well any man with a microphone
can tell you what he loves the most
can tell you what he loves the most
It’s hard to piece apart her gaze, void-black surrounded by those slashes of white, but August gets the sense that he is being weighed and measured and the verdict is…well, not the best. His own expression doesn’t falter; he doesn’t mind such first impressions, not when there’s always an opportunity to shape them into something useful.
Still, she responds openly enough, and he nods even as he scans again the walls around them, matching up what he sees now with his memories of the place. When he was a boy, the thought of living here had been a thrill - how wide the hallways were, how fascinating the thought of a dozen secret passageways to a dozen secret rooms. There were all kinds of stories about the mysteries the castle held, and the history it had seen, and each of them began with a grain of truth.
But now, August knows he wouldn’t give up his modest rooms at the Scarab for an entire wing of this castle. It was far too distant from the sound of the sea, his constant lullaby, and from the heartbeat of the city.
He also wonders what this stranger does, that this building would be her home.
“Most folks can live where they’re comfortable,” he says easily, “whether that’s below a ceiling of false stars or real ones.” His silver-eyed gaze goes back to hers (all he can see in the black is his own reflection, and that of the columns and arching walls behind them) and he smiles at her name, an expression that grows into a full grin at her question and mention of showy.
Before he can answer, the sound of footfalls on hard floor rings out, and he turns, ears pricked, to watch Katniss approach. Much as she knows him, he only recognizes her from passing - a more recent citizen of Denocte, but already named a Champion. Even in the soft light of the citadel she looks far more haggard than the last time he’d seen her, worn thin - August reprimands himself for not knowing why. Though with everything going on, it could be as simple as the fact of life in Denocte.
Though as soon as he meets her gaze, he knows there must be more.
“Camillia,” he says, dipping his muzzle to each in turn, ever the gentleman. “Katniss. A pleasure to meet you both. I’m August - not quite an entertainer, though I do work in the industry. But my position is more…managerial.” His smile is a quick thing, there and gone again, a silver fish flashing fins above the surface of the water. And then he is demure again, glancing between the two mares, who together dwarf him in the hall.
“Katniss is right,” he continues. “We’ve had many wonderful medics, and I’m glad we’ll have another. We’re between Champions of Healing, at the moment, but I can show you to the medics’ quarters, if you like? Or anywhere else, if you haven’t had a proper tour.”
@Camillia @
