[ Death is one of those things you tend to remember; unless of course you don't. Like so many of the truly Important events to occur to one over the course of their Being, death is at once totally universal and utterly personal. So it's understandable that he might not want to talk about why he thinks he maybe should expect to be dead.
Understandable, too, that he might want to leave now; it hasn't seemed like he was at any point expecting company, let alone conversation. Just a little plunder, something he has already managed to help himself to. ]
Is that a promise?
[ Ieza has never been the kind of person to restrain herself, particularly in the face of a fascination. Which may be overstating matters, but there is something - that uncommon something - which flickers within the mournful lunar lambence of his aura. She's not about to try and overpower the man; to what end, really, other than maybe to cocoon him in the upper reaches of the ficus until a more convenient time. More trouble than it would be worth, and she is not quite at that stage of predation, has not wandered so far off the path of the Docence.
She is, however, capable of hiding some of what she does even as she does it; it's one of the only kinds of dissembling she's ever had practice at. And since 'this' is already bizarre, certainly a little more bizarreness will not come as a shock. ]
Do take care of yourself, [ she says, finally knee-walking over a half foot or so, offering almost enough clearance for him to bolt without bumping into her. She lifts a hand to her forehead, half of a gesture which is indeed an actual legitimate hail, then reaches out to repeat the gesture on Flint, fingers making for his brow in a manner that is certainly no more intrusive than, say, a Continental cheek kiss. ]
Anamnēsteon [ she intones, in the sing-song of farewell. ]
no subject
Understandable, too, that he might want to leave now; it hasn't seemed like he was at any point expecting company, let alone conversation. Just a little plunder, something he has already managed to help himself to. ]
Is that a promise?
[ Ieza has never been the kind of person to restrain herself, particularly in the face of a fascination. Which may be overstating matters, but there is something - that uncommon something - which flickers within the mournful lunar lambence of his aura. She's not about to try and overpower the man; to what end, really, other than maybe to cocoon him in the upper reaches of the ficus until a more convenient time. More trouble than it would be worth, and she is not quite at that stage of predation, has not wandered so far off the path of the Docence.
She is, however, capable of hiding some of what she does even as she does it; it's one of the only kinds of dissembling she's ever had practice at. And since 'this' is already bizarre, certainly a little more bizarreness will not come as a shock. ]
Do take care of yourself, [ she says, finally knee-walking over a half foot or so, offering almost enough clearance for him to bolt without bumping into her. She lifts a hand to her forehead, half of a gesture which is indeed an actual legitimate hail, then reaches out to repeat the gesture on Flint, fingers making for his brow in a manner that is certainly no more intrusive than, say, a Continental cheek kiss. ]
Anamnēsteon [ she intones, in the sing-song of farewell. ]