Closed A Certain Type of Someone (Marina)

[Zeran]

51st Day of Summer, 513 AV "Drink it, drink it!" Zeran sat staring at a tankard of ale, more interested in the tankard itself than its contents. He had no idea how he had come to be sat at the bar of a tavern, being urged by a chanting crown to drink the entire thing in one go. They didn't seem partial to letting him simply leave, if they had gone through the effort to drag him inside, and his seat didn't feel comfortable either. A slight cheer went up as he grasped the handle, his audience building an encouraging atmosphere around him. The ale was arm and tasted bitter. That was all Zeran could read out of its aura as he shuddered at it, but soon decided the tankard tasted better. It was doubtful the staff would be too pleased with him eating it over the drink though. Better to just finish it. "What are you doing in my drink?" The man was their as he always was, smirking at the fact Zeran's distaste for the brew didn't prevent him from calling it his. His audience laughed as they saw him talking to the ale, thinking he had already had a few before they caught him. "Just shut up and drink!" the man replied. Even he was egging him on. Wasn't he supposed to be on Zeran's side? The tankard had a coolness to it, despite the warm drink it carried, as it touched against Zeran's lips. The taste didn't disappoint, sticking to the sensation he received from Auristics, washing over his tongue and down his throat. He didn't want the taste lingering in his mouth, keeping away from the sides and making sure it it followed one direct path. His head lifted up with the tankard and the cheering, chanting crowd responsible for his situation. Up and up, reaching the need to bend backwards to get the remainder of the ale in the tankard, and eventually going top far. Slipping backwards off his seat, quickly finishing anything left in the tankard before it went over his face, Zeran hit his back off the floor, rewarded with another cheer from those watching. He bit down on the lip of the thing, preventing it from colliding with and smashing his teeth. Kina exchanged hands of a few people, satisfied that Zeran had indeed finished the ale and had done it in one go. He had been a bet between drunken patrons. A strong hand grabbed his and helped him to his feet. Zeran recognised him as one of the Shinya, indulging himself in his personal time and the night life of Lhavit. The duality and equality that existed always impressed Zeran. Everyone was equal to the one next to them, and each had their serious and fun-loving sides, reserved for work or free time. Having had their fun, Zeran was once again released into the musical parties that Leth's light brought to Lhavit. Dancing, music, laughter, it all swam in the air as Lhavitians of all types took their time to unwind and enjoy themselves. He got halfway down the street before realising Kina had been exchanged at his expense and he hadn't anything to show for it other than light-headedness. Zeran worked his way to a quieter part of the city, hopping on individual flagstones, balancing on one leg to avoid touching the cracks before gently placing his other foot down, as if testing his footing. Good thing most activity was contained within the Zintia Peak, lessening as he travelled back to Lady Elena's Studio for the night. Perhaps that was why she lived in the Sartu Peak. She enjoyed the quiet and privacy. There were less people around now for the music to be quieter, but there was still life within people's movements. Zeran continued hopping from flagstone to flagstone, cutting through as many alleys as he could to shorten his travels.

[Marina Agamand]

Amusing, is what she though as she stopped again, standing completely still. Among the tall trees, her half-transparent form blended with the milky mist, making her look more ominous yet. She did not take her eyes off the man, dressed in sturdy traveling leathers, who sat some ten metres away from her, next to his campfire here in this patch of woodland. The man's eyes were also fixated on her blurry form. His stocky build and metallic arm gave him away to be an Isur. Marina was not really interested in why he was here, and where he was going. In her travels between cities, most of the time was spent crossing large territories devoid of civilisation, which was immensely boring. Therefore, whenever another traveler crossed paths with her, she has gotten into a habit of stopping and teasing them for a while. So was the case with this man. When she first appeared to him, she Materiased, was moving at ground level, and took care to move her legs, all to create the impression of a walking human. She always did this when approaching a traveler camp, and usually received one of two kinds of reaction. The first was for them to shout whether she was okay and running to greet her, apparently mistaking her for a lost child. However, the more attentive types promptly and silently reached for their weapons. The Isur now in front of her was of the latter sort. Clearly, her Materialisation was not nearly convincing enough to fool his sharp gaze. And even if it was, his equally sharp mind would not accept that a genuine little girl in noble garments would be walking around the deadly wilderness. Maintaining a respectable distane at all times, Marina gradually shifted in a circle around the tiny camp, like a scouting wolf waiting for the pack to arrive. Every time she moved, the man adjusted his position to face her, taking a brief glance around him from time to time. Although he was no longer reaching for the axe lying next to him, like he did at first, his attention never wavered. He probably understood by now that she was not going to attack, yet he refused to ignore the fact that a potentially dangerous monster was circling his camp. A truly admirable traveler, Marina thought. It was indeed amusing to watch the faces of the "first-type reaction" people, who would run up to her and put their hands on her shoulders, only to grasp air, and be left there with nothing but the echo of Marina's mocking laughter ringing in their ears. But it was more rewarding to know that not all the world was full of idiots. Casting the Isur a small smile, Marina decided to leave him alone and resume her journey. After a short time of floating though the all-obscuring mist, the ghost finally saw the spires of Lhavit emerge in her sight. She had not visited this splendid city for a while, and was planning to do a more thorough investigation of it than last time. Finding a suitable Magesmithing workshop here was difficult, but not impossible. The real problem was finding someone willing to share their body with her, as her clumsy Soulmist was not a substitute for a pair of real, solid hands. As these thoughts flowed idly through her mind, the winding path leading up to the city entrance came into view. Marina Materialised again, lowered her feet to the ground, and "walked" all the way up along the path. Pausing right in front of the gates, she noticed the scrutinising gazes of the gate guards standing on either side of the entrance. It was apparent that trying to pretend to be human made her look even more suspicious than usual. Careful not to make any sudden movements, Marina walked past the guards and entered the city. Lhavit was every bit as beautiful as always, reminding her than she had to visit some of the finer cultural establishments here before departing. With crowds of people and music filling the streets, Marina noticed that a festival is going on. She has never been here in summer before, and this kind of event was rare in other cities, so the spirit took a moment to soak in the atmosphere as she strutted through the busy streets. Even though everything about her looked wrong and foreign, no one paid any particular attention to her. Marina decided that, while she could still keep her faulty Materialisation up, she should go for a sweep around the nearby theatres and concert halls to see if anything interesting was going to be on within the next couple of days. Diving into an alleyway, she enjoyed the sudden quiet, with only a muffled echo of the loud song and music on the main streets reaching her. Rounding a corner into a seemingly empty alley, she suddenly found herself face to face with a cloaked man, who was about to round the same corner from the other side. Being slow to react in this kind of situation, Marina abruptly stopped still, blankly staring up at his face merely centimeters away from hers. Unlike hers, however, his body had mass and momentum, and continued moving forward. A "collision" was almost inevitable.

[Zeran]

The alleyway echoed the slightest of noises made within its walls, amplifying the clicks Zeran's boots made with each step. The occasional loose stone, sent reluctantly skittering across the ground by an accidental kick, would write its own beat to accompany the background music left behind in Lhavit's streets, determined to be heard by everyone in Lhavit. The brickwork of the buildings held a roughness, betraying a warning to be careful. The slightest mistake and it wouldn't take to kindly to a tackle, no matter how innocent it might've been. Neither did they seem to enjoy each other's company, choosing to separate themselves with a wind-tunnel about two outstretched arms' length apart. Can this even be considered an alleyway? Or is it just a backstreet? The night air held a chill to it up in the peaks of the mountains, the kind that would seep into your clothing, but not unpleasant with the summer's lingering heat from the day and the combined efforts of dancers to add their own body heat to their surroundings. They were doing a really good job for it to be felt so far from the activity, as was Syna, considering she had handed responsibility to Leth a bell or two ago. Leth isn't likely to undo the work Syna had spent an entire day on so quickly. Are you now Leth? The echoes slowed in their frequency in time with Zeran's steps, eventually ceasing altogether as he stood in the centre between the neighbouring buildings. He snapped his fingers, waiting for the sound to jump from the walls before doing so again. Repeating his action each time her heard the walls copy him, adding a stamping foot to join his snapping fingers. Drowned out by the work two fingers and a foot, clapping his hands from time to time, Zeran chuckled at the rhythm that he and Lhavit, the city rather than its population, had created in such a brief amount of time with no skill or instrument as Leth watched overhead. Reflection came under Leth's influence, as did thought, and Zeran stood for the short while realising that Lhavit interacted with all its citizens if they took the time to listen. One final snap of his fingers led into Zeran walking with a quickened pace further down the alley. No reason other than he wanted to take thee flagstone-length strides, similar to when people decided to take two stairs at a time, paying close attention again to step in the middle of the stones and avoiding the joins. A bend grew closer and Zeran still paid to his foot placement, missing the eerie lighting reflecting off the stone from around the corner until he found the face of a young girl in his in mid-stride. The twist of his grounded foot did little to divert him away from crashing in to her, but found the movement unnecessary as he simply dropped past her as she let him fall ungracefully to the floor. Zeran couldn't blame her for letting him drop. What was a young girl going to be able to do to stop a full-grown man falling on top of her other than move? Still the thought of an attempt might've been nice, rather than just watching him. He hit the ground a little colder than he should've, shivers sliding down his back as if a winter breeze had brushed him. "Ouch." He complained out of habit, to let others know the fall had been uncomfortable, rather than actual pain. "How does the Little Miss fare?" Zeran pushed himself from the floor in to a seated postion, crossing his legs before him, a dull ache in his shoulder where it had had a disagreement on personal space with the floor. The glow, reminiscent of the gently glow from a prismfly, wasn't what surprised him abut the girl. It was the fact that she hadn't moved from where she had stood when she jumped out in front of him. He hadn't fallen past her because she hadn't moved. He had fallen through her. A ghost girl. Zeran's smile grew wider at the realisation, rocking to his feet in one, smooth motion. He paced around the girl, looking over her carefully, making no attempt to hide his interest in her, being watched by her in turn. He had seen ghosts at a distance before, but had never been so close to talk to one before. Zeran teemed with excitement as his curiosity grew. "Isn't it easier for a ghost to fly over buildings than, or even through them, rather than around them?" Her hair didn't move with the breeze, neither did her clothes, not even in the slightest. Albeit rather doll-like in its appearance, it look old and expensive. "Do ghosts wear the clothes they die in? Do you even change you clothes or do you change yourself?" Too many questions pushed forward in his head. Something new, someone interesting! When was he ever going to get a chance like this again? He quickly thrust his arm outwards, into the girl's ghostly form, moving it about briefly, pulling it out again. All heat had been robbed from his hand, leaving it cold and stiff as the muscles tightened. "That's a bit uncomfortable," he said more to himself, thinking aloud, as he pumped his fingers to regain lost warmth. He stopped pacing as he pulled around to her front, almost dancing on the spot as he laughed, quickly stepping one foot back and folding his arm across his stomach as he fell into a bow that had came with much practice. "I'm Zeran, Little Miss. It really is a pleasure." His cloak brushed across the floor as he stood up again, catching on the stonework momentarily before ripping free and covering his arms and body once more. "What is it the Little Miss would like to go by?"

[Marina Agamand]

It took several seconds for Marina to recover from the situation; she stayed completely frozen in place, like she always did when confused. While she was still processing the fact that her personal boundary has been violated, both figuratively and literally, the offender was already off the ground, bombarding her with questions. Expecting at least an apology, Marina's brows formed a barely noticeable frown when this careless stranger spoke to her in such a casual and regretless tone. Finally regaining enough focus to study him, she noticed the unveiled curiosity in his tone, and the inquisitive manner in which his eyes examined her flickering form. Marina hadn't the opportunity to enjoy a close-range conversation for quite a time; and while this narrow alley and this cloaked stranger certainly weren't the optimal place and person, the ghost wanted to use this rare social opportunity. However, before she could think of something to say, her cloaked collocutor suddenly reached out and pierced her with one of his hands. Marina's thoughts scrambled against due to the surprise caused by the rude gesture, but before she could move back, his hand was already retracted. She had originally wanted to berate this barbarian for his lack of etiquette, but realised that it would be useless, accepting the problem as hardly correctable. Never the less, her opinion of him was redeemed slightly as he finally made a move to politely introduce himself. Somewhat late, perhaps, but a pleasant change of tone. As he bowed, she recalled that it was a traditional Lhavitian greeting. She briefly thought about how to respond; gauging his social status was difficult, considering the well-obscuring cloak he was wearing. It was not uncommon for Zeltivan upper class to dress modestly when attending to private business in the city by themselves, in order to avoid undue attention. On the other hand, he might as well be some ruffian. Although, to adopt foreign manners was not something that could be demanded of her after having received such unceremonial treatment. The possibility of offending this mysterious person was a risk she was willing to take. Bowing her head only slightly, she spoke for the first time, introducing herself as she used to do in life. "I am Marina Agamand, a Magesmith of Zeltiva. The pleasure is all mine, sir Zeran." After a brief pause, she decided to answer one of his earlier questions. "Omitting to use the street and entering people's property without permission is rude. Do you not think so?"

[Zeran]

He liked that, Sir Zeran. It made him sound important, like the knights of Syliras. He'd never considered referring to himself as such before, even though he used such titles with everyone, but he still liked the sound of it when he was on the receiving end. Even so, there were still individuals who preferred their name to be used without titles. Zeran shrugged at the thought. Perhaps some didn't like the formalities and others didn't think it suitable. Whatever their reasons were, Zeran did not share them. "Only if they find out you've done so, it's why stealing is bad, but it's fair thinking to appreciate people's personal spa- ah..." The thought had struck him as he spoke, reading further into Marina's words than necessary. She considered it rude to enter another's property without permission, invading their personal space. Whilst she hadn't gotten hurt from their encounter, hadn't he technically invaded her own space? Why did ghosts even get offended at that? Did they feel the need to come away from a collision with some negative impact? Then again, he had gone and poked around in her floating, spectral appearance. Just about anyone would react badly to having a stranger running their hands up and down them, and Marina hadn't said anything. Not directly anyway, if at all. His hands emerged from underneath his cloak, rising up in admission to a fault of his own decision. "I think I might be in the wrong, Miss Marina." Zeran tipped his head forward, admiring the patterns on the stones. "Sorry for any upset caused from falling through and waving around in your... uh, body?" His arms waved about for a moment, hands futilely grasping for better words. "Form? Shape? Being? What do you call it?" Don't offend the ghost, don't offend the ghost, she might leave! He fell to the floor again, a little more control this time, sitting with his legs crossed before the young, phantasmal girl. "Magesmith? Of Zeltiva?" Something didn't sound right to him in that title. Mist, the colour of the daytime sky, fell from Marina in cascading waterfalls, imitating the finest of dresses, curling back on itself as it hit the ground and slithered outwards across the ground. Zeran's thoughts of her title were put on a momentary pause at the surprise of Marina's aura. No signatures of smell, nothing of a taste, no texture, no physical description of any sorts became apparent to him. Even at his level, he should've been able to distinguish more than this. Yet all he could find was a cold light. And then there was the amount of aura flowing from her. It wasn't normal. The arrogance of the soul is to believe it can dominate the body. The arrogance of the body is to believe it can contain the soul. One of the quotes from one of his books he'd read when learning Auristics. If it were true, Marina's soul was freer than most, as their was no body to contain it. In reality, a ghost was a soul without a container. It was free. "I didn't know that ghosts could still practice the skills they had in life." He clapped for her, applauding her determination to not let even death get in the way of her craft. "So what brings you so far from Zeltiva? You're right over on the other side of Mizahar. Doesn't that have an adverse effect on your work?" It didn't seem likely to travel the entirety of Mizahar just for the sights and sounds of one city, especially if you had an eternity to do it. Marina must've had a reason for travelling so far out. "Looking for special ingredients? Tools? Or a master to further your own skills?" He didn't know of any in Lhavit, but maybe she did.

[Marina Agamand]

When she heard him apologise, Marina was slightly surprised. Although he seemed energetic and easy-going, this man was also rather perceptive, and was not without the ability to reflect on his mistakes. And all that without Marina having said anything loud. Or maybe, he could read thoughts? Marina snuck a skeptical look at him. He didn't seem like a practiced wizard, and he certainly didn't behave like one. So, it was safe to assume that his sudden realisation came from his own metnal deductions. The corners of Marina's mouth curled up approvingly. "You are forgiven, sir Zeran." Of course, the presence of someone near her, or even inside of her, didn't cause Marina any physical discomfort. The problem was, as she has been taught by her parents, respect. Any free person was entitled to personal space; freely overstepping the boundary of closeness was only acceptable towards servants and slaves. Respecting someone's invisible sanctuary was natural and important in the world she was brought up in. Worrying about things like that didn't necessarily make any sense in Marina's situation. Same thing with keeping to the street rather than take shotcuts through walls like she could have been doing. For some reason, she unconsciously tried to uphold the living rules and morals that were, objectively speaking, irrelevant to her at that point. After all, no one was watching, no one was judging, and there were no reprecussions for doing as you pleased. Despite that, Marina felt the need to conserve her personality, and not let the loss to her physical substance degrade her mental such. This was part of the reason why she was capable to stay around for over a century without letting herself twist into a raving banshee that was a prime target for the prospective Spiritist or ghost hunter. Just as the ghost thought that this conversation was getting enjoyable, Zeran brought up the subject of Magecraft, which worsened her mood instantly. She was mainly drawn in by Lhavit's cultural life, and didn't think much about her proffessional prospects here. Considering her lack of progress on that front, being reminded of work on her "vacation" was unpleasant, but nevertheless, she decided to use the opportunity to extract some information. Trying to sound as indifferent as possible, she dropped an off-handed comment as an answer to his question. "I came for new ideas and inspiration. If you happen to be aware of anyone practicing the Craft, I would be happy to share your acquaintance. I long to see how they envision creation here in this land." A flicker of curiosity appeared in her dim eyes for the first time in a while, and she felt the urge to ask about him, even if only to prolong the conversation, she told herself. "What of you, sir Zeran? Why do you find yourself in this still and boring backplace when the others sing and celebrate?" Her head tilted slightly in the direction of the festival, the dull vibrations of which seeped into the alleyway.

[Zeran]

The sky blue of the pouring aura darkened in shade. The chill of Marina remained constant, as did any light radiating from her luminescent shape. It seemed he had unintentionally hit a nerve. The darkening aura implying a darkened mood, as nothing else had change as far as Zeran could tell. Sadness, anger, regret? Her aura revealed nothing more to him, and he was already getting tired watching and reading what had already shown itself. Laboured breaths became partially visible in the cooling air between the two. Zeran was thankful he was not prone to headaches as often as he used to be. They still manifested from time to time, but whatever knowledge he had taken from one of those scrolls on the Towers' Open Day had stayed with him enough to ease them. The last things he saw were ribbons of yellow as Marina spoke, a gentle, refined tone. Perhaps a little too refined for a child, especially a ghostly one. Aren't ghosts said to be mentally frozen? They aren't meant to learn new things after death. Any habits or skills are from life, aren't they? The stone was cold. He'd only just noticed. Dusty too. Lines stayed behind in the sheet of dust, blown in from the streets, settling in the alleyways as too few people wandered through them enough to disturb it, as Zeran ran his fingers through it. The tips came away with a new coat over them, adorned with grit and dirt of varying sizes. They fell to the ground once again, filling the trenches their absence left, as Zeran rubbed his fingers together, sprinkling it over the floor, listening to the young one's reasons for visiting Lhavit. "You need only look at the rooftops of every building within Lhavit to see how we envision creation, Miss Marina." Zeran spread his arms out in a grand gesture, palms raise to the sky. "Forget that we have built our city atop five mountains for a moment and see the skyglass topping each of our structures." He surprised himself with how possessive he had become of the city. He had neither been born nor raised her, yet still considered himself a part of Lhavit despite his short time here. "He have built a city, atop mountains, that sparkle and glisten in Syna's energy and Leth's thought comparable to the stars in Zintila's sky." "As for friends, I have one who calls herself a Magecrafter like yourself." He made a gesture off to the side, rotating his hand about his wrist. "Lives in the Dusk Tower over on the Shinyama Peak, an ethaefal named Alses. If you want to, I'm sure she'd appreciate the company of another who knows her craft." Did ghosts ever tire from standing? Marina just stood, watching him as he did her. Did they ever tire? Life is usually long enough when you sleep half of it away, and ghosts might have to remain awake every bell of every day? Zeran couldn't imagine not sleeping. Everything looked comfortable when you were tired, even a stone floor, provided your vision wasn't blurry enough to stop you seeing where you were lying down. Of all things that Zeran wanted to ask, he couldn't help but notice her eyes. They were aglow with a reflective violet. Compared to the rest of her, they seemed off for some reason. Zeran dropped his thoughts as he replied, "What about me?" Why was he in an alley? Taking a shortcut. Unused passages usually made for quicker travel, especially in Lhavit when almost all streets were in use for the majority of the day. That didn't seem to be the answer that would satisfy her though, indicating the echoes of the street music and drunken voices. He shrugged, "I got bored and was heading back to get some sleep." That was it. It was the one thing he couldn't get use to, living in Lhavit, the four separate rest periods. He'd come from Ravok, travelled half of Mizahar, stayed in Riverfall, and in all that time he'd be up most of the day, maybe part of the night, but that was when he slept in one chunk before taking the next day. "This is a nightly occurrence. Serious in the day, boisterous at night. I still enjoy it, but I don't have to enjoy it every night if there are times I get bored." He fixed Marina with a wide grin. "Besides, I'm glad I did leave early. I've had the luck of running in to a ghost! It's never happened to me before. I find you very interesting."

[Marina Agamand]

As Zeran gestured upwards, Marina's eyes followed where he was pointing. Raising her head to look at the Lhavitian sky for the first time ever, the ghost was struck with a realisation that before now, she hasn't seen the city at all. The girl was in the habit of looking straight forward only, and has not once before lifted her head to see what was above normal eye level. Even from the bottom of this narrow cleft between buildings, from where the view was very poor, she could see the dark outlines of several of the unique skyglass domes against the night sky. But that was all she could see, and she was not satisfied. And that is when the thought hit her. She lowered her gaze and made brief eye contact with Zeran, using the opportunity to politely tug the hem of her dress for him. "Excuse me, I will return shortly." Not waiting for an answer, her form grew suddenly hazy, and she blinked to the balcony on the second floor, right above them. A moment latter, she was already on the roof on the other side of the alley. Several blinks later, Marina found herself suspended in midair, some thirty meters above ground. Opening her eyes wide at the spectacular sight that unraveled before her, the ghost took in the bird's view of the Lhavitian nighttime panorama, made alive by the countless lights and tiny specks of people who moved below, yet losing themselves in the festival. Zintila's glitter covered the black sky, which seemed more vast and serene than ever. At that moment, a whole new dimension was opened for Marina; a dimension that material, earthbound creatures were not privy to. While already having visited multiple cities across Mizahar, her impression of them was confined to the eyes of a mortal, crawling on the ground. But no longer. Snapping out of her epiphany, the ghost decided to not make the gentleman below wait any longer, and blinked her way back into the alley below, her mind filled with new sensations. Indeed, ghosts are frozen in time. They are merely static images, a pearl rolling endlessly in a looping ring with no exit. A pathetic, purposeless existence. On the other hand, the living are powerful. Merely by entering the scene of her unlife, by making an insignificant gesture, they can bring change with them. She was assured that meeting Zeran here was not an accident, and thanked Lhex inwardly for this blessing. Half of a chime later, she was back at the exact same spot where she had been standing earlier, and wordlessly bowed her head to Zeran as an apology for making him wait. Just for a brief moment, the shadow of a small but warm smile crept across her thin lips. Unexpectedly, it turned out that Zeran did know a Magesmith. Was the craft so common here that any commoner could boast relations with it? Or was her new acquaintance not a simple commoner? From his plain clothing and inconsistent mannerisms, it was not at all obvious where in society he found his niche. All the better, since initial impressions were not the method to determine that. Flickering once, Marina swept the alley around them with a disapproving gaze. "Surely, sir Zeran, you must be in a hurry to retire for the day. I wish not to keep you any longer, but we may speak after you rest, preferably in a more savory environment." She tilted her head inquiringly, letting Zeran know that she expected him to specify said environment. While her interest was definitely piqued, and she wanted to talk to him more, being called "interesting" was a double-edged compliment. It could mean anything from a wish for an innocent conversation, to a wish to dissect the subject of interest and see what's inside. Given the right magical tools, that was not something a ghost was immune to, either. Suspicion refused to leave her mind, but she would not pass up an opportunity to befriend this enigmatic, and apparently well-connected, young man.

[Zeran]

"Where you g-" With a tug of whatever part of her that dress was meant to be, the detail of her features grew blurry as a painting soaked in water, any defining lines or curves dispersing before she disappeared completely. An audible noise of protest escaped Zeran's lips, jumping to his feet, spinning frantically around, looking for his new ghost companion. She'd said she'd be back shortly. Where from? Where was she going? A flicker of light, from the corner of his eye, drew his attention skywards. Marina now stood atop the skyglass rooftop of one of the surrounding buildings. And then she didn't. Disappearing once more, as she had before Zeran's eyes, Marina reappeared a short distance from her previous point, floating in mid-air now above Zeran and Lhavit. And she still continued, blinking in and out of existence lengths away from her original spot, climbing higher and higher into the sky. Zeran yearned for the day when Projection would take him so high, to see cities and landscapes as only the airborne could. To see so many old things from a new angle high above. Among the clouds, the unsuspecting birds, the sunlight and wind. Provided he wasn't uncomfortable with heights. Odd how he lived on mountain tops and never once thought about if he didn't like heights. How had he made it up the path to the Amaranthine Gate without looking out at the distance? "You were completely oblivious to everything except the big, shiny city beyond the gate," he spoke aloud, as if doing so set the words as true in his head. Maybe they were, and maybe they weren't. He hadn't been paying much attention at the time of his arrival to notice. Arguing with himself, no doubt. His thoughts drained from his head. Thoughts of flying. Thoughts of heights. Thoughts of his arrival into Lhavit. Leaving one thought, wriggling at the bottom of whatever wet-wood barrel held them, that dragged his head back down to the alleyway before he could no longer claim innocence. As good as she was to her word, Marina appeared once again where she had been before rising into the air like steam, offering a shallow bow on her return. Zeran could almost swear her blank expression painted a smile across her pale face, though it could've been dispersing shadows and tricks cast by the glow that emanated from her. "I'll just say, unless it doesn't bother you or you're already prepared, the next time you feel the need to hover above people's heads and glass roofs, I'd suggest considering a different item of clothing than a dress." Zeran very quickly raised his hands to his head, as if they'd protect him. "I swear I didn't look." It was a slight untruth. He didn't know if he had. He'd been too caught up in his own thoughts to consider where he was looking. Most likely off into the distance, but he thought it sounded better than 'I didn't see anything'. Saying that, at the very least, implied an attempt, but he felt it better to say something now than wait until someone else did. Eventually. His arms retreated beneath his cloak again, eyes following the path of Marina's hands about the alley. "I sleep everyday. Sleep can wait." Brushing off her offer with a waving hand peaking out from his cloak. It was kind of her to offer, great that she suggested meeting up again, but Zeran was to inpatient to sleep now. He wouldn't be able to calm his thoughts enough for sleep to take him. Taking note of the distaste in her voice for the alley, he spun around, facing the way he had come from, hopping flagstones. "We can leave if you wish, Miss Marina. Find a more 'savoury environment', as you so put it." Zeran instinctively brushed his cloak aside, offering a hand for the little girl. Though she was a ghost, Zeran still only saw a child. "Why don't we go back to the festivities. Old things are always fun again when with company." Boots clicked against stone again, echoing off walls, as he lead the way, turning to face Marina again with a another question. "Am I allowed to ask why such a young girl speaks with words beyond even my years?"

[Marina Agamand]

Only when it was pointed out to her did Marina realise that her garb was not made to fly in. In the absence of blood that could adorn her face with a blush, there would have been no visible indication of her embarrasment; but the small change in her aura gave it away. She suppressed a small giggle as she saw him protecting his head, as if he was afraid that she would strike him. "Thank you for being considerate." Her calm reaction quickly drained the momentary tension that had arisen between the two. The spectre had long forgotten how it feels to sleep, but she vividly remembered the many evenings when her mother had firmly instructed her to leave her Magecraft studies and retire for the day. A consistent sleeping schedule is important to your health, she would say. Hearing that Zeran would sacrifice something so important to spend time with a stranger was rather flattering. Marina offered the young man a sociable smile. "Then, if you find my company so desirable, I cannot refuse." Standing there with his hand outstretched to her, Zeran made Marina recall one of her older brothers who sometimes invited her for a walk in the garden, just like this. It was a pleasant memory. The ghost Materialised; while still blurry and flickering, she gained more opacity and color, making her seem more like a person than an insubstantial image. Reaching out, she placed her delicate-looking, but cold and uncomfortable hand into Zerans large palm. Although she could not feel his warmth, the pressure of his hand felt reassuring. "Beyond your years? Sir Zeran, you overestimate me." By human standards, Marina was from somewhat of a distant past. As centuries shift, the language evolves. It becomes more smooth, concise and informative, with the obsolete and roundabout expressions fading from use. And yet, these relics of the language sound beautiful and exotic to the later generations, whilst they sounded mundane and natural to contemporaries such as Marina. So, "beyond his years" was an excellent definition of it, though not in the way Zeran had meant. Being unable to gauge the passage of time correctly, Marina could not register this kind of long-term phenomenon, and failed to understand his question. They walked together through the alley but only one set of footsteps reverberated between the buildings. Marina's supposedly hard-soled shoes struck the ground soundlessly, and despite her relatively short legs and small steps, she kept in pace with the older man's wide gait. Considering both that and their difference in dress, the pair looked somewhat unnatural as they left the alley and dived into the boiling sea of singing, dancing and drinking figures that surged through the main streets. As deep in the night as it was, the level of activity showed no signs of decreasing. Seeing the happy people all around her awakened a faint desire to join them in the festivities. While she was indifferent to the food and drink, the song, dance and music appealed to her as much as ever. At this point, she regretted having refused the dancing classes her mother offered to sign her up for. Looking around, it appeared that many of the surrounding people hadn't any academic preparation either, bumping into eachother, stepping on eachothers' feet and making noises that could hardly be called song. But they looked to be having a lot of fun. A mere spectator, Marina still found delight in the positive vibrations that saturated the air, soothing even an empty being such as her. With only minimal knowledge of the city layout, the spectre simply followed her companion wherever he went. After around half a bell, the long time spent Materialised began to take its toll on Marina's Soulmist. The faint, but creeping pain felt like countless needles prickling her skin. But, not wanting to let go of Zeran's hand, the girl decided to endure it for a while. The cloaked man must have had some reason to spend time with her other than simply to hang out. After all, a ghost was not the ideal choice for someone to party with. "Sir Zeran, was there something you wanted to ask?"