Different kind of cold for it, I think. [ Konstantin nods thoughtfully, though the subject is an uncomfortable one. He's spent much time thinking about it, as much as he doesn't want to — the workings of the thing. So much of it is still an unknown, but there are parts that make sense. ] The snow, the temperature changes... I think its body needs something stable. Constant. In comparison to life up there, Earth is... so unpredictable.
[ And it, in turn, is unpredictable. It can evolve and change — or it could before; this place seems to have stagnated its progress. That's probably a fucking good thing, even if it means he's doomed to be a perpetual incubator for the thing. But Kieren's right; it didn't think things through. He's not even sure it was ever capable of that, really. It seems... young, maybe just hatched, and he has to wonder if it was a mistake on its part to imprison itself in his body. Neither of them were probably ever meant to collide with one another; their existence is an unpleasant, painful one.
He smiles as he reaches for the mug, drawing it back to himself and carefully brushing a fingertip against its surface to gauge the temperature, before settling back against his seat a bit. ]
This is just fine, thank you.
[ For the offer to drop by, too. It's nice having places that are safe to go. He'll wait a bit before actually chancing a sip, let the thing calm down a bit more. The last thing he wants is to throw up again in the poor boy's vicinity.... whether that be blood or coffee. But now Konstantin's looking up and over at him, falling silent for a few long moments as he listens. Then he's giving a soft nod again, eyes dropping to his hands. ]
Yes, I have several, too. .....Different colours. [Several. He doesn't know what to make of it, of them. He's afraid to look too closely, but... with Kieren barely a few feet from him now, and that one golden thread more taut between them, he gingerly approaches it again, cautious. ] They all feel a little different too, I think. [ Some are pleasant and some aren't, and Kieren's— Konstantin draws in a soft breath as he lets his mind open more to the sensation. He grew up in the city, was there for most of his life, so in contrast, the feel and small of fresh morning air stands out. Something... calm, peaceful and still, but a little sad, too. A little lonely. ]
...Yours reminds me of being in a painting. [ He finally voices, with the slightest hint of a smile, and in that statement, admitting that he has one connecting him to the boy. Yes, a painting comes to mind, like something of Kieren's art. ] Somewhere rural, maybe. A little rainy, and a little cold. It's easy to breathe there.
no subject
[ And it, in turn, is unpredictable. It can evolve and change — or it could before; this place seems to have stagnated its progress. That's probably a fucking good thing, even if it means he's doomed to be a perpetual incubator for the thing. But Kieren's right; it didn't think things through. He's not even sure it was ever capable of that, really. It seems... young, maybe just hatched, and he has to wonder if it was a mistake on its part to imprison itself in his body. Neither of them were probably ever meant to collide with one another; their existence is an unpleasant, painful one.
He smiles as he reaches for the mug, drawing it back to himself and carefully brushing a fingertip against its surface to gauge the temperature, before settling back against his seat a bit. ]
This is just fine, thank you.
[ For the offer to drop by, too. It's nice having places that are safe to go. He'll wait a bit before actually chancing a sip, let the thing calm down a bit more. The last thing he wants is to throw up again in the poor boy's vicinity.... whether that be blood or coffee. But now Konstantin's looking up and over at him, falling silent for a few long moments as he listens. Then he's giving a soft nod again, eyes dropping to his hands. ]
Yes, I have several, too. .....Different colours. [ Several. He doesn't know what to make of it, of them. He's afraid to look too closely, but... with Kieren barely a few feet from him now, and that one golden thread more taut between them, he gingerly approaches it again, cautious. ] They all feel a little different too, I think. [ Some are pleasant and some aren't, and Kieren's— Konstantin draws in a soft breath as he lets his mind open more to the sensation. He grew up in the city, was there for most of his life, so in contrast, the feel and small of fresh morning air stands out. Something... calm, peaceful and still, but a little sad, too. A little lonely. ]
...Yours reminds me of being in a painting. [ He finally voices, with the slightest hint of a smile, and in that statement, admitting that he has one connecting him to the boy. Yes, a painting comes to mind, like something of Kieren's art. ] Somewhere rural, maybe. A little rainy, and a little cold. It's easy to breathe there.