stay your pretty eyes on course
That bright smile makes Sunjata look suddenly years younger, Niki realises, though he isn't sure whether it's also the location playing tricks on his mind. Either way, watching only briefly as Petronella goes to threaten one of the reading lamps, he heads a little further into the library and reaches out to let his fingers skim across the spine of one book whose title he can't decipher.
"Korofi?" he asks automatically, never having heard of the language - and it's fair to say that Niki has done his fair share of studying. "Even if I were to change them to something else, it is not as though I remember whole books," he says with a crooked smile, letting his hand drop. The titles, perhaps, but he has the impression if he were to open any of the books it would just be gibberish or blank inside.
"Hm?" He turns to see Sunjata by the chair, an eyebrow raising, and as the other man asks him to change it, he can only give a small shrug. "But it suits the place so well already," he says, all quiet, dry humour. But even as he speaks the chair starts to morph under Sunjata's fingers. No longer plush leather, Niki warps the chair into a wingback in a shade of deep, rich green fabric. A matching footstool pops up just in front of it - perfect for a person to rest their bad leg, one might guess.
"Oh." Niki is surprised by his own creation, stepping closer and reaching out to brush his fingers across it, as if to check it's real.
"Korofi?" he asks automatically, never having heard of the language - and it's fair to say that Niki has done his fair share of studying. "Even if I were to change them to something else, it is not as though I remember whole books," he says with a crooked smile, letting his hand drop. The titles, perhaps, but he has the impression if he were to open any of the books it would just be gibberish or blank inside.
"Hm?" He turns to see Sunjata by the chair, an eyebrow raising, and as the other man asks him to change it, he can only give a small shrug. "But it suits the place so well already," he says, all quiet, dry humour. But even as he speaks the chair starts to morph under Sunjata's fingers. No longer plush leather, Niki warps the chair into a wingback in a shade of deep, rich green fabric. A matching footstool pops up just in front of it - perfect for a person to rest their bad leg, one might guess.
"Oh." Niki is surprised by his own creation, stepping closer and reaching out to brush his fingers across it, as if to check it's real.
Niki
I guess I never really faced my fears before
