S E I J I
A thrill of — something — runs through him as their eyes meet. Not quite fear, but not quite excitement. He is for a instant pinned, the breath caught in his lungs. Then she smiles, as if they are friends. Seiji finds himself moving toward her despite (perhaps because of?) her lack of other company. In his current state, Seiji almost believes he does know her. They could be friends. But how how absurd —
He sidles into a place beside her, watching with keen eyes as the man behind the bar pours him a drink. Seiji wraps long fingers around the glass and peers curiously down. Is alcohol here the same? Would he know if it were not? He wonders again how it is he knows what alcohol is if he doesn't really remember drinking it. Only the concept — the ghost of a larger memory. The liquid inside is amber, warm and inviting, so he lifts it and sips delicately, wincing only a little as it burns its way down his throat.
"Thank you," he coughs, and settles the glass once more upon the bar. Now they're close, he pauses for just a moment, studying the stranger's face. She has a wild look about her — hawkish the perfect word. There is a sort of patient ferocity in the set of her mouth, the devouring blue of her eyes. He isn't sure why she singled him out, or why she has extended the kindness of ordering him a drink, but he should repay her kindness somehow. Shouldn't he?
"Nice to meet you, Kiada." He smiles, and it is a genuine smile, brightening the wary tension of his face. "I am Okura Seiji." He nods. Tightens his fingers around the glass as if it's an anchor holding him steady. "I am — new." He finds it now for some reason difficult to remember how conversation is made. He wants to ask a thousand things, but is she the person to ask? Is it appropriate? "You live here?" A pause, a half smile, and a vague gesture with his free hand. "Not — here — near-by?"
A thrill of — something — runs through him as their eyes meet. Not quite fear, but not quite excitement. He is for a instant pinned, the breath caught in his lungs. Then she smiles, as if they are friends. Seiji finds himself moving toward her despite (perhaps because of?) her lack of other company. In his current state, Seiji almost believes he does know her. They could be friends. But how how absurd —
He sidles into a place beside her, watching with keen eyes as the man behind the bar pours him a drink. Seiji wraps long fingers around the glass and peers curiously down. Is alcohol here the same? Would he know if it were not? He wonders again how it is he knows what alcohol is if he doesn't really remember drinking it. Only the concept — the ghost of a larger memory. The liquid inside is amber, warm and inviting, so he lifts it and sips delicately, wincing only a little as it burns its way down his throat.
"Thank you," he coughs, and settles the glass once more upon the bar. Now they're close, he pauses for just a moment, studying the stranger's face. She has a wild look about her — hawkish the perfect word. There is a sort of patient ferocity in the set of her mouth, the devouring blue of her eyes. He isn't sure why she singled him out, or why she has extended the kindness of ordering him a drink, but he should repay her kindness somehow. Shouldn't he?
"Nice to meet you, Kiada." He smiles, and it is a genuine smile, brightening the wary tension of his face. "I am Okura Seiji." He nods. Tightens his fingers around the glass as if it's an anchor holding him steady. "I am — new." He finds it now for some reason difficult to remember how conversation is made. He wants to ask a thousand things, but is she the person to ask? Is it appropriate? "You live here?" A pause, a half smile, and a vague gesture with his free hand. "Not — here — near-by?"
The rain is full
of ghosts tonight
of ghosts tonight
