I think I can manage being collateral damage
Everest accepts the stack of labels with both hands, as if they’re fragile instruments rather than thin slips of paper. He lines them up beside the bottles first—edges squared, corners matched—before beginning at all. Where Kaisel’s bottles are already marching off in slightly crooked confidence and Isla’s are neat but efficient, Everest’s progress is deliberate. Each label is measured by eye, peeled slowly, set down, lifted again if the alignment is even a millimetre off. He smooths from the centre outward with two fingers, twice, every time. The repetition helps.
At the question about gods, he gives a small shake of his head without looking up, curls falling forward as his attention stays fixed on a label he’s nudging into perfect symmetry. "I don’t normally speak to any gods," he says, voice even, factual. Not defensive, just true. He preferred predictive systems and deities were certainly not that. He presses the label down, checks it, then moves to the next bottle. "The only time I did was when I was infected by the void," he continues, quieter now, though not emotional in tone, just more careful, as if handling a volatile compound. "I asked Frey about it. About what was happening to me."
Ever labels (slowly) !
At the question about gods, he gives a small shake of his head without looking up, curls falling forward as his attention stays fixed on a label he’s nudging into perfect symmetry. "I don’t normally speak to any gods," he says, voice even, factual. Not defensive, just true. He preferred predictive systems and deities were certainly not that. He presses the label down, checks it, then moves to the next bottle. "The only time I did was when I was infected by the void," he continues, quieter now, though not emotional in tone, just more careful, as if handling a volatile compound. "I asked Frey about it. About what was happening to me."
Ever labels (slowly) !
Even if I had to lose you to know you I'd still be that temporary phase that you grow through
