[There's a hesitation, a caution, that Solomon doesn't use often. But as Tatara takes his hand, Solomon squeezes it on reflex and tries to walk them forward, even as the echo of his own voice starts to ripple behind them.
It was the least I could do. No need to keep the only other human here in a pickle. Though... you do have me interested in how you got Lucifer so worked up.
The surroundings start to shift to the stony, spiraling rock of a cave system that feels unnatural and otherworldly. You feel innately aware that this is a place you are both not welcomed, and a place that you feel at home.
There is someone beside you. The ghost of an image, the voice hard to place for age or gender. Their form feels of nostalgia, of pride, of stubborn energy, of compassion unending. Of the color of lilacs. Of the light of angels.
Solomon stops in place. An afterimage of him continues on, with the stranger at his side. They give him a dry, unamused look, and his phantom laughs brightly.
Sorry, I couldn't help it. I'm just glad I was able to help.
Anyway, Thirteen shouldn't mind us wandering through here. There's somewhere I want to show you, anyway--
Your heart aches with emotions not quite your own. A complex relief. A touch of disappointment, a mountain of protectiveness. And something else, something warm, that aches and aches, that you swallow down like it's normal.]
no subject
[There's a hesitation, a caution, that Solomon doesn't use often. But as Tatara takes his hand, Solomon squeezes it on reflex and tries to walk them forward, even as the echo of his own voice starts to ripple behind them.
It was the least I could do. No need to keep the only other human here in a pickle. Though... you do have me interested in how you got Lucifer so worked up.
The surroundings start to shift to the stony, spiraling rock of a cave system that feels unnatural and otherworldly. You feel innately aware that this is a place you are both not welcomed, and a place that you feel at home.
There is someone beside you. The ghost of an image, the voice hard to place for age or gender. Their form feels of nostalgia, of pride, of stubborn energy, of compassion unending. Of the color of lilacs. Of the light of angels.
Solomon stops in place. An afterimage of him continues on, with the stranger at his side. They give him a dry, unamused look, and his phantom laughs brightly.
Sorry, I couldn't help it. I'm just glad I was able to help.
Anyway, Thirteen shouldn't mind us wandering through here. There's somewhere I want to show you, anyway--
Your heart aches with emotions not quite your own. A complex relief. A touch of disappointment, a mountain of protectiveness. And something else, something warm, that aches and aches, that you swallow down like it's normal.]