[ He laughs. Of course he laughs, at the idea of hiding from someone else's brother, a girl with bright eyes and a round face and an earnest sensibility around her. He's not sure he buys into the idea of parallel worlds, but he can't deny the immediate comparison that comes to mind, nor the small spark of warmth that it ignites in him. It's not going to do him any good to already be looking at her through any particular filter, but just for a moment he tells himself that she'll at least understand if things turn out the way they're both seemingly used to.
Gods he misses Iris. And the mention of monsters—yet another commonality—all but quashes the barely-there flame of familiarity. He misses everyone. And for the first time he realizes that he's taking the peacefulness of this night for granted, that even away from the firelight nothing looms or growls or stalks through the darkness. That there are no spotlights staggered along the beach for safety, to keep daemons at bay.
He startles, then, at the question, gaze scanning the shore for signs of manifestation, for the telltale light of a Bomb. And it takes a moment for him to reply. ]
Not my kind of place. I'm used to the way money makes people difficult, entitled. But the resort isn't just about money. Whoever's running this place likes having power over people. [ Softer, he adds: ] And I'm not sure anymore whether I wish my people were here, or if I'm glad this place hasn't found them.
[ He swallows the last of his drink, ice noisy against the plastic as he sets it in the sand again. ]
Everyone's playing the Game differently, so it's not even like it's easy to find new people here either.
don't sweat it! i'm big on backtagging.
Gods he misses Iris. And the mention of monsters—yet another commonality—all but quashes the barely-there flame of familiarity. He misses everyone. And for the first time he realizes that he's taking the peacefulness of this night for granted, that even away from the firelight nothing looms or growls or stalks through the darkness. That there are no spotlights staggered along the beach for safety, to keep daemons at bay.
He startles, then, at the question, gaze scanning the shore for signs of manifestation, for the telltale light of a Bomb. And it takes a moment for him to reply. ]
Not my kind of place. I'm used to the way money makes people difficult, entitled. But the resort isn't just about money. Whoever's running this place likes having power over people. [ Softer, he adds: ] And I'm not sure anymore whether I wish my people were here, or if I'm glad this place hasn't found them.
[ He swallows the last of his drink, ice noisy against the plastic as he sets it in the sand again. ]
Everyone's playing the Game differently, so it's not even like it's easy to find new people here either.