Stepping out into the cold of the tundra from the bunkhouse, some kind of gut feeling told him that he needed to practice more caution as he proceeded with his daily tasks. After everything that had happened in the past few weeks since he arrived, one would expect for him to trust that gut feeling.
Though, seeing the small drops of red in the snow, along with the inevitable feeling of concern from deep within himself, he quickly disregarded that worry and followed the path.
At the end of the trail stood a man with a torn sleeve, his arm bloodied and, in turn, staining the ground below him. The man, wearing the garb of a priest, was much taller than him (and he wouldn’t admit it, but it was somewhat intimidating despite taking down the tower of a goddess that was Tiamat), yet he still found himself approaching.
This once, he would show kindness to a stranger.
(What a fool he was.)
“You’re bleeding,” Kingu said the obvious as he came closer to the stranger. “I know of a place where you can get that stitched up. Shall I take you?”
In life, Cody rarely visited churches besides her family’s own after Dogma’s hard work paid off. And while she did attend other masses before then, most of her direct experiences with priests were her own brother.
That did not keep her from recognizing one upon almost running into him while swiftly walking through the snow. Embarrassment colored her face as she backpedalled from her near collision, one hand holding the cross necklace hanging around her neck nervously, face turned upwards to look the much taller man in the face.
“I’m so sorry, Father. I must have not have been paying enough attention to the walkway.. I hope I didn’t take you too off guard!”
Angra Mainyu liked to listen to the sound of his feet sinking in the snow. It was not something conscious nor did he have any ulterior reason for it; it was simply satisfying, the crunching as millions of ice crystals were smashed under his feet.
He spent most of his days on the snow now. Waking up early and venturing outside of the village and only coming back when he was too tired or bored to continue exploring the frozen wilderness. He had become familiar with the surrounding forest and the nearby caves, his survival skills sharp enough to avoid any possible danger –who knew if it was a matter of knowledge rather than the feral instinct in him.
There was a lot of materials that Eidolon needed from the outside, and as long as he gained something from it, Angra Mainyu was delighted to provide. It was as he was harvesting some of the luminescent moss that grew in the caves that he found something else that picked his attention.
It was not strange to see things scattered there and under the ice, remnants of an old civilization long gone and for which he held no sympathy or curiosity whatsoever. But this was different. What he found lying on the ground, almost swallowed by the moss, was a polished fragment of obsidian.
The stone was no bigger than his fist and had been polished into an oval shape, with a hole carved in the centre. Once cleaned a bit, the surface reflected the light with ease, as if the darkness stored at the inside didn’t let any of it in.
Avenger found it interesting. It certainly didn’t seem to held any use nowadays, but it was so peculiar that it would be a shame to let it there. Safely storing the treasure and with a decent quantity of moss in his backpack, he jogged back to the village, a dark figure over the pale snow.
He played with the stone in his pocked along the way, wondering what he might do with it. He had picked it up on a whim, and he really had no desire to keep it, so he might as well give it. Something black, polished like a jewel, that rejected any light...
A smile crossed his face when he thought on the perfect candidate and decided made a stop on Bunkhouse 17 before going to deliver the moss. He did not ask for permission to enter, getting inside as if he was at his own home, shaking his head violently to get rid of the snow remnants on his hair.
Slightly wet but enthusiastic, Angra Mainyu went to the common area of the bunkhouse (all those buildings were the same, so it was easy to get there), but froze on his steps, like a startled animal, when he noticed someone else was there.
Now, he wouldn’t have let that bother him under normal circumstances –if anything, it was other people who didn’t know how to act in his presence–, but he knew the tall man that he found there. He knew him so well. From a time that felt more like feverish nightmare than memory now, when he was all hatred, all evil, and this man was the only one to lend his hand willingly.
“Father”, he called, with an amusement that didn’t show in his expression. Kotomine Kirei. All his excitement was gone, replaced with something more sinister. Something less innocent. “Do you know where I can find Avenger?”
A man he’s never seen before is lingering alone near the residence he’s been granted... by whatever it is that brought him here. It isn’t often that Tristan approaches those he scarcely knows without prompt or threat; but his garb calls to mind the warmth of high-walled cathedrals, soft hymns and stained glass. The sorts of things reserved for the faithful, those who believed as he wished he could bring himself to believe.
“Father... my intention is not to disturb.” He’s even speaking to him first. The odd sentimentality that drives him is a shock even unto himself at times like this. “But if I may ask a moment of your time... it seems you’ve been here far longer than I. I hoped to introduce myself, and humbly request your candor.”
