Aamu
It's too late to keep that cat contained now, but he's struck by the idea of just not telling anyone else the circumstances of how and why he's suddenly around. He's already been mistaken for an Outlander or a dear departed in every single encounter, so why didn't he just roll with that? (Too honest.) He suspects it would've made things a lot easier. Just pretend he'd been a hermit who died prematurely in some unfortunate accident fifty years ago instead, and then decided to come back when given a chance.
It'd spare him this, at least, the confused you weren't dead?, Wessex's awe-struck face, Henry looking away like.. Yeah, like what? The guy's just looking away, and Aamu can't read it. Is it because he's faced with the idea of someone hibernating for three centuries? Or does he think Aamu's completely bonkers?
Maybe both, or something else entirely.
He sits there and tries not to fidget too much during the second it takes Henry to process. At least he comes with some sort of 'approved by Wessex' stamp. "Of course," he responds, mild and mellow, on the subject of curiosity and the unknown. "And hey, a season in Torchline doesn't sound so bad."
Compared to fighting ancient monsters, at the very least. Aamu feels it is best to leave the subject of the past as it is, until he's had time to figure out why he feels so dejected, and Henry has had time to process just what is sitting in front of him. So he is more than happy to let the talk turn to—swords.
He knew some sort of weapons request was going to come, but.. a sword? Henry doesn't look the sword-fighting type. Hard-working type? Yes. Swordy? .. not really. Aamu judges silently. "How long have you got?" It's vital to know. Two days? Aamu can make you a sword. Won't be amazing, but serviceable. A week? Aamu can make you a better sword. A month or two? Aamu can make you a fucking masterpiece.
Well. If he can get the materials. Right now he guesses he can only get something at 'better sword' level, anyway. "And what type of sword?"
It'd spare him this, at least, the confused you weren't dead?, Wessex's awe-struck face, Henry looking away like.. Yeah, like what? The guy's just looking away, and Aamu can't read it. Is it because he's faced with the idea of someone hibernating for three centuries? Or does he think Aamu's completely bonkers?
Maybe both, or something else entirely.
He sits there and tries not to fidget too much during the second it takes Henry to process. At least he comes with some sort of 'approved by Wessex' stamp. "Of course," he responds, mild and mellow, on the subject of curiosity and the unknown. "And hey, a season in Torchline doesn't sound so bad."
Compared to fighting ancient monsters, at the very least. Aamu feels it is best to leave the subject of the past as it is, until he's had time to figure out why he feels so dejected, and Henry has had time to process just what is sitting in front of him. So he is more than happy to let the talk turn to—swords.
He knew some sort of weapons request was going to come, but.. a sword? Henry doesn't look the sword-fighting type. Hard-working type? Yes. Swordy? .. not really. Aamu judges silently. "How long have you got?" It's vital to know. Two days? Aamu can make you a sword. Won't be amazing, but serviceable. A week? Aamu can make you a better sword. A month or two? Aamu can make you a fucking masterpiece.
Well. If he can get the materials. Right now he guesses he can only get something at 'better sword' level, anyway. "And what type of sword?"
You are the night-time fear
You are the morning when it's clear
You are the morning when it's clear
