>>5128179…but that solution’s going to take some pondering, and you’d like some time to mull things over.
“Rupert—thank you for your hospitality. This has been most enlightening.” You say, politely laying the groundwork for your impending departure.
“Glad to help.” He replies, rising to tower over you as his antlers once more shift with a nauseating series of snaps and pops. “Not often I get to talk like this. It’s nice.”
“It was...and I’d like to do it again sometime.” You declare, the earnestness of your offer striking Rupert almost as much as you. “If you’re up for it, that is.”
A moment of consideration, and then…
“I’d like that.” The amalgam says, softly. “Marco, too. If he is willing.”
“Oh, I think he will be.” You laugh, and Rupert returns the sound with a quiet chuckle of his own before inclining his head towards Marchesa’s wares—a gentle reminder of his offer.
In the end, you settle on a fiery scarf, with strands of scarlet, gold, and burnt orange woven into a wearable inferno of color. Rath’s gift is safely tucked in your back talons as you explore a bit more of the complex…though you find it rather simple to navigate. It’s a good thing, too—the space lets your body and mind wander freely, processing your conversation with the oddly philosophical amalgam you just met.
While his hypotheses on the nature of your intrusive thoughts proved almost more disturbing than the thoughts themselves, you’re finding yourself at an impasse of just what to do with that information. Could you possibly commune with the legion inside you, if…if that’s even a thing? Maybe over time your mind will be acknowledged as the alpha, and…no, that doesn’t make sense. Rupert’s still dealing with the ‘memories’ as he called them, and he’s been awake for far longer than you. Then again, you’re dealing with issues it took him many months to work up to, so maybe it’s the Relic that’s forcing you to speedrun your own growth (and subsequent crisis) of consciousness?
It’s questions like this and more that plague you as you flit to the Ikean Fortress’ very apex, hovering near the top of the complex’s arched ceiling as you watch Jackie and Emily spar in the ring below. Even a few seconds of observation tells you that both are evenly matched in their handicap; Jackie without her blade and forced into an unfamiliar fighting style, while Emily’s clearly holding back her own prodigious ability. If you were capable of scowling, you would—even in casual observations like these you find yourself influenced by ideas and concepts beyond any reasonable breadth of your knowledge. Instincts you had no right to feel, paired with dimly-recalled experiences that color what should be novel and new. Your frustrations subside a bit as a pair of your claws run through your own downy fur.
…you absolutely understand why so many indulge in its therapeutic abilities.
(Continued)
