[Ruins. Pillars. Nothing familiar, either in environment or in architectural style. And no monsters, either, so he's not here to fight... So then, he must be here to explore. Of course! That summer studies program!]
["Linksha" is "Link", again -- and sometimes "Linu", or "Linshaia", if his mother's upset -- a precocious thirteen-year-old, short and gangly, despite his real strength. He wears the clothes he wore back home, -- did the university ever give him a uniform? He can't remember ever getting one... -- a 3/4-sleeved white linen shirt, an embroidered linen short-vest in shades of green and goldenrod yellow, and linen capris with matching embroidery on the wide, decorative hem. A colorful sash wraps around his waist, the ends flowing loose at the back. In his hands are the tools of his trade: notebook and a charcoal stick. The tiny satchel tucked under his sash holds more charcoal and a pen.]
[He sets to work sketching the ruins, then stops when he feels a presence at his back. He turns around to find a Sheikah warrior... Only,
( ... )
[Sheik has just crouched to examine an interesting mark against a fallen pillar, when a sudden presense makes him freeze.]
[The single word called out is familiar and unfamiliar both - by rights, he shouldn't know it. And yet he does, has always known it.]
[And it's only a boy. A notebook and charcoal is hardly a weapon, and he's not the princess, but he is who he has been looking for.]
...Hello.
[He smiles a little uneasily. There are questions that he should be asking, brushing incessantly against the forefront of his mind, but they're irrelevant now. The boy is here. That is all.]
[A proper greeting demands a proper introduction, so Link rises and put away his charcoal within the bound journal and extends a hand.]
"Link." [He wants to add, "but you can call me Linksha", though why he'd wanna add that is unclear, so he keeps it to himself. Link's a strange enough name, as-is.]
"What's yours?" [Except, he knows the man's name... doesn't he?]
[Sheik reaches for Link's hand and clasps it briefly before releasing it.]
Link...
[But he knew that already, didn't he?]
My name is Sheik.
[Well... it isn't. Not really. Somewhere in the depths of his memory is his real name, but he has been called Sheik for so long that it might as well be his own. Shouldn't it?]
[He knows this place from somewhere. No, two somewheres; twin memories, both hazy and detail-less from time. This is... no, he can't remember. It doesn't really matter, though. If he can't remember, he'll just have to relearn.
[So he wanders around for a bit, looking here and there. He's alone here, or so he thought, so he's quite surprised to round a broken pillar and see someone standing there. His mind recognizes the clothing even though he can't make out the man's face.]
[He isn't surprised to see him here, but somehow he should be. If he looks at Link, it's like two images, overlayed - dark clothes and long hair one moment, black melting in to white and hair shorter in the next.]
[For what feels like a very long time, he simply studies the hero, the shifting angles of his face, the mask that is and isn't at his belt.]
[So it is Sheik. What's he doing here? Then again, Link's not even sure what he's doing here, so he doesn't ask the question. Still, something doesn't seem quite... right. He feels like he's looking at Sheik through thick glass; something's just off.
[He decides that it doesn't matter. He nods and walks closer. Lead on.]
[Sheik nods, and they begin walking. As if the environment itself is reacting to Link's presense, it's no longer the Boundary Sheik remembers. Deku flowers start appearing around the edges. Bottomless pits with only stone platforms allowing a way across.]
Comments 38
["Linksha" is "Link", again -- and sometimes "Linu", or "Linshaia", if his mother's upset -- a precocious thirteen-year-old, short and gangly, despite his real strength. He wears the clothes he wore back home, -- did the university ever give him a uniform? He can't remember ever getting one... -- a 3/4-sleeved white linen shirt, an embroidered linen short-vest in shades of green and goldenrod yellow, and linen capris with matching embroidery on the wide, decorative hem. A colorful sash wraps around his waist, the ends flowing loose at the back. In his hands are the tools of his trade: notebook and a charcoal stick. The tiny satchel tucked under his sash holds more charcoal and a pen.]
[He sets to work sketching the ruins, then stops when he feels a presence at his back. He turns around to find a Sheikah warrior... Only, ( ... )
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[The single word called out is familiar and unfamiliar both - by rights, he shouldn't know it. And yet he does, has always known it.]
[And it's only a boy. A notebook and charcoal is hardly a weapon, and he's not the princess, but he is who he has been looking for.]
...Hello.
[He smiles a little uneasily. There are questions that he should be asking, brushing incessantly against the forefront of his mind, but they're irrelevant now. The boy is here. That is all.]
What is your name?
Reply
"Link." [He wants to add, "but you can call me Linksha", though why he'd wanna add that is unclear, so he keeps it to himself. Link's a strange enough name, as-is.]
"What's yours?" [Except, he knows the man's name... doesn't he?]
Reply
Link...
[But he knew that already, didn't he?]
My name is Sheik.
[Well... it isn't. Not really. Somewhere in the depths of his memory is his real name, but he has been called Sheik for so long that it might as well be his own. Shouldn't it?]
Reply
[So he wanders around for a bit, looking here and there. He's alone here, or so he thought, so he's quite surprised to round a broken pillar and see someone standing there. His mind recognizes the clothing even though he can't make out the man's face.]
Sheik?
Reply
[He isn't surprised to see him here, but somehow he should be. If he looks at Link, it's like two images, overlayed - dark clothes and long hair one moment, black melting in to white and hair shorter in the next.]
[For what feels like a very long time, he simply studies the hero, the shifting angles of his face, the mask that is and isn't at his belt.]
[Silently, he holds out one hand. Come with me.]
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[He decides that it doesn't matter. He nods and walks closer. Lead on.]
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[Very faintly, just at the edge of hearing, a song can be heard.]
[Stopping at the edge of a bottomless pit, Sheik stops.]
You know this place, don't you?
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