Bitter Taste

"You cannot speak?" Her voice is sweet, the chiming of a bell. This does little to lessen the sting of the truth. Seiji shakes his head, something dimming in the very depths of his black eyes. No. No; it is the reason he stands here now, though the longer he searches the farther he drifts from his original purpose. How many names has he collected of the people living here? They weren't people to him, at first. They shouldn't be. Sorrow dampens his curiosity as he turns back toward the pit. The girl's voice rings again, and one of Seiji's ears turns delicately to catch it. She talks a lot, but her voice isn't unwelcome. It's merely a surprise after such a long time spent in silence. As she continues on, Seiji finds he rather likes it. His features soften as she moves up beside him. He glows with a genial pleasure, his gaze skating only very briefly over her wings (they still feel as if they should be an omen). Now Seiji realizes she has asked him a question. Ears forward, he blinks at her. She's asking if he's a scholar. He knew such people — or, knew of them. His pursuits, of course, were always a little more physical. He thinks about it now, though: why is he here? Why here in particular? It does him no good, this place. What he seeks isn't here. But he lingers, nonetheless. Slowly, thoughtfully, he shakes his head. But some thought moves like a fish beneath the opaque waters of his mind, and he turns away from her briefly to wander a little ways along one edge of the pit, his dark eyes studying the ground. Not too long before he finds it: a smooth stone, pale, small enough to fit in his mouth but large enough to see from a distance. Leaning down to pick it up, Seiji returns to where he had been standing only a moment before. He blinks at the girl, regretting he cannot ask her name. But he cannot give out his own, either. Perhaps they don't need names for this. The two of them: just scientists. On the edge of darkness. Seiji's neck recoils before snapping out again, a snake striking in reverse. He lets go the stone and watches it soar. Watches it strike the black. Stands watching, ears pricked, for the inevitable disappearance.

@Requiem