CIAN
the eye
In the hearth the fireplace roars and spits a red glow throughout the room. No candles have been lit to brighten the darker corners of Cian's large office such that the shadowy corners shrink and grow with the flickering of the flames. In one of the high-backed chairs, the Eye sits with a crystal glass of something dark and smooth in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. He rolls the glass effortlessly as he thinks, blue eyes lost in the pulsing of the coal. The ash of his cigarette has grown so long it threatens to break and fall onto his chair, but it hasn't yet.
Finn has returned, successfully, and has been summoned. What Cian thinks of this isn't revealed in the slow blink of his eyes, or the casual way he sits comfortably in his chair. Without seeming to have moved, the ash from his cigarette is gone and a few swallows of whiskey have been drained from his glass.
Having given his receptionist the week off due to LongNight, the Eye's door has been left open such that Finn will have nothing to knock upon when he arrives.
Finn has returned, successfully, and has been summoned. What Cian thinks of this isn't revealed in the slow blink of his eyes, or the casual way he sits comfortably in his chair. Without seeming to have moved, the ash from his cigarette is gone and a few swallows of whiskey have been drained from his glass.
Having given his receptionist the week off due to LongNight, the Eye's door has been left open such that Finn will have nothing to knock upon when he arrives.
