Dirty tissues, trust issues

Seiji

Remi's question is a good one. So good it takes Seiji aback. He does not answer immediately, but spends some time thinking on it, before he says, "Maybe. I don't remember what happened, but... Maybe it was impossible to avoid." Pensive, he nods. "Do you remember what it was like? Coming here?" Somehow, Seiji expected the transition must have been obvious. Something big, a cataclysm avoidable only from a distance. Like a building falling in an earthquake, like a train coming down the tracks. But what if whatever door it was had simply opened one day beneath his feet? What if it had caught him in the middle of a conversation? In a hallway between bedrooms? Out on the beach...? Somehow, such a thought is far more chilling than Seiji cares to admit. If coming to Caido was a mistake, something he can take the blame for, it is easier to bear. If the place simply snapped him up like an ambush predator, he is powerless. Always was. To frame it that way... He doesn't want to. His mind organizes itself around the possibility, places that scenario in a blind spot, draws the curtains shut. It hurts, almost, to examine the possibility now. Like running fingers over an open wound. So Seiji is glad to change the course of the conversation, even if it means something bad must have happened to Remi. Even if he doesn't know what to say, except, "Reckless is the same as brave, sometimes," With a small, half-apologetic, shrug. Seiji is not the man to speak with about caution. He takes big dangers seriously, of course, but he has never believed in a healthy dose of caution. Moving forward, learning things, pushing toward one's limits... Those are things which matter. But whatever has happened between Remi and someone else isn't his business, so he lets it go. "Like this," he says, holding up a hand with forefinger looped toward thumb, forming a ring about the size of a coin. "Flat. Can you do that?" He is endlessly amazed by the magic here in Caido. It permeates the people like something airborne. But tangible (for them) as a third limb. He finds it strange, strange and fascinating, and watches eagerly to see if Remi can, indeed, comply with his request. "It's a simple game," Seiji adds, half apologetically, "But if it was complicated, I would probably remember wrong." His smile is a little sheepish as he casts around the room then, his eyes landing several tables away, where a discarded wooden tray rests alone. He darts away for only a moment, long enough to secure it, before he settles back into his seat and produces the knife Kiada had given him. Probably to defend himself, but Seiji judges this a better use for it. He begins drawing a grid, 8 squares by 8 squares, and shading in every other one with rough strokes. as a child I mostly spoke inside my head had conversations with the clouds, the dogs, the dead