S E I J I
Gratefully, he accepts the much heavier fur coat from Kiada. Seiji hesitates for a guilty moment, though. Surely he ought to be more reliable than this, pathetic enough to be constantly handed gifts. He shrugs it on nonetheless, with a nod in Kiada's direction. He will be indebted to her for a long time after the kindesses she has shown him tonight. But he will repay her. He promises himself that.
She is describing the strange weather she encountered around the spire. "Magic," Seiji says wryly, mostly to himself. Why would a place like this exist? A strange, ill-maintained cage? He can't think of anything the people here have in common — with each other or himself. How frustrating! And he can't even remember what he was doing before he ended up here. A puzzle with too many pieces, half of which are unobtainable. Impossible to see the larger picture yet.
Kiada draws his attention away with a motion, though. When he turns fully to glance at her again, she isn't there at all. Just a large bird, its feathers patterned black and pale. Seiji's features light up then, somewhere between surprise and delight. "A vulture!" he says, grinning. She's impressive in this form: the size of her wings, of her hooked talons, of her feral voice. He is tempted to step away from her, but in a moment the Kiada he met earlier that evening is back, speaking as if there was hardly a break in their conversation, at all.
He looks at her in awe, only half listening to her words. "You're talented," he says at last, as if in disagreement with her own assessment of her flight abilities. And there are others like her! What a strange place! He could ask a thousand questions about the magic itself, how she learned it, if she can teach others — but he worries about prying too far. "I don't think I have seen that ability before," is all he says, still smiling. But he hasn't forgotten about the problem of the spire altogether. He is not so easily distracted.
He turns back toward it thoughtfully. "It could be a..." What is the right word? He pauses, searching, before he says, reluctantly, "a god? In that place?" He gestures at the tower. "Angry, maybe?" Whatever he did in his past life, he's sure it had nothing to do with religious consequences. He's guessing. But he feels like he's only grasping the edge of an idea, something half-buried in the mess of his memories. He sighs. "I don't know enough about this place." Or about himself.
Gratefully, he accepts the much heavier fur coat from Kiada. Seiji hesitates for a guilty moment, though. Surely he ought to be more reliable than this, pathetic enough to be constantly handed gifts. He shrugs it on nonetheless, with a nod in Kiada's direction. He will be indebted to her for a long time after the kindesses she has shown him tonight. But he will repay her. He promises himself that.
She is describing the strange weather she encountered around the spire. "Magic," Seiji says wryly, mostly to himself. Why would a place like this exist? A strange, ill-maintained cage? He can't think of anything the people here have in common — with each other or himself. How frustrating! And he can't even remember what he was doing before he ended up here. A puzzle with too many pieces, half of which are unobtainable. Impossible to see the larger picture yet.
Kiada draws his attention away with a motion, though. When he turns fully to glance at her again, she isn't there at all. Just a large bird, its feathers patterned black and pale. Seiji's features light up then, somewhere between surprise and delight. "A vulture!" he says, grinning. She's impressive in this form: the size of her wings, of her hooked talons, of her feral voice. He is tempted to step away from her, but in a moment the Kiada he met earlier that evening is back, speaking as if there was hardly a break in their conversation, at all.
He looks at her in awe, only half listening to her words. "You're talented," he says at last, as if in disagreement with her own assessment of her flight abilities. And there are others like her! What a strange place! He could ask a thousand questions about the magic itself, how she learned it, if she can teach others — but he worries about prying too far. "I don't think I have seen that ability before," is all he says, still smiling. But he hasn't forgotten about the problem of the spire altogether. He is not so easily distracted.
He turns back toward it thoughtfully. "It could be a..." What is the right word? He pauses, searching, before he says, reluctantly, "a god? In that place?" He gestures at the tower. "Angry, maybe?" Whatever he did in his past life, he's sure it had nothing to do with religious consequences. He's guessing. But he feels like he's only grasping the edge of an idea, something half-buried in the mess of his memories. He sighs. "I don't know enough about this place." Or about himself.
The rain is full
of ghosts tonight
of ghosts tonight
