S E I J I
Seiji finds a peculiar tickle of fondness growing in him. Maybe he is simply starved for companionship, but Kiada is interesting. A darkness full of secrets. He might be more wary had he found himself alone with her, but here, surrounded by people and light and strong walls... He enjoys the conversation. His nerves feel more settled now than they have since his arrival on that cold, dark night.
He files away her answers in his memory. He requires a greater breadth of information before judging what she's told him one way or another, but it could be true. He certainly doesn't recognize anything about this place, these people... Could he truly have come from another world entirely? And what does that make this place?
Seiji is mostly listening when she says the word vulture. So casually given, that — her eyes on him all the while. Brows lifting, Seiji studies her. Not quite skeptical, but curious. She has the look of someone much harder than he. Criminal comes to mind. Rogue. Thief. Gangster. Even if she is lying, vulture is quite a creature to choose. She doesn't prove it either way, though, here in the crowded bar. Of course, she wouldn't.
"No magic like that," he says in response to her question. A wry expression crossing his features. "I think." Even as he says it, something ghosts across his awareness: incense, smoke rising in still air. A pang of hurt rings through his head, and the fingers of his left hand flex without any conscious input. He blinks. The room around him suddenly feels unsteady.
He isn't sure how much time passes between when last he spoke and the moment he looks back up at her. The food she ordered has appeared, and he fixates on it for an uncomfortable second, all too aware of the emptiness in his stomach. Then Seiji blinks, embarrassed by his lack of propriety, and runs a hand through his hair. "I don't remember," he finds himself telling her. "I was in the forest one day. That is all I know." But his gaze falls to the silver pin still clinging to the lapel of his jacket: a swan in descent, wings flared gracefully behind it. He lifts a hand to trace one edge of it with his thumb.
Seiji finds a peculiar tickle of fondness growing in him. Maybe he is simply starved for companionship, but Kiada is interesting. A darkness full of secrets. He might be more wary had he found himself alone with her, but here, surrounded by people and light and strong walls... He enjoys the conversation. His nerves feel more settled now than they have since his arrival on that cold, dark night.
He files away her answers in his memory. He requires a greater breadth of information before judging what she's told him one way or another, but it could be true. He certainly doesn't recognize anything about this place, these people... Could he truly have come from another world entirely? And what does that make this place?
Seiji is mostly listening when she says the word vulture. So casually given, that — her eyes on him all the while. Brows lifting, Seiji studies her. Not quite skeptical, but curious. She has the look of someone much harder than he. Criminal comes to mind. Rogue. Thief. Gangster. Even if she is lying, vulture is quite a creature to choose. She doesn't prove it either way, though, here in the crowded bar. Of course, she wouldn't.
"No magic like that," he says in response to her question. A wry expression crossing his features. "I think." Even as he says it, something ghosts across his awareness: incense, smoke rising in still air. A pang of hurt rings through his head, and the fingers of his left hand flex without any conscious input. He blinks. The room around him suddenly feels unsteady.
He isn't sure how much time passes between when last he spoke and the moment he looks back up at her. The food she ordered has appeared, and he fixates on it for an uncomfortable second, all too aware of the emptiness in his stomach. Then Seiji blinks, embarrassed by his lack of propriety, and runs a hand through his hair. "I don't remember," he finds himself telling her. "I was in the forest one day. That is all I know." But his gaze falls to the silver pin still clinging to the lapel of his jacket: a swan in descent, wings flared gracefully behind it. He lifts a hand to trace one edge of it with his thumb.
The rain is full
of ghosts tonight
of ghosts tonight
