Seiji holds his silence as Jigano continues to speak. A bookend to match the conversation begun with Amalia when Seiji last ventured down into the guildhall. He stills still, his fingers pressed to his mouth, until Isuma’s protests get the better of him. Then, his mouth quirked with charm and amusement both, he reaches out to stroke her sleek feathers, his dark eyes warm.
He should have much to think on after this. But he finds he all passes him by, like a story of some distant place. Like a fairytale. What does Seiji care about the stakes of strange gods? About a war between factions with no interest in him? If this is true, if he was brought here to help with a task now finished, a task he had no part in… The furrow between his brows deepens.
“So we are still trapped here?” he asks, one eyebrow raised above its brother. He sighs. “Do you think she is… bad? The Voice?” Do you think it was right? He means. Seiji does not approach gods with awe. He approaches with respect, with a healthy dose of caution, but with a practicality, as well. It does not occur to him to think in any other way, at the present moment.
His eyes widen in surprise at the mention of Ronin, but soon he is smiling. “I met Ronin,” he says, quiet but clearly cheered. “He helped me.” And asked for nothing in return. Seiji thinks of apples, of the pale dragonling, and his smile lingers. “I am glad your friend is well, too,” he adds, though it isn’t the main topic of conversation. “I would like to hear what you know about the forest,” he adds with a nod. This is what he came here to ask, really. Though as he sits, sipping at his mug, the sweet taste of apple and spice filling his mouth, he thinks he would not be anywhere else. He thinks… he ought to have come here sooner.
He should have much to think on after this. But he finds he all passes him by, like a story of some distant place. Like a fairytale. What does Seiji care about the stakes of strange gods? About a war between factions with no interest in him? If this is true, if he was brought here to help with a task now finished, a task he had no part in… The furrow between his brows deepens.
“So we are still trapped here?” he asks, one eyebrow raised above its brother. He sighs. “Do you think she is… bad? The Voice?” Do you think it was right? He means. Seiji does not approach gods with awe. He approaches with respect, with a healthy dose of caution, but with a practicality, as well. It does not occur to him to think in any other way, at the present moment.
His eyes widen in surprise at the mention of Ronin, but soon he is smiling. “I met Ronin,” he says, quiet but clearly cheered. “He helped me.” And asked for nothing in return. Seiji thinks of apples, of the pale dragonling, and his smile lingers. “I am glad your friend is well, too,” he adds, though it isn’t the main topic of conversation. “I would like to hear what you know about the forest,” he adds with a nod. This is what he came here to ask, really. Though as he sits, sipping at his mug, the sweet taste of apple and spice filling his mouth, he thinks he would not be anywhere else. He thinks… he ought to have come here sooner.
