51 Vhalar 720
Continued from Unending Thirst.
How long was it supposed to take? At least a break had passed since her first couple glasses of the compello brew, Yeva managing to slow down in its consumption, but with notched burned away of her candles, the need for more clawed at the back of her skill. Drink. Drink. It was like a voice at the back of her head, a cheer, a congratulation. A temptation. Drink. Drink.
"I have to pace myself... Control myself," she sniffed, flipping to the former pages of her journal, looking for something to read. The more she honed in on the desire to feel effects to record it first hand, there was a stress that weighed with the unknown. And it did not help that the bread had been so dry. She couldn't even manage to finish the hard loaf, crumbs scattered across the worn desk, blown away by a swipe of her hand. The bottles stood proud in attendance, casting shadows across her handwriting.
Drink. Drink.
She focused on the entry before her, written the trial she had met Elisa and her father - oh, what had been his name? Something eerie and yet romantic? Swift? Hallow? Swifthallow?
Yeva scanned the journal's page - Hallowswift.
Professor Hallowswift.
Now he had been a tall glass of water.
Drink. Drink.
Yeva shook the images of the man's jawline from her head, flexing her hand when it unintentionally reached for the bottle, "Compello brew," the medic scoffed, "Compelling. Very funny." Had that been its secret? A drink that made you desire more, and yet it failed to get you drunk? 'I'm not a heavy drinker, I should be feeling something by now.' It was a frustration, and as much as wished to end her tests early, she just needed to buy more time. The desire for another glass would simply have to wait.
"Let's see... Let's see... Um..." the sound of pages rasping against one another sounded and she cleared her throat as she noticed the ancient alphabet copied into her book, along with a conjugation chart of personal pronouns and present tense verbs. There were only a small list - to be, to have, to do, to make.
To know. To see. To talk. To drink.
Drink. Drink. Drink. Drink.
"Fine," she whispered, talking to herself. She glanced once at Baskara to see if the diri had noticed her desperation while she rushed to pour another glass, "I'm just thirsty," she rationalized, still feeling clear of mind. In fact, the only thing bothering her was the persistent itch in the back of her throat that only seemed quenched with a cool drink.
One more healthy glass, and the bottle of compello would be empty.
She swished the liquid in her mouth and dipped her quill in ink before dabbing away the excess. Fleeing respite greeted her as the liquid pooled into her belly and she sighed in relief.
Where was she?
Notes of the Ancient Tongue.
Yeva knocked her finger at the entry to hold her place and began to copy the text again on a loose sheet of vellum. It would be a waste of time to just sit idle. What was so wrong with multitasking? Copying the alphabet would train her in a skill she sought, and it was best to take advantage of information while she could. It was no secret to her that the Ancient tongue was a rarity this far in the central region, but to her luck, both Elisa and her father (a professor of linguistics, even), were Videnese and had set her up with some early entries to success by sharing resources.
Now it was up to her to practice, and a repetitive motion would keep her focused and be a good indicator of fine motor skills, which should cease once the effects began to impact her. Two birds, one stone.
For a time, the woman was content. Carefully copying each letter, she focused on stroke order and legibility. When she had done that twice, reciting each sound aloud for practice, she moved on to repeating the conjugation tables, drawing neat lines from left to right until the boxes were nice and even. The personal pronouns she chanted like a mantra.
I, you, he, she, it, we, they, me, him, her, us, them.
Her tongue struggled to form the syllables, the language vastly different from Common. She twisted and pushed her tongue and then slowed her speech. The most frustrating, was that not just that she second guessed every sound without a native's opinion, but that her struggling, for as long as it was endured, had nothing to do with the fact that she had nearly drank and entire bottle of supposed liquor.
"This is ridiculous!" she finally snapped, huffing, "It's clearly a scam. So now what?" Yeva pinched the bridge of her nose, "One brew hurts you physically, another mentally, and one does nothing at all but tempt you to spend money on swill?"
Tempt you
to
Drink.
Yeva turned away from the language session, the height of the candles considerably shorter. Wax had pooled and she only just begun to realize how much time must have passed. At least another full break.
-to which she added:
How long was it supposed to take? At least a break had passed since her first couple glasses of the compello brew, Yeva managing to slow down in its consumption, but with notched burned away of her candles, the need for more clawed at the back of her skill. Drink. Drink. It was like a voice at the back of her head, a cheer, a congratulation. A temptation. Drink. Drink.
"I have to pace myself... Control myself," she sniffed, flipping to the former pages of her journal, looking for something to read. The more she honed in on the desire to feel effects to record it first hand, there was a stress that weighed with the unknown. And it did not help that the bread had been so dry. She couldn't even manage to finish the hard loaf, crumbs scattered across the worn desk, blown away by a swipe of her hand. The bottles stood proud in attendance, casting shadows across her handwriting.
Drink. Drink.
She focused on the entry before her, written the trial she had met Elisa and her father - oh, what had been his name? Something eerie and yet romantic? Swift? Hallow? Swifthallow?
Yeva scanned the journal's page - Hallowswift.
Professor Hallowswift.
Now he had been a tall glass of water.
Drink. Drink.
Yeva shook the images of the man's jawline from her head, flexing her hand when it unintentionally reached for the bottle, "Compello brew," the medic scoffed, "Compelling. Very funny." Had that been its secret? A drink that made you desire more, and yet it failed to get you drunk? 'I'm not a heavy drinker, I should be feeling something by now.' It was a frustration, and as much as wished to end her tests early, she just needed to buy more time. The desire for another glass would simply have to wait.
"Let's see... Let's see... Um..." the sound of pages rasping against one another sounded and she cleared her throat as she noticed the ancient alphabet copied into her book, along with a conjugation chart of personal pronouns and present tense verbs. There were only a small list - to be, to have, to do, to make.
To know. To see. To talk. To drink.
Drink. Drink. Drink. Drink.
"Fine," she whispered, talking to herself. She glanced once at Baskara to see if the diri had noticed her desperation while she rushed to pour another glass, "I'm just thirsty," she rationalized, still feeling clear of mind. In fact, the only thing bothering her was the persistent itch in the back of her throat that only seemed quenched with a cool drink.
One more healthy glass, and the bottle of compello would be empty.
She swished the liquid in her mouth and dipped her quill in ink before dabbing away the excess. Fleeing respite greeted her as the liquid pooled into her belly and she sighed in relief.
Where was she?
Notes of the Ancient Tongue.
Yeva knocked her finger at the entry to hold her place and began to copy the text again on a loose sheet of vellum. It would be a waste of time to just sit idle. What was so wrong with multitasking? Copying the alphabet would train her in a skill she sought, and it was best to take advantage of information while she could. It was no secret to her that the Ancient tongue was a rarity this far in the central region, but to her luck, both Elisa and her father (a professor of linguistics, even), were Videnese and had set her up with some early entries to success by sharing resources.
Now it was up to her to practice, and a repetitive motion would keep her focused and be a good indicator of fine motor skills, which should cease once the effects began to impact her. Two birds, one stone.
For a time, the woman was content. Carefully copying each letter, she focused on stroke order and legibility. When she had done that twice, reciting each sound aloud for practice, she moved on to repeating the conjugation tables, drawing neat lines from left to right until the boxes were nice and even. The personal pronouns she chanted like a mantra.
I, you, he, she, it, we, they, me, him, her, us, them.
Her tongue struggled to form the syllables, the language vastly different from Common. She twisted and pushed her tongue and then slowed her speech. The most frustrating, was that not just that she second guessed every sound without a native's opinion, but that her struggling, for as long as it was endured, had nothing to do with the fact that she had nearly drank and entire bottle of supposed liquor.
"This is ridiculous!" she finally snapped, huffing, "It's clearly a scam. So now what?" Yeva pinched the bridge of her nose, "One brew hurts you physically, another mentally, and one does nothing at all but tempt you to spend money on swill?"
Tempt you
to
Drink.
Yeva turned away from the language session, the height of the candles considerably shorter. Wax had pooled and she only just begun to realize how much time must have passed. At least another full break.
Compello Brew: The taste is interesting, a bit pale in body, although I can not identify anything out of the ordinary by its flavor alone. The bottle is fairly nondescript... I will have a piece of bread to prepare my body for its effects, just in case.
-to which she added:
At least two breaks have passed since I began to drink, and not a single sensation has been changed. Do you see how well I continue to write? From my observation, motor skills and mental capability remains fully functional. Often when I enjoy a glass of liquor, my face warms, and I am burdened by the weight of my own limbs. Movement seems delayed, as if underwater, and yet no sign of these symptoms persist. I have even challenged myself to practice some rote memorization in my study of Ancient, notoriously difficult syntax to acquire, but I'm afraid my struggle is unaffected by the bottle that is nearly empty. I have noticed an increase in thirst, although I thought it might be from the sourdough I had eaten prior. I believe this batch to be either poorly made or a scam. I will be continuing forward.
ooc notes
Resistance x1
Research x2
Discipline x1
Linguistics x2
---
Language: Ancient
Ancient: Alphabet
Ancient: The Stroke Order of Each Letter
Ancient: Personal Pronouns
Ancient: Basic Infinitive Verbs
Ancient: How to Conjugate Present Tense Verbs
Ancient: The Sounds of Ancient
Research x2
Discipline x1
Linguistics x2
---
Language: Ancient
Ancient: Alphabet
Ancient: The Stroke Order of Each Letter
Ancient: Personal Pronouns
Ancient: Basic Infinitive Verbs
Ancient: How to Conjugate Present Tense Verbs
Ancient: The Sounds of Ancient
