@v13minhae
Learning how to find people means knowing how to hide. It’s being familiar with tucking away into dark corners and creating invisibility without walls or doors.
“He’s in there.”
There’s distance in the eyes of people from Velleda. Sol recognizes the divide in people the same way tourists would breeze through Nuwa nations open to the economic benefits of allowing leisure travel. It’s not the same when you live on a planet that sells its perks as a fantasy. You carry a different weight as a citizen-- a person. The burdens of the land sit on your shoulders and it’s simple to resent those that adopt your home for as long as they like it.
In that way, he understands the sharp tone of the man. Asking a simple question usually dredges up a simple answer. But asking where Minhae is usually breeds trouble and Minhae leaves a particularly large foot print here. Bare feet hit cold floors and the wind still leaves the smell of salt on his skin and in his hair. Someone is running their fingers through it-- a woman, or man. Still shrugs them off his shoulder and the ache to run away.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?”
And Sol can’t quite understand why they whisper next to his ear, or why this place smells so nice. But he ignores the curious glances at his abnormal clothes (he’d shed his ravenger jacket-- can’t make the same mistake twice). Another woman leads him to a room, air smoked out and hazy. Fabric clings to the ceilings, draped over sheets and soft pillows of reds and golds. Urgency and intention runs hot in his veins, mouth open to call out for Minhae in the room. But it stays propped open and soundless. He’s rigid, frozen. Suddenly the bill he’d used to track Minhae made far more sense when he was standing in the middle of a pleasure house.
There’s bare flashes of skin, hands on hips, murmuring voices and so many people in one room--
“Minhae-- god--” his voice might have pitched just a little bit (a fact he’d deny), shielding his eyes as he turns his back to the sight. Each whisper through gritted teeth, muttering broken phrases in his native language. “We have to go.”
it’s exactly two things he can be certain at this point--
he had never wanted to go back to the ship more quickly, and he had just seen more of Minhae’s asshole than he’d ever wanted to see.
