(no subject)
Characters: Souji Seta, a bean sidhe, walk into a bar... and open!
Location: By the well.
Time: Late evening.
Brief Summary: Souji runs into someone unexpected when on his way to meet Suzaku for watch duty - but she just wants to sing for him, so it's cool, right?
Rating: PG-13 or something.
The day had been clear, but the night was promising to be misty. Already, silver-grey strands of the stuff were cobwebbing low in the streets. It was oddly luminous, even with the sky darkening above. There was light enough to see, however - living here, you got used to it quickly. But it reminded Souji of Inaba, and not in the best of ways. It reminded him of winter, when Inaba had been cold and thick with unnatural fog, fog that had obscured anything beyond a foot in front of your eyes. Not that it was that bad, but his Teddie-made glasses were stowed in the inside pocket of his school coat, just incase.
Patrols had to be done, at any rate, and he'd be meeting Suzaku soon. Work was good, whether it was in the inn, or here - even sewing was therapeutic in a weird way (he found himself understanding a bit more about Kanji, too). It kept his mind working on things other than the things it was wont to linger on when he let it wander - leadership, home, truces, Adachi, we're not so dissimilar, you know - and that was something he was thankful for. Sitting idle wasn't something he was comfortable with at the best of times - now there was a need of him to act, and he had a need to do so.
It was better than nothing, at least, and even with the problems to be considered, he was optimistic. Admittedly, his visit to the temple had bolstered his resolve - his persona were here. He just had to uncover them, and he wasn't exactly a stranger to doing so. What little explanation he'd been given was cryptic... But then, the memory of Igor rose unbidden in his mind and he remebered he wasn't exactly a stranger to crypticism, either.
Either way, any direction was something he sought after, and for the time being, this would do. He was thinking of masks when a dark shape moved up ahead in the mist-shrouded shadows, and his brow furrowed.
It wasn't Suzaku. He knew that much on sight. It was smaller, more huddled. One hand went to the hilt of his sword as he took a few more steps forward, eyes narrowing for a better look.
"Who's there?" He asked, and the shape moved, maybe looked up at him, it was difficult to tell. But it didn't answer with words.
It answered with a sob.
Location: By the well.
Time: Late evening.
Brief Summary: Souji runs into someone unexpected when on his way to meet Suzaku for watch duty - but she just wants to sing for him, so it's cool, right?
Rating: PG-13 or something.
The day had been clear, but the night was promising to be misty. Already, silver-grey strands of the stuff were cobwebbing low in the streets. It was oddly luminous, even with the sky darkening above. There was light enough to see, however - living here, you got used to it quickly. But it reminded Souji of Inaba, and not in the best of ways. It reminded him of winter, when Inaba had been cold and thick with unnatural fog, fog that had obscured anything beyond a foot in front of your eyes. Not that it was that bad, but his Teddie-made glasses were stowed in the inside pocket of his school coat, just incase.
Patrols had to be done, at any rate, and he'd be meeting Suzaku soon. Work was good, whether it was in the inn, or here - even sewing was therapeutic in a weird way (he found himself understanding a bit more about Kanji, too). It kept his mind working on things other than the things it was wont to linger on when he let it wander - leadership, home, truces, Adachi, we're not so dissimilar, you know - and that was something he was thankful for. Sitting idle wasn't something he was comfortable with at the best of times - now there was a need of him to act, and he had a need to do so.
It was better than nothing, at least, and even with the problems to be considered, he was optimistic. Admittedly, his visit to the temple had bolstered his resolve - his persona were here. He just had to uncover them, and he wasn't exactly a stranger to doing so. What little explanation he'd been given was cryptic... But then, the memory of Igor rose unbidden in his mind and he remebered he wasn't exactly a stranger to crypticism, either.
Either way, any direction was something he sought after, and for the time being, this would do. He was thinking of masks when a dark shape moved up ahead in the mist-shrouded shadows, and his brow furrowed.
It wasn't Suzaku. He knew that much on sight. It was smaller, more huddled. One hand went to the hilt of his sword as he took a few more steps forward, eyes narrowing for a better look.
"Who's there?" He asked, and the shape moved, maybe looked up at him, it was difficult to tell. But it didn't answer with words.
It answered with a sob.