Aamu
He's afraid he's misjudged Henry—or just the world in general. Aamu's cavalier, playful answer seems only to give rise to confusion, and he can't tell if it was his attitude or, as Henry puts it, that it doesn't seem to bother him.
Maybe it would, if he was on the outside looking in.
Or maybe it's just the only way he can handle it, without falling into despair. It yawns beneath him, a hungry abyss, and it would be all too easy to fall into it. "I was mostly joking," he says quietly, deflated, arms once again folded over his chest. A flimsy protection, at best, against disappointment, yet there he is, cold and alone. He knows it's dumb, but he feels rejected. "It would concern me, if not for the fact I spent the past few centuries being, mmh, essentially asleep. Does things to your memory." He pauses. "Pretty sure it is Stormbreak, though." Not that it actually matters...
He figures he's spilled all his mysteries now, anyway. He wonders how long it'll be until he's just sad old Aamu in everyone's eyes. His unacknowledged past keeps hovering over him, and he's pretty sure it'll be painful when it crashes down on him. You know, when it actually sinks in. Everything is still like a fever dream, distant and unreal.
Help? He remembers Wessex's transmission, speaking of monsters during LongNight, here in the Grounds, and the growing threat of the Order and the Old God Heralds. "Honestly? I'm here because .. I was invited, I suppose. And because I need to be somewhere, right? You care a lot more about your surroundings when you're conscious."
He sighs. It's not Henry's fault (well, in a way, it is, but hey) that he keeps asking existential questions, but it's very much a case of, the more Aamu talks about it, the more real it feels. Quietly he goes on, "If I can do some good in the process, I'm down for that."
Well. Good for the Ascended and their chosen allies—whoever they are in this day and age.
Maybe it would, if he was on the outside looking in.
Or maybe it's just the only way he can handle it, without falling into despair. It yawns beneath him, a hungry abyss, and it would be all too easy to fall into it. "I was mostly joking," he says quietly, deflated, arms once again folded over his chest. A flimsy protection, at best, against disappointment, yet there he is, cold and alone. He knows it's dumb, but he feels rejected. "It would concern me, if not for the fact I spent the past few centuries being, mmh, essentially asleep. Does things to your memory." He pauses. "Pretty sure it is Stormbreak, though." Not that it actually matters...
He figures he's spilled all his mysteries now, anyway. He wonders how long it'll be until he's just sad old Aamu in everyone's eyes. His unacknowledged past keeps hovering over him, and he's pretty sure it'll be painful when it crashes down on him. You know, when it actually sinks in. Everything is still like a fever dream, distant and unreal.
Help? He remembers Wessex's transmission, speaking of monsters during LongNight, here in the Grounds, and the growing threat of the Order and the Old God Heralds. "Honestly? I'm here because .. I was invited, I suppose. And because I need to be somewhere, right? You care a lot more about your surroundings when you're conscious."
He sighs. It's not Henry's fault (well, in a way, it is, but hey) that he keeps asking existential questions, but it's very much a case of, the more Aamu talks about it, the more real it feels. Quietly he goes on, "If I can do some good in the process, I'm down for that."
Well. Good for the Ascended and their chosen allies—whoever they are in this day and age.
You are the night-time fear
You are the morning when it's clear
You are the morning when it's clear
