"I have forgotten some of my creations." Countless projects throughout his education, some failed, some not. Dabbling here or there. He remembered many, all the ones that were important to him, but the rest? "What is important to one is not what is important to another. That you recall this or that, over some other thing, means at one time it was more meaningful. I can't tell you why, for it is subjective." He returns gradually, to the light scratch of claws on skin, partly to give himself something to do, partly to see if it helps with the turmoil he could feel even in just a heartbeat against his stomach. Was all of it nonsense? Maybe. He didn't actually know why Elidibus might remember some tiny part of a conversation he himself didn't, but it must have meant something to the Emissary at some point.
Lahabrea could pry about the book, but he doesn't. What its purpose was he could take guesses at, it wasn't quite the writing down he had meant but maybe it would so some good. Or at least, leave some sort of record for the future.
There was nothing to focus his indignation on over any of it; his own situation, the trouble Elidibus endured. The only one who seemed to be coming out of any of this content was the missing third, and he ... well, it might not even be his doing but the manipulations of others.
It's too much to think about when thought itself was an effort, and the last few minutes took considerable tenacity to manage. It was easier, preferable even, to stew in his own irritation than any thoughts that might accompany such annoyance. Blank frustration and fury. "I can't well put them back." Those were definitely his feathers, and he was going to have a small gap in his plumage now. It would grow back eventually. "There are some who will pay well for such things. Keep it." Or sell it, as the implication goes, there's not much Lahabrea can do with it now.
Later would tend to later, and though he did indeed itch to return to some kind of work, doing nothing somehow deeply antithetical, but if he moved it would force Elidibus to do likewise, and for the moment, with the trouble he's already having, that seemed.. a little rude. So he remains where he is, even though it was an annoyance.. but everything, everything was an annoyance, including going back to work so he chooses the one that is at least comfortable. "There's no reason to move unless one grows cramped or some such," is the eventual reply. "Mayhap the days and nights will pass more quickly if I am simply not conscious to experience them."
no subject
Lahabrea could pry about the book, but he doesn't. What its purpose was he could take guesses at, it wasn't quite the writing down he had meant but maybe it would so some good. Or at least, leave some sort of record for the future.
There was nothing to focus his indignation on over any of it; his own situation, the trouble Elidibus endured. The only one who seemed to be coming out of any of this content was the missing third, and he ... well, it might not even be his doing but the manipulations of others.
It's too much to think about when thought itself was an effort, and the last few minutes took considerable tenacity to manage. It was easier, preferable even, to stew in his own irritation than any thoughts that might accompany such annoyance. Blank frustration and fury. "I can't well put them back." Those were definitely his feathers, and he was going to have a small gap in his plumage now. It would grow back eventually. "There are some who will pay well for such things. Keep it." Or sell it, as the implication goes, there's not much Lahabrea can do with it now.
Later would tend to later, and though he did indeed itch to return to some kind of work, doing nothing somehow deeply antithetical, but if he moved it would force Elidibus to do likewise, and for the moment, with the trouble he's already having, that seemed.. a little rude. So he remains where he is, even though it was an annoyance.. but everything, everything was an annoyance, including going back to work so he chooses the one that is at least comfortable. "There's no reason to move unless one grows cramped or some such," is the eventual reply. "Mayhap the days and nights will pass more quickly if I am simply not conscious to experience them."
There's an idea, drug himself into oblivion!