatia felt herself grow closer to a man whom she might have otherwise discounted from her life had they not been forced to bungle, blush and bluster through their first meeting over oil and honey. It had endeared them to one another.
When Isaiah asked about pets and hobbies, the first she could have answered with ease. Back home on their Taengean estate they had many horses, several dogs and a large, fat cat that liked to occupy its time pretending to catch mice in the stables. Whilst Eurydice had never been convinced that the feline was worth its cost in food and that she had never seen one dead rat for his troubles, Hypatia had a soft spot for the animal regardless and the way he purred so loudly that it was comedic when stroked.
The other query,however, though earnestly meant, had her stuck. What did she do for fun? Was there anything? Most of her days were spent under the tutorship of her mother, attending social functions as a tempting face to those of import. Learning crafts in the form of singing, music and artistry - none of which she was particularly good at. Not like Eurydice.
She felt a moment of discontent, for the first time in Isaiah's company and her eyes widened as her lips parted with no noise to follow. He looked at her with such attention, such a riveted gaze, that she swallowed, not wanting to burst some apparition that he saw before her features; an apparition of a girl far more exciting and enigmatic than herself. His gaze - a pretty colour somewhere between brown and olive green - focused on her features in a way that suddenly had her tongue tied. As a blush stained her cheeks she wondered for a moment is this was how it felt to young women like her sister; the women that were given the fine and rapt attention of men wherever they went. And yet she could not suppose that it would be accompanied by the same feeling of anxious avoidance. For Eurydice had the talent to offer such expectation. To raise the standard of a room and prove to all hose willing to listen - for there were many - that she was everything that the mysterious charisma she wielded promised her to be.
And yet Hypatia could not think of a single activity that she might partake in simply for fun. Even excursions that she arranged herself, in the privacy of her own friendships were turned into some form of exercise when her mother tasked her with learning particular gossip or extracting promises of house visits so that they might dine with them and others of notable rank in the future. Even now, whilst she lived in a land away from her home, in a manner that was, for all intents and purposes a vacation as well as a plan for engagement, she had not been able to fill her says with anything that was not sanctioned as an attractive action to partake in when living under the Commander's roof.
Curiously, Hypatia had never seemed to notice this before.
Content in her own life, the luxury it afforded and the care that she was given at every moment of the day, Hypatia had absorbed her mother's missions and assigned tasks as signs of attention and affection. Even this trip itself - a moment of weeks with older siblings to naturally claim the spotlight and for her to be seen as important. Yet being orchestrated by her mother could hardly be considered something fun.
And she couldn't very well say 'talking with you' as her answer without seeming moronic or avoiding of the questions true meaning.
Despite the long tangent that her thoughts had taken her on, such revelations took only a few seconds to speed through Hypatia's mind before she was brought back to the conversation at hand.
Moulding her lips around what she hoped was an accurate description of the word 'dog', Hypatia was saved from offering further answers when the doorway to the parlour was filled with the austere presence of her mother's chief retainer Anali.
Immediately, Hypatia was on her feet, all relaxation in her frame evaporating and an expression of calm demurity upon her face.
Anali - a forceful, older woman in her own right who saw it as her purpose and duty in life to be the extension of Europa's will - looked between Hypatia and the young Judean alone in a room with the door pushed closed. It was clear from her expression that she approved of not one element of the scene before her eyes and Hypatia was quick to explain, in Greek, that the young man across from her had been teaching her Hebrew. Anali's sharp eyes flickered from the study materials to the flowers in their mark shift vase to the guilty look upon Hypatia's face.
"Your mother requests your presence immediately, my Lady." She stated simply, her nose wrinkling a little in distaste when her stare fell once more upon Isaiah. "She says that it is time to dress for the evening repast with Commander Alexios."
Hypatia swallowed, the light column of her delicate throat bobbing with the gesture.
"I understand, Anali."
Despite her attempts to make the words appear like a disregard and a subtle message to leave, the lady's maid remained where she was, just inside the room. Knowing her mother, Hypatia suspected that she had been ordered to bring Hypatia in person for fear of day dreams or incompetence keeping her any longer than was strictly necessary.
Which meant that their lesson was succinctly over.
Feeling an unfurling sense of disappointment twist in her lower belly, Hypatia turned to offer Isaiah a less natural smile than was her norm and shifted back into Hebrew for his benefit.
"I apologise." She told him with a wrinkle of repent to her brow. "I think it time for you to go." A dip formed between her eyebrows as she hoped that to be a correct and polite way to dismiss him from the building.
It was not, after all, his fault that her mother was not the most patient of women.
In the moments Hypatia took to speak, Isaiah had already filled in the blanks for her. Since meeting her, he’d built a perceived notion of what her life must be like and thought he knew what she would get up to in her day to day activities. Where Hypatia’s thoughts took her on an anxiety induced path of sifting through which activities she liked and which she didn’t, Isaiah thought on each of those past times with placid novelty. First, he imagined she awoke in a more modest variation of peach silks and that she probably slept in a bed of puffy, pure white linens. Servants descended from corners, unnoticed heretofore, and assisted her out of bed to her vanity where she was placed to watch herself in the mirror. A female servants stood behind her, lovingly stroking Hypatia’s golden locks with a brush, combing out the few snarls of hair that might have been acquired through sleep. Though he reflected, her sleep was likely sweet and uninterrupted by cares.
From there, in his mind, there was no makeup applied, but her face was washed and she stood to be dressed. In this daydream, she wore what she had on now. He was an imaginative person but it couldn’t be claimed that he sat and thought on women’s dresses enough to give her a better one than she had on now.
She moved across her room and went to the formal dining room in this house, one he’d passed through a fair few times to get to the kitchens, and she would eat with some faceless figure that was her mother and the commander on the extreme far end of the table. They had stiff, formal conversation, nothing she was truly interested in, and then the three separated to their daily rituals. For Hypatia, Isaiah imagined her drifting down the hallways to enter a room filled with lyres, harps, flutes, tambourines - in this daydream, she could play them all proficiently. But now, he imagined her sitting by the window, whimsical and gorgeous, sunlight on her face, head tilted to reveal her neck, the flesh delicate and pale. Notes hovered in the air as her fingers expertly plucked the strings of a lyre.
He didn’t get much further than that. Hypatia’s troubled expression as she thought fast finally caught his attention. Clearing his throat, Isaiah sat back in his chair, folding his hands loosely in his lap and frowned slightly, now wondering if he shouldn’t have asked about her hobbies. Of course he knew the daydream he’d just had was full of nonsense. No one’s life was quite that perfect and he knew for a fact that the Commander had no such room in this house, but that didn’t stop Isaiah from wishing there was one and from having the erroneous opinion that Hypatia could play every instrument as though she’d been born for no other purpose.
All his life, he’d been surrounded by rumors and gossip about Greek women - heathen women. They didn’t work and were useless to a man like him. “So don’t you dare go after one,” he could still see his mother wagging her finger in his twelve year old face. “She’ll be a burden and a sin.” These two things, of course, being the worst things a woman could possibly be in Judea. Not only a burden to the man who would have to labor to care for her, but a sin against Yahweh as well. Were there enough sacrifices to cleanse him of such a sin?
Judean women whispered about girls like Hypatia in the market: “Kept cows, they are. Look how fat and pretty. Prized cows, just waiting to be slaughtered. Couldn’t lift a finger for themselves if they had to.” Therefore, the opinion was that heathen women were prized by their masters and husbands, kept docile and useless until they were ready to be used up and discarded. It was a sad, insulting fate, and the Judean girls, who were not treated in this manner, felt both sorry and disdainful for their Greek counterparts.
But Isaiah, as he sat across from Hypatia, couldn’t quite slot her into the well founded opinion he’d previously held of Greek women. Of course he thought her someone who needed to be carefully taken care of. She did not appear to be a woman born or suited to labor, and she definitely fit the perception of an innocent, naive girl, totally dependent on the men and older women in her life. All of that was not in question: but her mind was sharper than he’d been led to believe. She did not seem dull and overly content in her life. If she was, she wouldn’t be so excited about language lessons and he highly doubted she’d have made the effort to come down to the market to see him. His eyes fell to her delicate hands and he wondered if-No. No wondering on that score. She was heathen. End of story. It was one thing to admire her and quite another to actually imagine her in another role; a hebrew role.
A shadow drew his attention and he no sooner saw the servant than he rose as soon as Hypatia did. He cringed inside, knowing exactly how guilty that looked. Isaiah’s lips parted and he couldn’t quite bring himself to look away from the matronly servant who looked at him the way she might a rat in the kitchen. Isaiah swallowed, glancing at Hypatia, and then back at the servant, Anali again. The quick Greek they spoke in eluded him, but he understood the meaning well enough: the lesson was over.
Hypatia turned to him and Isaiah offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. To his chagrin, he found his face growing hotter by the second as the servant remained, glaring in his direction. Hypatia’s fixed smile made everything so much worse. He felt as though they’d been caught doing something unseemly, even though everything up to now had been totally innocent. An errant part of him almost wished he had held her hand, at least. Then that might justify this writhing, wriggling discomfort in his chest and stomach. It was hard to speak and he didn’t try when she offered an apology. Instead, he nodded, glanced at the servant again, and looked around as though to gather materials, realized he’d only come with the flowers, and now felt a unnatural emptiness. He desperately wished he had a clay tablet to hold. He felt like that would give him some sort of legitimacy to his being her and so he took a tablet at random from the tabletop, grabbed a stylus as well, and stepped around Hypatia.
“If there is a next time,” he said softly in Hebrew, hoping to heaven and the angels that the servant didn’t understand Hebrew. “I look forward to it.” As an afterthought, he offered a respectful bow to Hypatia, a nod to the servant, and departed the room. It was easy enough to show himself out and he did not stop until he reached the street. Even though he wasn’t followed, he felt as though dogs were on his heels, chasing him until he was a safe distance away.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Isaiah turned, looking up at the building and smiling in relief. Out here, away from the servant and back in the golden sun, he felt the weight of the secret he’d begun to suspect whilst in Hypatia’s presence: she liked him. She actually liked him as more than a friend, or teacher...and while that was terrifying and he should be completely scared, he was already planning on how to see her again. He had to see her again. Isaiah was becoming a man possessed with the idea of being in this girl’s presence. Deep down, way, way, deep down, he knew he’d never be totally satisfied with simply being her friend. It would do for now and he would settle for it if that’s all she was willing to be...but he wanted more.
“Until next time,” he murmured to where he thought her window might be, turned away, and began the long walk home.
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Mar 26, 2020 14:00:22 GMT
Posted In With Feeling on Mar 26, 2020 14:00:22 GMT
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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In the moments Hypatia took to speak, Isaiah had already filled in the blanks for her. Since meeting her, he’d built a perceived notion of what her life must be like and thought he knew what she would get up to in her day to day activities. Where Hypatia’s thoughts took her on an anxiety induced path of sifting through which activities she liked and which she didn’t, Isaiah thought on each of those past times with placid novelty. First, he imagined she awoke in a more modest variation of peach silks and that she probably slept in a bed of puffy, pure white linens. Servants descended from corners, unnoticed heretofore, and assisted her out of bed to her vanity where she was placed to watch herself in the mirror. A female servants stood behind her, lovingly stroking Hypatia’s golden locks with a brush, combing out the few snarls of hair that might have been acquired through sleep. Though he reflected, her sleep was likely sweet and uninterrupted by cares.
From there, in his mind, there was no makeup applied, but her face was washed and she stood to be dressed. In this daydream, she wore what she had on now. He was an imaginative person but it couldn’t be claimed that he sat and thought on women’s dresses enough to give her a better one than she had on now.
She moved across her room and went to the formal dining room in this house, one he’d passed through a fair few times to get to the kitchens, and she would eat with some faceless figure that was her mother and the commander on the extreme far end of the table. They had stiff, formal conversation, nothing she was truly interested in, and then the three separated to their daily rituals. For Hypatia, Isaiah imagined her drifting down the hallways to enter a room filled with lyres, harps, flutes, tambourines - in this daydream, she could play them all proficiently. But now, he imagined her sitting by the window, whimsical and gorgeous, sunlight on her face, head tilted to reveal her neck, the flesh delicate and pale. Notes hovered in the air as her fingers expertly plucked the strings of a lyre.
He didn’t get much further than that. Hypatia’s troubled expression as she thought fast finally caught his attention. Clearing his throat, Isaiah sat back in his chair, folding his hands loosely in his lap and frowned slightly, now wondering if he shouldn’t have asked about her hobbies. Of course he knew the daydream he’d just had was full of nonsense. No one’s life was quite that perfect and he knew for a fact that the Commander had no such room in this house, but that didn’t stop Isaiah from wishing there was one and from having the erroneous opinion that Hypatia could play every instrument as though she’d been born for no other purpose.
All his life, he’d been surrounded by rumors and gossip about Greek women - heathen women. They didn’t work and were useless to a man like him. “So don’t you dare go after one,” he could still see his mother wagging her finger in his twelve year old face. “She’ll be a burden and a sin.” These two things, of course, being the worst things a woman could possibly be in Judea. Not only a burden to the man who would have to labor to care for her, but a sin against Yahweh as well. Were there enough sacrifices to cleanse him of such a sin?
Judean women whispered about girls like Hypatia in the market: “Kept cows, they are. Look how fat and pretty. Prized cows, just waiting to be slaughtered. Couldn’t lift a finger for themselves if they had to.” Therefore, the opinion was that heathen women were prized by their masters and husbands, kept docile and useless until they were ready to be used up and discarded. It was a sad, insulting fate, and the Judean girls, who were not treated in this manner, felt both sorry and disdainful for their Greek counterparts.
But Isaiah, as he sat across from Hypatia, couldn’t quite slot her into the well founded opinion he’d previously held of Greek women. Of course he thought her someone who needed to be carefully taken care of. She did not appear to be a woman born or suited to labor, and she definitely fit the perception of an innocent, naive girl, totally dependent on the men and older women in her life. All of that was not in question: but her mind was sharper than he’d been led to believe. She did not seem dull and overly content in her life. If she was, she wouldn’t be so excited about language lessons and he highly doubted she’d have made the effort to come down to the market to see him. His eyes fell to her delicate hands and he wondered if-No. No wondering on that score. She was heathen. End of story. It was one thing to admire her and quite another to actually imagine her in another role; a hebrew role.
A shadow drew his attention and he no sooner saw the servant than he rose as soon as Hypatia did. He cringed inside, knowing exactly how guilty that looked. Isaiah’s lips parted and he couldn’t quite bring himself to look away from the matronly servant who looked at him the way she might a rat in the kitchen. Isaiah swallowed, glancing at Hypatia, and then back at the servant, Anali again. The quick Greek they spoke in eluded him, but he understood the meaning well enough: the lesson was over.
Hypatia turned to him and Isaiah offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. To his chagrin, he found his face growing hotter by the second as the servant remained, glaring in his direction. Hypatia’s fixed smile made everything so much worse. He felt as though they’d been caught doing something unseemly, even though everything up to now had been totally innocent. An errant part of him almost wished he had held her hand, at least. Then that might justify this writhing, wriggling discomfort in his chest and stomach. It was hard to speak and he didn’t try when she offered an apology. Instead, he nodded, glanced at the servant again, and looked around as though to gather materials, realized he’d only come with the flowers, and now felt a unnatural emptiness. He desperately wished he had a clay tablet to hold. He felt like that would give him some sort of legitimacy to his being her and so he took a tablet at random from the tabletop, grabbed a stylus as well, and stepped around Hypatia.
“If there is a next time,” he said softly in Hebrew, hoping to heaven and the angels that the servant didn’t understand Hebrew. “I look forward to it.” As an afterthought, he offered a respectful bow to Hypatia, a nod to the servant, and departed the room. It was easy enough to show himself out and he did not stop until he reached the street. Even though he wasn’t followed, he felt as though dogs were on his heels, chasing him until he was a safe distance away.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Isaiah turned, looking up at the building and smiling in relief. Out here, away from the servant and back in the golden sun, he felt the weight of the secret he’d begun to suspect whilst in Hypatia’s presence: she liked him. She actually liked him as more than a friend, or teacher...and while that was terrifying and he should be completely scared, he was already planning on how to see her again. He had to see her again. Isaiah was becoming a man possessed with the idea of being in this girl’s presence. Deep down, way, way, deep down, he knew he’d never be totally satisfied with simply being her friend. It would do for now and he would settle for it if that’s all she was willing to be...but he wanted more.
“Until next time,” he murmured to where he thought her window might be, turned away, and began the long walk home.
In the moments Hypatia took to speak, Isaiah had already filled in the blanks for her. Since meeting her, he’d built a perceived notion of what her life must be like and thought he knew what she would get up to in her day to day activities. Where Hypatia’s thoughts took her on an anxiety induced path of sifting through which activities she liked and which she didn’t, Isaiah thought on each of those past times with placid novelty. First, he imagined she awoke in a more modest variation of peach silks and that she probably slept in a bed of puffy, pure white linens. Servants descended from corners, unnoticed heretofore, and assisted her out of bed to her vanity where she was placed to watch herself in the mirror. A female servants stood behind her, lovingly stroking Hypatia’s golden locks with a brush, combing out the few snarls of hair that might have been acquired through sleep. Though he reflected, her sleep was likely sweet and uninterrupted by cares.
From there, in his mind, there was no makeup applied, but her face was washed and she stood to be dressed. In this daydream, she wore what she had on now. He was an imaginative person but it couldn’t be claimed that he sat and thought on women’s dresses enough to give her a better one than she had on now.
She moved across her room and went to the formal dining room in this house, one he’d passed through a fair few times to get to the kitchens, and she would eat with some faceless figure that was her mother and the commander on the extreme far end of the table. They had stiff, formal conversation, nothing she was truly interested in, and then the three separated to their daily rituals. For Hypatia, Isaiah imagined her drifting down the hallways to enter a room filled with lyres, harps, flutes, tambourines - in this daydream, she could play them all proficiently. But now, he imagined her sitting by the window, whimsical and gorgeous, sunlight on her face, head tilted to reveal her neck, the flesh delicate and pale. Notes hovered in the air as her fingers expertly plucked the strings of a lyre.
He didn’t get much further than that. Hypatia’s troubled expression as she thought fast finally caught his attention. Clearing his throat, Isaiah sat back in his chair, folding his hands loosely in his lap and frowned slightly, now wondering if he shouldn’t have asked about her hobbies. Of course he knew the daydream he’d just had was full of nonsense. No one’s life was quite that perfect and he knew for a fact that the Commander had no such room in this house, but that didn’t stop Isaiah from wishing there was one and from having the erroneous opinion that Hypatia could play every instrument as though she’d been born for no other purpose.
All his life, he’d been surrounded by rumors and gossip about Greek women - heathen women. They didn’t work and were useless to a man like him. “So don’t you dare go after one,” he could still see his mother wagging her finger in his twelve year old face. “She’ll be a burden and a sin.” These two things, of course, being the worst things a woman could possibly be in Judea. Not only a burden to the man who would have to labor to care for her, but a sin against Yahweh as well. Were there enough sacrifices to cleanse him of such a sin?
Judean women whispered about girls like Hypatia in the market: “Kept cows, they are. Look how fat and pretty. Prized cows, just waiting to be slaughtered. Couldn’t lift a finger for themselves if they had to.” Therefore, the opinion was that heathen women were prized by their masters and husbands, kept docile and useless until they were ready to be used up and discarded. It was a sad, insulting fate, and the Judean girls, who were not treated in this manner, felt both sorry and disdainful for their Greek counterparts.
But Isaiah, as he sat across from Hypatia, couldn’t quite slot her into the well founded opinion he’d previously held of Greek women. Of course he thought her someone who needed to be carefully taken care of. She did not appear to be a woman born or suited to labor, and she definitely fit the perception of an innocent, naive girl, totally dependent on the men and older women in her life. All of that was not in question: but her mind was sharper than he’d been led to believe. She did not seem dull and overly content in her life. If she was, she wouldn’t be so excited about language lessons and he highly doubted she’d have made the effort to come down to the market to see him. His eyes fell to her delicate hands and he wondered if-No. No wondering on that score. She was heathen. End of story. It was one thing to admire her and quite another to actually imagine her in another role; a hebrew role.
A shadow drew his attention and he no sooner saw the servant than he rose as soon as Hypatia did. He cringed inside, knowing exactly how guilty that looked. Isaiah’s lips parted and he couldn’t quite bring himself to look away from the matronly servant who looked at him the way she might a rat in the kitchen. Isaiah swallowed, glancing at Hypatia, and then back at the servant, Anali again. The quick Greek they spoke in eluded him, but he understood the meaning well enough: the lesson was over.
Hypatia turned to him and Isaiah offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. To his chagrin, he found his face growing hotter by the second as the servant remained, glaring in his direction. Hypatia’s fixed smile made everything so much worse. He felt as though they’d been caught doing something unseemly, even though everything up to now had been totally innocent. An errant part of him almost wished he had held her hand, at least. Then that might justify this writhing, wriggling discomfort in his chest and stomach. It was hard to speak and he didn’t try when she offered an apology. Instead, he nodded, glanced at the servant again, and looked around as though to gather materials, realized he’d only come with the flowers, and now felt a unnatural emptiness. He desperately wished he had a clay tablet to hold. He felt like that would give him some sort of legitimacy to his being her and so he took a tablet at random from the tabletop, grabbed a stylus as well, and stepped around Hypatia.
“If there is a next time,” he said softly in Hebrew, hoping to heaven and the angels that the servant didn’t understand Hebrew. “I look forward to it.” As an afterthought, he offered a respectful bow to Hypatia, a nod to the servant, and departed the room. It was easy enough to show himself out and he did not stop until he reached the street. Even though he wasn’t followed, he felt as though dogs were on his heels, chasing him until he was a safe distance away.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Isaiah turned, looking up at the building and smiling in relief. Out here, away from the servant and back in the golden sun, he felt the weight of the secret he’d begun to suspect whilst in Hypatia’s presence: she liked him. She actually liked him as more than a friend, or teacher...and while that was terrifying and he should be completely scared, he was already planning on how to see her again. He had to see her again. Isaiah was becoming a man possessed with the idea of being in this girl’s presence. Deep down, way, way, deep down, he knew he’d never be totally satisfied with simply being her friend. It would do for now and he would settle for it if that’s all she was willing to be...but he wanted more.
“Until next time,” he murmured to where he thought her window might be, turned away, and began the long walk home.