“I’ve been betrayed before. Not happening again. I don’t give out my trust to anyone else,” there was a faint growl in her tone.
She blinks and tilts her head to the side, thinking it over. Was there times she wished for company? Most certainly. Human beings were social creatures, they thrived on interactions with others. Eleanor spared some souls that passed through if they talked to her for a bit. That’s when she was feeling lonely and craved someone to talk to.
“I do,” she finally answers softly. “But do not all human beings crave interaction with others? I actually am not alone on the subways. The people I kill haunt it. Whenever I kill someone, they become a ghost. But… ghosts are very good company,” she speaks with a dead pan expression.
‘Who are you anyways? And why do you seem to care about how I live?”
He clasps his six-fingered hands together, leaning downward to gaze down at the floor. Everything feels artificial when he’s unable to feel the wind graze against his bare neck and it’s insufferable to tolerate humanity’s advancements, downsize his godly appearance into something... condensed, easier to look at. Ion’s comfortable feeling every branching nerve in his body, knowing that he’s able to talk without the potential of someone knowing who he is.
As he now knows there are ghosts inhabiting the subways, Ion wonders if they’re haunting from unfinished business or doomed to wander in limbo. Everything that isn’t in his domain, Ion will not touch and the Wanderers would deeply appreciate his willingness to respect what doesn’t belong to him.
His dark eyes shift back to Eleanor, shoulders shrugging. “Mere curiosities, I wish to understand and invest myself into other’s lives. It’s nosy, but it’s honest work.”
Ack, Ion brings forth his human identity and recites his details from memory. “Lkhagvasüren Amarmönkh, anthropologist. An average joe.”
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