aquaveiled | Inbox @ aionlogs

"Very well, let us humour each other then." She will feel, as much as hear, the change in his stance; it is as if he leans forward, shoulders raised and head lowered, like a cat preparing to pounce. "The person who made your clothes - assuming it is not one of your wretched coterie. Do you know their name? The circumstances of their birth? Their deepest aspirations? Do you lie awake wondering whether they had a good day or bad?"

He looks at the shard much the same way he did her, when they met in that other place, before he hatched here; again, there is that sense of predator circling dangerous prey. "Or did they cease to exist the moment their function - providing you with said clothes - was complete? Do you, in point of fact, think of them less often, and with less fondness, than you do your cane?"

She does feel it--it's as if his gaze is set on her even though he's malms away. She sucks in a sharp breath despite herself.

And yet...it's a valid question, all things considered, and one she is uniquely qualified to answer. Himeka is far from perfect and has moved on from people she met years ago, but if there is one thing she has always been good at, it's getting integrated into the local community from the bottom up.

"...My furs were provided by a man named Harold--he hunts with his daughter and they skin the animals too. She wants to be an archer. The leathers are aged by a pair of siblings who were also taught by their parents. One of them loves spicy food and the other one cannot handle it. It's become a game between them to sneak peppers in to see if the other will notice before they take that fatal bite. My sandals were put together by a woman named Cerna--she wasn't very friendly, but she does good work. When I ran into her later I found out that her grandson was sick so all her concern was spent on him and her family. I offered what I could, though as you know white magicks don't cure illness."

Himeka exhales long and low.

"I won't pretend to know everyone and I may not know every aspect of their life, but I wouldn't have made it as far as I have if hundreds of people hadn't helped me get there."

He listens in silence; his stance shifts again, eyes closed rather than trained on the shard, the hand wrapped around that crystal now pressed to his forehead, elbow propped up upon knee. Sonder is not a word he knows, nor a realisation he is entirely ready to commit to, but perhaps there are the smallest of baby-steps being made in that direction.

There is a long pause (both to be certain she is done speaking, and to gather his own thoughts) before he speaks. In his mind, at least (perhaps not in hers?) they are back, once again, at the edge of the universe and the end of all things, simultaneously mere yalms apart and separated by an eternity, and it is the same weary melancholy which laces his tone.

"I had thought us one and the same, Beast, but that does a disservice to us both, does it not? Your capacity to care for every wretched creature that crosses your path, the affection with which you view their tedious trivialities, is..."

He trails off. Because that's the thing, isn't it? It simply Is, and that is revelation enough, and does not need to be cheapened with a poorly-picked adjective incapable of doing the thing justice.

Another pause. He clears his throat. "There is to be an excursion. Those Aions already ensconced here wish to show we new arrivals all that Achamoth has to offer. I had not intended going..." The but you would if you were here, wouldn't you? hangs unspoken.

She expects some sort of rebuttal. Perhaps a note that it isn't enough, that she will soon forget them when she moves on to her next task. Himeka does not keep contact with all the lives she has come across, nor would she truly be able to, but she does try to hold a piece of them with her.

Himeka is a mosaic of every person she has ever met.

But he...relents. Almost. And it gives Himeka her own pause. Yes, he still calls other people "wretched creatures" but it feels that he had actually listened and considered what she's said.

What he says next is curious too. Is he asking for her...suggestion on the matter? Whether or not he should spend time with his colleagues? Himeka frowns, her own feelings as standoffish as they had been in the beginning, laced in thinly veiled confusion. This conversation has taken turns she couldn't have anticipated and she has to ask herself...would it be...productive? For Zenos to relate to others? Or only drive him further to the Regent's cause?

...No, no she knows there are good people over there. People have only fallen into despair, who have given up. That doesn't mean she or anyone else has to give up on them.

After a long moment, she finally speaks.

"...I hear it's a great city."

It does not strike him as odd he would seek her opinion - that she is his first, best and possibly only friend is a sad indictment of a Garlean childhood, yes, but is also an undeniable fact, and the credence he grants her opinion is fittingly substantial. He may not always agree - indeed, he frequently does not - but understanding how Himeka thinks has been an interest (some would, rightly, say an obsession) for some time now.

Another series of images, very similar to the first though now more definitively Not Garlemald, none of his memories bleeding in around the edges; dark spires reaching upwards, seemingly endless spiral staircases, figures in masks (some throwing gems, or flower petals, other beseeching a blessing), a brief flash of the room he currently occupies. Lavish though this scenery is, this very much does not feel like he is boasting - indeed, there is a weary boredom to it, as if cycling through particularly uninteresting holiday snaps or discussing what he intends to have for dinner that evening.

"Thus far I have seen little to recommend it." A beat. Where previous inquiries have been very obviously fishing for tactical information, this one is... almost conversational? "Where you are is far less tedious, I trust?"

It's information--whether or not it will prove useful is something else entirely, but she makes note of it all the same. Zenos isn't someone she believes would really care much for the opulence that's been bestowed upon him no matter how used to it he is and the feelings that accompany those quick flashes confirm those thoughts. If the Regent can provide him something of interest he could be a powerful and useful tool to that cause, but he won't be bought with satin and silk.

Were it nearly anyone else Himeka would feel the need to offer something in kind. But this is Zenos. No matter how casually he may be taking this exchange, she cannot.

"Mayhaps." It's a non-answer, guarded as she needs to be. He may get an occasional flash of a tree or a hammock despite her best efforts to clear her mind, but nothing particularly telling. "I don't think you'd enjoy it."

"Don't try to visit," is the real meaning there.

"I am certain I could find something to recommend it."

The implication being, of course, that he's already considering how best to track her down.

There's a brief pause before he adds "Your Coerthan companion, for instance." This, more than anything else he's shared so far, feels closer to Intelligence than Chatter, though ultimately the desire not to reveal plans-in-progress to an enemy loses to the much more pressing one to have someone acknowledge quite how gross an injustice it is that Estinien's name has been placed above hers on the Kenoman Kill List. "I understand he is building quite the formidable reputation."

The mention of Estinien gets a reaction--as any of her friends in particular would. Zenos can feel not only her instant attention but a palpable worry. What are they saying about him over there in Achamoth? Nothing good, she can imagine, as 'formidable reputation' speaks for itself.

"He has always been a capable warrior," she says somewhat defensively. As confident as she is in Estinien's ability to take care of himself, the last thing she wants is to sic Zenos on him.

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