"Good, good! She'll have my ear otherwise." He shakes his head, mock lamenting, but the smile that follows is unfeigned, as is the ache in his chest. If he could preserve her life for her sake, for Wen Ning's, for Sizhui's, for his own, he would. Maybe there still would be a way. Maybe there wouldn't.
Right now, however, there's another concern to deal with, as he made his careful way down the long hall. The first fingerhold to slide the door open was molded over, and he opted to avoid that one for now.
"The specifics change. I'm not sure what it is here yet, but I'll know." By the time they have a true surge of dead in the coming weeks, his educated guess is they'll know more. "It consumes energy, poisons it, gives form to memories, to nightmares. If it's from the other side of mirrors..."
He stops, carefully, then more forcefully sliding back the next door, edging the door open enough to peer inside. Damp, as the rest of the residence must be, but also no indication of stairs. He clucks his tongue, closing the door again, to find it won't quite settle in the frame, the door swollen in its track.
"We need to find stairs down. You take that side, I'll continue along this one?"
There's a familiarity in exploring, investigating, with Wen Ning nearby that has the ache of nostalgia now, after more than two years. He smiles to himself, shaking his head before looking back to his — friend. Yeah, that's the word he wants. His friend, Wen Ning.
no subject
Right now, however, there's another concern to deal with, as he made his careful way down the long hall. The first fingerhold to slide the door open was molded over, and he opted to avoid that one for now.
"The specifics change. I'm not sure what it is here yet, but I'll know." By the time they have a true surge of dead in the coming weeks, his educated guess is they'll know more. "It consumes energy, poisons it, gives form to memories, to nightmares. If it's from the other side of mirrors..."
He stops, carefully, then more forcefully sliding back the next door, edging the door open enough to peer inside. Damp, as the rest of the residence must be, but also no indication of stairs. He clucks his tongue, closing the door again, to find it won't quite settle in the frame, the door swollen in its track.
"We need to find stairs down. You take that side, I'll continue along this one?"
There's a familiarity in exploring, investigating, with Wen Ning nearby that has the ache of nostalgia now, after more than two years. He smiles to himself, shaking his head before looking back to his — friend. Yeah, that's the word he wants. His friend, Wen Ning.