Seiji
Seiji breathes again as her head breaks the surface: red curls and droplets of red water, all together glistening in the sun. All he knows of her is that she seems free — free of fear, of worry, of all the burdens anchoring him to the earth. Perhaps it is only youth; he recalls a time he moved so freely, too. A time before Caido. A time when sand was soft beneath his feet, when waves sang him lullabies. He can only grin, moving near and crouching at the pool's edge as she swims over.
Something glitters in her outstretched palm: an assortment of loose pebbles and tiny stones, glimmering and wet. As she lets them fall, Seiji tilts his head. He reaches out to grasp one between his fingertips and lifts it to the light. "Not red," he says, perhaps unnecessarily. His eyes move back to the water, a curious frown tensing just slightly between his brows. "Are your clothes red now?" he wonders.
Seiji leans over to scoop a palmful of the water into his own hand, and crouches there eying it. It does not smell strange. "Does anyone drink it?" He is not quite foolhardy enough to try, but he rather wants to. A mischievous sort of half-grin plays at one corner of his mouth, shepherded into being by her adventurous nature.
Something glitters in her outstretched palm: an assortment of loose pebbles and tiny stones, glimmering and wet. As she lets them fall, Seiji tilts his head. He reaches out to grasp one between his fingertips and lifts it to the light. "Not red," he says, perhaps unnecessarily. His eyes move back to the water, a curious frown tensing just slightly between his brows. "Are your clothes red now?" he wonders.
Seiji leans over to scoop a palmful of the water into his own hand, and crouches there eying it. It does not smell strange. "Does anyone drink it?" He is not quite foolhardy enough to try, but he rather wants to. A mischievous sort of half-grin plays at one corner of his mouth, shepherded into being by her adventurous nature.
