don't pull me, don't pull me down from the ceiling
Bastien simply looked down at Zhanshi as the landshark bit his fingers, expression far too apathetic for the situation (though the lack of pain was helping with that). Making sure that the shark wasn't hurting Pittore, who was still squirming to get away, he was content for the moment.
"You haven't yet told me what it is you want. ...Right?" Bastien began to doubt himself before he'd finished speaking, his short term memory currently just as foggy as his recollection of events from years ago. Try as he might, he couldn't remember what it was Amun had come into the Sanctuary looking for, nor if he'd ever been told. He spent the next minute staring intensely at his visitor in the hope it might restore his memory, but it did not.
The mixing of paint really did make him want to yell, having spent hours the week prior making up the pristine pots, but Bastien bit his tongue again, not wanting to interrupt the potential making of a masterpiece (and in his fever-addled state, Amun's painting looked like it might be one). "Amun...you must have a soul. It's what gives you personality..what allows you to make your um...statues?" His voice was tired, as if they'd been having this debate for hours. "Don't...don't bother the Voice with it. You clearly have one. I can even see it, in some lights."
That was true enough: he could. When Amun leaned forward and into the glow of the nearby candle, Bastien could see a fuzzy but definitely there golden sheen in the air around him.
"You haven't yet told me what it is you want. ...Right?" Bastien began to doubt himself before he'd finished speaking, his short term memory currently just as foggy as his recollection of events from years ago. Try as he might, he couldn't remember what it was Amun had come into the Sanctuary looking for, nor if he'd ever been told. He spent the next minute staring intensely at his visitor in the hope it might restore his memory, but it did not.
The mixing of paint really did make him want to yell, having spent hours the week prior making up the pristine pots, but Bastien bit his tongue again, not wanting to interrupt the potential making of a masterpiece (and in his fever-addled state, Amun's painting looked like it might be one). "Amun...you must have a soul. It's what gives you personality..what allows you to make your um...statues?" His voice was tired, as if they'd been having this debate for hours. "Don't...don't bother the Voice with it. You clearly have one. I can even see it, in some lights."
That was true enough: he could. When Amun leaned forward and into the glow of the nearby candle, Bastien could see a fuzzy but definitely there golden sheen in the air around him.
BASTIEN
