Week 7, Saturday - Ion the Nicer

[melancoffeea]

[How many weeks has it been since he was in this room? It feels like it's been months, years. Nothing has changed—or, rather, everything has reverted to its original state. Sandalphon gives the room a once-over, then looks over his shoulder to the door when he senses the presence of another.]

Hm . . . Back already?

Comments

[fragileprophet]

So it seems!

[He's honestly just thrilled that everyone is back--his face is all alight, even though he's absolutely covered in mud and swamp water.]

But I could circle around for a bit, if you were hoping for some privacy.

[melancoffeea]

I've had privacy nearly all of my life. I'm not hurting for more.

[He inclines his head to the side.]

But you could do with a fresh set of clothes.

[fragileprophet]

Then I won't go anywhere!

[But yeah...clothes.]

I think I'll start with a shower and work from there. I suppose I must look a little ridiculous...but really, I feel incredibly alive!

[melancoffeea]

Do you? . . . Good. That's good.

[He sits down on the bed, reclaiming his side.]

I won't go anywhere, either. Go and get yourself cleaned.

[fragileprophet]

Okay! Then I'll be right back!

[To become un-gross. He finds himself a change of clothing from the tailor and washes off...but before too long, he's falling back onto his side of the bed.]

It's hard to believe it's finally gotten to this point. And here we are, right back where we started.

[melancoffeea]

[True to his word, Sandalphon's barely budged an inch by the time Ion comes back. After thousands of years of practice, getting lost in his thoughts is no great feat.]

Yes . . . though not for very long. After tonight, we'll all be gone.