Night of the red moon.
WHO: Oriya and Muraki, surprise surprise!
WHAT: Meeting up and finding a place to stay for the night.
WHERE: The streets of Rivelata, and later on some form of housing.
WHEN: Late in the night
Once again, Oriya was reminded that geta had not been created for cobblestones. Not only were they loud against the stone, but provided little shock protection to his ankles and knees. Zori would of been a better choice, though really, he had been lucky enough to pass out with anything on his feet at all. The Samurai couldn't say he was in a good mood. He supposed it had shown in his writing, which had been anything but patient or with a pretense of kindness. His body was tired, his mind distracted and worried. The night was also becoming quite chilly, cutting through the thin fabric of his torn kimono. After all the effort of bidding and searching (and nearly sending a team of thugs to beat someone into submission for sniping the only other existing garment), the antique kimono hadn't lasted through the first wear.
He hoped that Muraki was having better luck, or at least hadn't become too stressed. The day hadn't gone so well on his end, he just wanted it to be over. He wanted to be back home, away from all these people. There was only one man he was interested in speaking to, and he could do that in the comfort of his own house. He could of used a change of clothes as well, not to mention a relaxing bath. A sigh left Oriya's full lips, running calloused fingers through his thick brown hair and pushing it back from his face. Who even knew when he would run into the Doctor? He hoped soon, but Rivelata was a strange and confusing place.
WHAT: Meeting up and finding a place to stay for the night.
WHERE: The streets of Rivelata, and later on some form of housing.
WHEN: Late in the night
Once again, Oriya was reminded that geta had not been created for cobblestones. Not only were they loud against the stone, but provided little shock protection to his ankles and knees. Zori would of been a better choice, though really, he had been lucky enough to pass out with anything on his feet at all. The Samurai couldn't say he was in a good mood. He supposed it had shown in his writing, which had been anything but patient or with a pretense of kindness. His body was tired, his mind distracted and worried. The night was also becoming quite chilly, cutting through the thin fabric of his torn kimono. After all the effort of bidding and searching (and nearly sending a team of thugs to beat someone into submission for sniping the only other existing garment), the antique kimono hadn't lasted through the first wear.
He hoped that Muraki was having better luck, or at least hadn't become too stressed. The day hadn't gone so well on his end, he just wanted it to be over. He wanted to be back home, away from all these people. There was only one man he was interested in speaking to, and he could do that in the comfort of his own house. He could of used a change of clothes as well, not to mention a relaxing bath. A sigh left Oriya's full lips, running calloused fingers through his thick brown hair and pushing it back from his face. Who even knew when he would run into the Doctor? He hoped soon, but Rivelata was a strange and confusing place.