ANDRAS DEMYAN
who would believe the fantastic
and terrible story of our survival?
who would believe the fantastic
and terrible story of our survival?
Merciful.
Sure.
If walking on swords was merciful. If a world as heavy as it is vast is merciful. If the overwhelming sense of ennui is merciful, then yes. Sure. Her gods or whatever powers-that-be dumped Galilea here were merciful in doing so. Andras would beg to differ.
The pegasus is still for a moment, glaring down the bridge of his nose as she draws closer. If he had her answers (he doesn't) he probably would not say.
"You don't say." he says through clenched teeth. There is a palpable tension around him. There always is.
But he sees her. He has never seen anything that looks so lost, that looks like it can barely stand on its own legs. She looks like a child, he thinks. Something newly born, dumped in the library by... who? Oriens? Oriens doesn't strike Andras as the type. But he's been wrong before.
So, fine. Andras inhales, holds it for a moment, breathes it out in a sharp sigh while setting his book down on the table, more gently than he does almost anything else. He pities her. If she is looking for answers she has come to the right place, but probably the wrong person. But he cannot snap at someone like her. He cannot lash out at someone that needs his help... gods on know he could appreciate someone doing him the same favor.
"I don't know what answers you're looking for," says Andras, gesturing with one wing as if it were a hand, beckoning her to join him at the table. His face is dark with doubt. "But I'll do what I can."
@galilea
Sure.
If walking on swords was merciful. If a world as heavy as it is vast is merciful. If the overwhelming sense of ennui is merciful, then yes. Sure. Her gods or whatever powers-that-be dumped Galilea here were merciful in doing so. Andras would beg to differ.
The pegasus is still for a moment, glaring down the bridge of his nose as she draws closer. If he had her answers (he doesn't) he probably would not say.
"You don't say." he says through clenched teeth. There is a palpable tension around him. There always is.
But he sees her. He has never seen anything that looks so lost, that looks like it can barely stand on its own legs. She looks like a child, he thinks. Something newly born, dumped in the library by... who? Oriens? Oriens doesn't strike Andras as the type. But he's been wrong before.
So, fine. Andras inhales, holds it for a moment, breathes it out in a sharp sigh while setting his book down on the table, more gently than he does almost anything else. He pities her. If she is looking for answers she has come to the right place, but probably the wrong person. But he cannot snap at someone like her. He cannot lash out at someone that needs his help... gods on know he could appreciate someone doing him the same favor.
"I don't know what answers you're looking for," says Andras, gesturing with one wing as if it were a hand, beckoning her to join him at the table. His face is dark with doubt. "But I'll do what I can."
@galilea
they made you into a weapon
and told you to find peace.
