FINN
the spyglass
it is only through mystery and madness
”I do not make friends, Cian.” Finn’s laugh is a mix of weary and bitter, and it takes a deep breath of the cool air to rally him enough to rise to his feet. Gods but he’s tired, the Spyglass moving on autopilot to get dressed. He knows well enough that Cian does not wait for propriety or... anything else, really - not even the wide open door is an excuse for Finn’s tardiness.
So he dresses quickly, shirt clean and pressed (one of the few he has left), swiftly buttoned, his tie knotted at his throat, cuffs straight. Adding pants, socks, shoes, and his coat, he ends the ritual by wiping his face over with a cold, damp cloth. ”All of these places are vastly different to Stormbreak. Each with its own... nuances, customs, prevalence.” Makes no difference to Cian, he bets.
”I suppose I must have been suffering with a touch of culture shock. Our Fixer seems to agree, at least. Sooner left behind the better, if that is the case.”
So he dresses quickly, shirt clean and pressed (one of the few he has left), swiftly buttoned, his tie knotted at his throat, cuffs straight. Adding pants, socks, shoes, and his coat, he ends the ritual by wiping his face over with a cold, damp cloth. ”All of these places are vastly different to Stormbreak. Each with its own... nuances, customs, prevalence.” Makes no difference to Cian, he bets.
”I suppose I must have been suffering with a touch of culture shock. Our Fixer seems to agree, at least. Sooner left behind the better, if that is the case.”
that the soul is revealed
