If there was one language of comfort that Gaius spoke fluently, it was physical contact, so he was strangely relieved at the easy way in which the woman engaged in it with him. It allowed him a small measure of feeling like himself again.
His hand moved to cover hers resting on his arm, as he listened to her side of things.
It was difficult for him to imagine the kind of world she was describing: he'd been born and raised on a world known for its fertile lands, fit for agriculture, and the only other planet on which he had lived was covered in sprawling cityscapes.
"A very different world than mine, I must say. We were all cities and technology, and cars, and strip clubs." His mouth twisted into a shadow of a smile. "I can't say I've ever even seen a desert. Had you ever been on a ship before?"
He wondered if she were referring to the destruction of her world at the hands of the Ohm, or if there was something ,else that would end it.
Her description was so vivid, that he almost thought he could smell the edge of cinnamon in her hair, when he looked over at her. There was probably wisdom in her words, about the importance of memory, but the magic of it seemed somewhat lost on Gaius at the moment. Fifty thousand humans had remained, relying on their memories of how things should be done in an attempt to maintain the society they had come to know and feel a part of.
Now all but one of them were dead anyways, all those memories left on his shoulders. He felt them tighten, as if it were a tangible weight. He lightly moved his arm around Arha's waist, because he almost felt as if he could use the support.
"Yes, well," he said, eyes scanning the strange floor of the vessel as they continued, "while I agree about the importance of memory, I imagine that at times a few drinks to blur the edges into something a little less bittersweet isn't asking too much." After a moment, he added, "There is ambrosia here, isn't there?"
no subject
His hand moved to cover hers resting on his arm, as he listened to her side of things.
It was difficult for him to imagine the kind of world she was describing: he'd been born and raised on a world known for its fertile lands, fit for agriculture, and the only other planet on which he had lived was covered in sprawling cityscapes.
"A very different world than mine, I must say. We were all cities and technology, and cars, and strip clubs." His mouth twisted into a shadow of a smile. "I can't say I've ever even seen a desert. Had you ever been on a ship before?"
He wondered if she were referring to the destruction of her world at the hands of the Ohm, or if there was something ,else that would end it.
Her description was so vivid, that he almost thought he could smell the edge of cinnamon in her hair, when he looked over at her. There was probably wisdom in her words, about the importance of memory, but the magic of it seemed somewhat lost on Gaius at the moment. Fifty thousand humans had remained, relying on their memories of how things should be done in an attempt to maintain the society they had come to know and feel a part of.
Now all but one of them were dead anyways, all those memories left on his shoulders. He felt them tighten, as if it were a tangible weight. He lightly moved his arm around Arha's waist, because he almost felt as if he could use the support.
"Yes, well," he said, eyes scanning the strange floor of the vessel as they continued, "while I agree about the importance of memory, I imagine that at times a few drinks to blur the edges into something a little less bittersweet isn't asking too much." After a moment, he added, "There is ambrosia here, isn't there?"