[P] daybreak

[Eik]

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I DO NOT BELIEVE THINGS ARE REBORN IN FIRE
I BELIEVE THEY'RE CONSUMED BY FIRE
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He is okay with being watched by her.

He is used to eyes- everyone is always looking, always peering into you in a way he sometimes finds rude. He's always been deliberate with his gaze, not wanting to see what cannot be unseen. For the most part he does not want to be seen by those with eyes like butcher knives, who don't look but see. But with some, he is okay with being seen-- comfortable, even. Regardless, he is too busy in his mind to care about such things right now. Too busy listening, and thinking.

Eik nods at her words. Coincidentally, Dawn and Dusk seem the most approachable to him- He knows Asterion in Dusk (he does not smile, but there is a flash of warmth in his eyes- how good it will be to see his friend again!), and Ipomoea in Dawn. Both good men, trustworthy- this he knows in the way a sailor knows the changing weather based only on the color of the sea.

It feels good to have confidence in something.

"I see." He says, feeling obligated to say something. It seems a privilege to be privy to her thoughts, so meticulously organized even as they freewheel.

"Solterran steel is the best in Novus"-

His glance falls to her collar. He thought, for a while, it was a necklace. Something supposed to be pretty. That is how garish Novus was to him at first-- everything seemed a vanity. As he looks at her neck something like anger stirs in him; he hastens to settle it, reminds himself that everything has a time and a place.

(somewhere in the dark nameless place, a squeaky door opens. His thoughts rattle against each other like dice shaken in closed hands.

A quake of thunder rolls across his chest, down his spine. It settles, and he knows the day is coming when he won't be able to contain it.)

"Perhaps you could ask the blacksmiths to craft something more…aesthetic as a gift."

He nods. A sensible idea, he would not feel comfortable gifting weapons unless war was upon them. "It will be done." He says, hoping the blacksmiths have a better understanding of aesthetic than he does... left to his own hapless devices he'd surely show up to Terrastella bearing a beautiful gift of ball and chain, or something equally insulting.

It takes discipline to sort through his thoughts. They are running in a myriad of directions, too fast and far-flung for him to wrestle into cohesion tonight. He is surprised at how readily he has stepped into this new position, and how quickly his mind has embraced the tasks before him. Not more than a year prior he was wandering the wasteland, alone beyond loneliness.

(not even selling your soul, but giving it away-- and with only a blink of hesitation. And we thought a man fallen with his face to the ground could sink no further.)

He looks to the many candles across the room, then the darkening sky, then her two-toned eyes, and he holds back a deep sigh. "I have so many questions for you. We will be here a while?" His slight accent still lingers, he still cuts off sentences here and there and phrases questions like statements and vice versa. He still clings to the past, in many ways. He does not realize yet that this is his harbor now, although he is beginning to accept it as such.

Night is falling quickly. He remembers his last experience with Seraphina in the library, the pain and fear that consumed him. And as he begins to light the candles he absent-mindedly marvels at how far away that moment seems.

How cruel time can be,
and yet-
how kind.

we will never really understand.


-  -  -
AND THE FIRE HAS A LIFE OF ITS OWN
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-curtains close-
@Seraphina ah so many words, so little said, so sorry. and we're out, hope you're okay with the way I ended that <3