memory’s so treacherous
”You must be very popular,” Finn says, rolling the glass between his fingers, stormy eyes still pinned on Sunjata. Lifting the glass again, the sip he takes this time is much more measured, the Spyglass savouring the taste of the liquor on his tongue. He doesn’t need magical spectacles to get the impression that the man sitting before him is a force of nature, that he doesn’t give a damn about popularity. It creates a heaviness in Finn’s gut, a sense that he’s walking a tightrope and that Sunjata is as likely to pull him onto as shove him off.
Not the sort of man he expects to be touched by Safrin, in truth, but he is good at his job. He isn’t wrong, not about things like this. Finn has to stop himself from saying I know as the other man gives his story. Because of course he knows - he’s a researcher, precisely for this sort of thing. ”Torchline suits you, evidently,” he says, sitting back in his seat and setting his drink down. ”Do you have any other tips?”
Not the sort of man he expects to be touched by Safrin, in truth, but he is good at his job. He isn’t wrong, not about things like this. Finn has to stop himself from saying I know as the other man gives his story. Because of course he knows - he’s a researcher, precisely for this sort of thing. ”Torchline suits you, evidently,” he says, sitting back in his seat and setting his drink down. ”Do you have any other tips?”
one moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights
the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go
FINN
