Maduin Eladan

Time was a weird soup, and honestly Alec hadn't been entirely sure how long he'd been without his father, no real track of time for him especially in the rougher parts or Rhiminee where he used most of his wits to survive and he did have survival skills of a sort enough to make it; he relied on things like youth hostels and other such things to get by though he never really stayed in one place. And during the warmer months he'd been taken to sleeping tucked away in parks.

What he knew was tracking, and so when the weather was of a season, he'd find work further afield and away from Rhiminee, helping to tend the animals on farms and occasionally accompanying rich people on hunting expedition and showing them how to hold a crossbow, a rifle or anything else. More often then not he was paid as well to clean up those kills as needed.

Any bit of money he got, he stored a portion away for those months when it was cold and work seemed almost impossible, maybe it had been two years? At this point Alec did not know-- but since him and his father had a nomad's lifestyle, going from town to town, he had the necessary skills with which to make do, and to be frugal.

It was winter now, and cold.

And now he was biding his time until the spring, cooling his heels.

He took a few odd jobs here and there, most people did need delivery people and he was good at directions; and he did not precisely beg for work just he happened by the florist and then the one who knew him would grab him and give him some flowers to deliver and then he'd get tipped. It firstly, kept him warm and secondly it gave him a little bit for some indulgence in terms of maybe a nice hot coffee on the colder mornings.

He walked into the coffee shop, his hoodie which had seen better days and gloves that were made of thick wool picked up from a thrift store, going over to order his usual. Just a no frills coffee, largest they got and then stepped back to wait patiently for them to make it for him; this was just another morning for him.

It was truth that Alec was not as restless as Seregil was; their little place on Half Moon Street was well lived in, though the treads in the carpet were not from Alec, not even remotely. Alec could be content to just sit in a wing chair and read, in dreaming-- in moving through books and ideas all of the ways that the world had not opened up for him before his first meeting with Seregil.

Though he did miss Seregil's presence, the chaos in the other side of the room; in all of his soliloquys and ramblings, his plotting and scheming.

The rain pattered outside, and Ruetha had found a good thing in his calmness. Her goal of comfort was to spend days in Alec's lap, and then cuddle in with Seregil at night and he supposed, as he scritched just behind her ears, that it must be a very sweet deal indeed. Thankfully she allowed him just enough time to turn the page before he returned back to his ministrations.

A lock of blonde hair fell in his eyes, those blue eyes that managed to convey so many emotions-- both wonder as well as stubbornness; but this time calm. Occasionally he would have to let out a cough which he covered with his hand-- not precisely noticing the petal that disguised itself within his palm before it fell casually and wedged within the couch cushions where one would find a veritable sea of them hidden underneath.

He thought about getting up to go search Seregil out, though he thought perhaps the other man did not want to be disturbed. Tried not to think about if Seregil was at the Avenue of Lights, perhaps in the arms of his green eyed boy. No, best not to think about that, he'd only be setting himself up for a long train of thought that he was not prepared to board.

So he sat there, whiling away the moments.