( Where he worked, used to work, where he... his breathing's calm, but unsettling, erratic. It's the weight of things, the pressure of memories barely half formed. His mouth feels impossibly dry, for all they always give him drink.
He looks fleetingly out of the window, to an open, placid sky. )
...I am Zenobius. Of the Panagos. ( First, the things he knows, those he remembers. ) I... worked by the sea. With seagulls. Right old bastards.
( But they steal a bitter smile from him. ) Whatever you put down, they'll eat. They'll eat it even if you don't lay it out.
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I...
( Where he worked, used to work, where he... his breathing's calm, but unsettling, erratic. It's the weight of things, the pressure of memories barely half formed. His mouth feels impossibly dry, for all they always give him drink.
He looks fleetingly out of the window, to an open, placid sky. )
...I am Zenobius. Of the Panagos. ( First, the things he knows, those he remembers. ) I... worked by the sea. With seagulls. Right old bastards.
( But they steal a bitter smile from him. ) Whatever you put down, they'll eat. They'll eat it even if you don't lay it out.