[DAY :043]

[nirsighted]

[Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Late in the evening, the pervasive thrum of Nirad's mental presence returns to Bearings. It winds higher - unwrapping, lengthening, widening: small flashes of silver, memories like the scales of so many fish glimpsed through the lapping water of some distance, unfamiliar water. A wet street reflects the glow of neon signs above it; a doorway, rain drizzling off the landing above it; a stream of traffic glittering through the half light--]

( Hi. We're back from following that Ahtaliah Ven guy. Aoba's head is hurting him so he's going to take a break I think but I guess I can tell you what we saw? )

[He doesn't sound hesitant so much as he does distracted.]

( Honestly I didn't see anything very interesting, but maybe it was a bad day for him? Maybe you can't be a bad guy every day of the week, right? Anyway, he worked pretty late then me and Aoba followed his car to a place where he got dinner. It's a nice car. He met with someone there. A lady. A friend, I think, but I don't really know. Maybe we should have followed her instead though because after they had dinner, Ven went home. So we have his address and how to get access to his building and I know which apartment he lives in and if we wanted to get in it seems like it might be pretty easy because he spends so much time at work, you know? I'm sure he's got some super high tech security at home but it's not like he owns the building so it's probably just inside his penthouse or whatever. Uh. Yeah. )

[BUZZZZZZZZZZZZ.]

Comments

[nirsighted]

[It's a good thing that mental connection is there - that wavering, undulating mass drawn between them. There's a flicker of misunderstanding, then the sensation of correction. Oh. He almost answered the question wrong.]

( A while. It's hard to tell because of time changes and because of how the symbiote slows stuff down. Like five years maybe? )

[There's something murmuring under the words like an echo or a bitter metal taste in the mouth: the ghosts of a hundred different days shifting around just out of consciousness.]

[wrackful]

( Huh. )

[As if being like this for five years wasn't a terrifying prospect. But Murphy shelves his gut reaction next to wondering what the symbiote slowing stuff down meant, and wondering what this guy's brain must look like now. At least he didn't act like Cathaway.]

( So you've been on a lot of these things, then. Missions or whatever. )

[nirsighted]

[There: a small flicker to the mental buzz. For a second the sound coalesces into an image. Each vibrating note is like an scale interlocked across some great dark water animal, and across each scale passes some ghost of a memory. Somewhere there's a blurred image of a transport viewscreen flashing warning alerts; elsewhere there's Nirad, or someone who looks so like him that it's difficult to parse the difference. He stands on the ledge of some high rooftop and whistles to himself; somewhere a city is burning and ash lingers on the tongue; somewhere--

The buzz winds down like a rope being coiled - habitual more than pointed.]

( Yeah, I guess. They're not all like this. I've been on this one a long time. )

[wrackful]

( Not all like this mission, or this place? )

[The city, bright lights and full of people, stretching onwards further than Murphy had managed to go. He's gotten used to it, isn't entirely sure why he's asking. Maybe part of him misses the trees. Maybe part of him misses the Ark.]

[nirsighted]

( Both? )

[Some of that deep, low mental vibration flutters, a flash of something silver in dark water. There's a tang of memory with it: somewhere there is a wood so quiet every falling leaf seems to echo; elsewhere there is a room made of concrete and steel with oppressively little future, only someone is smiling and someone is laughing through the tail end of a joke and it isn't unpleasant; elsewhere, a child's weight on his shoulders, their knees locked around his ears and their hands in his as he carries them across some waist deep ford, cold water licking around and past him. None of it's so bright or crowded or claustrophobic as this place is.]

[wrackful]

[Quiet, for a long moment. Listening. Feeling. He doesn't hate this city, or the people, but in the immediate the desire to be anywhere else rises stronger than he can ignore.]

( How much longer do you think this is gonna take? )

[He doesn't really expect an answer. He doesn't think any of them know.]

[nirsighted]

[A murmuring pause, a moment of consideration laced with some kind of low, vibrating uncertainty. Whatever his answer is, it's obvious it'll just be a guess. An educated one? Maybe. More than Murphy's would be anyway...--]

( Not that long. Things usually go pretty fast when they get to the exploding stage. )

[wrackful]

[A soft rise of amusement, albeit edged a little jaded.]

( Yeah, that sounds about right. )