He did not turn back to look at her, though perhaps his eyes - vibrant, brighter, deeper in hue than those of a human - caught something of her reflection in the moving water. Her mask was back in place, hiding her expression or perhaps merely echoing it in painted porcelain, and his own was just as firmly settled over his features for all that it was both invisible and intangible, made of living flesh and bone but giving away nothing of his thoughts and emotions that he did not permit it to reveal.
Her voice, however, he listened to with his full attention regardless of where his gaze had settled. There was a solemnity to it as she listed the souls she brought with her, and the ones she left behind at the festival when the time came. He nodded slowly as she made her explanation, the sounds of her shifting carrying to his ears even over the music of the fountain though it did not seem to distract or concern him. "Mmh. A kindness, to remember those who others have forgotten," he murmured quietly.
Only then did he turn his head, that emerald gaze falling on the flute she had retrieved and studying it. Noting the marks of use and wear, of practice and love. "Music helps," he agreed quietly, loathe to break the night with louder words. "And I would appreciate a song, thank you."
He looked down at the lanterns that dangled from his arm. In one, stars. In another, flowers. And on the third, the stylized shapes of several animals cut through the colored paper of its sides, more suggestions than anything realistic. A breath was drawn in, let out in a slow, soft sigh. And then he spoke, raising his eyes to hers once more.
"Hope. Please. And when it is done, your name. If you would give it."
Her voice, however, he listened to with his full attention regardless of where his gaze had settled. There was a solemnity to it as she listed the souls she brought with her, and the ones she left behind at the festival when the time came. He nodded slowly as she made her explanation, the sounds of her shifting carrying to his ears even over the music of the fountain though it did not seem to distract or concern him. "Mmh. A kindness, to remember those who others have forgotten," he murmured quietly.
Only then did he turn his head, that emerald gaze falling on the flute she had retrieved and studying it. Noting the marks of use and wear, of practice and love. "Music helps," he agreed quietly, loathe to break the night with louder words. "And I would appreciate a song, thank you."
He looked down at the lanterns that dangled from his arm. In one, stars. In another, flowers. And on the third, the stylized shapes of several animals cut through the colored paper of its sides, more suggestions than anything realistic. A breath was drawn in, let out in a slow, soft sigh. And then he spoke, raising his eyes to hers once more.
"Hope. Please. And when it is done, your name. If you would give it."
