[Liem is still coming to terms with his first impression of Skysong, and as he wanders the floating city, he is discovering that he—
Hates it. He thinks he hates it, actually. He hates the smell of the strange new vehicles growling over the cobbles, he hates the way zealotry and xenophobia have put down roots where previously people had been curious and friendly, and most of all, he hates that the whole place is hanging hundreds of metres up in the air, the immense weight of it poised to plummet at any moment and shatter against the cratered landscape far below.
After his recent visit to Oppara, he cannot help but think wistfully of those familiar streets. Springstar had begun to feel like home to him; now he feels uprooted again, in more ways than one.
Liem has been trapped in Psychagogia for longer than he’d intended to be, at the mercy of the islands’ scheduled intersections, given that he steadfastly refuses to set foot on any of the flimsy-looking fliers buzzing between the different districts. His mood has soured over the past hour or so, helped not at all by the constant nagging anxiety that’s been bothering him since the first moment he glanced past the edge of one of the islands and realized how far they were from the ground. Given the circumstances, he would dearly love to see a friendly face.
Which is why, when he ducks into a tavern near the island’s edge to wait for the next scheduled crossing, he gravitates immediately towards the familiar-looking redhead lounging across the taproom, surrounded by excited chatter of “Set” and “the wakened war god”.
It is also why, when he gets closer and sees the man’s face, bewilderment stops him short, followed swiftly by a look of almost offended incredulity.]
skysong
Hates it. He thinks he hates it, actually. He hates the smell of the strange new vehicles growling over the cobbles, he hates the way zealotry and xenophobia have put down roots where previously people had been curious and friendly, and most of all, he hates that the whole place is hanging hundreds of metres up in the air, the immense weight of it poised to plummet at any moment and shatter against the cratered landscape far below.
After his recent visit to Oppara, he cannot help but think wistfully of those familiar streets. Springstar had begun to feel like home to him; now he feels uprooted again, in more ways than one.
Liem has been trapped in Psychagogia for longer than he’d intended to be, at the mercy of the islands’ scheduled intersections, given that he steadfastly refuses to set foot on any of the flimsy-looking fliers buzzing between the different districts. His mood has soured over the past hour or so, helped not at all by the constant nagging anxiety that’s been bothering him since the first moment he glanced past the edge of one of the islands and realized how far they were from the ground. Given the circumstances, he would dearly love to see a friendly face.
Which is why, when he ducks into a tavern near the island’s edge to wait for the next scheduled crossing, he gravitates immediately towards the familiar-looking redhead lounging across the taproom, surrounded by excited chatter of “Set” and “the wakened war god”.
It is also why, when he gets closer and sees the man’s face, bewilderment stops him short, followed swiftly by a look of almost offended incredulity.]
And who might you be?