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@thelightofcreation
yes, he brought recover
Armed with a veritable assortment of spells, it would not be remiss to guess that he were headed to one of the monastery's many missions rather than the ball.
Best to be cautious, with everything that happened last year. At least he does not arrive alone, accepting the bouquet of violet tulips with grace.
Tracker:
Rose: Nel
Orchid: Nyx, Nanna
Lily: Poe
Hyacinth: Matthew, Chrom
Tulip: Niamh, Darios
More details beneath the cut!
first of all that's not how dying works || sephiran & darios
Somehow such a simple response elicits a deep comfort. It sets expectations well, his chest is still a bit tight but the longer he listens the more he wonders what comes after. What will the catch be and how will he manage it as he is currently. "So it's... simple something that is a part of me now?"
He won't like the answer either way, this much he's aware of but when the opportunity to ask the one person he's properly gone to comes up... it's hard not to wonder what the man will say.
Regardless of his answers, the salves are retrieved and he's intent on using them as necessary. It's simple curiosity or maybe he just wants to hear it from someone else. No matter what it is, slightly hopeful eyes rest on Sephiran.
"Best to consider it that way," Sephiran acknowledges. "If the salve works well for you, then at least its symptoms do not have to become a part of your daily life."
The wound has healed, but the scar could only fade. It would require complex magic to remove it in its entirety, and even then, he would not promise something he himself could not deliver.
"I'd rather not raise your hopes for something I cannot guarantee to exist- but there are a great many mages that gather here, and one of them may be able to offer you what I cannot. So, you can continue searching, but in the meantime…"
A glance at what he has already gathered.
"Ah, and pay what you can. I don't have a set price for those."
[end.]
“My banner?”
The way that it was phrased was so deliberate and pointed that it almost made him feel shy. Raven paused a moment, steps stuttering and slowed, as he cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at the suggestion.
“I don’t - I guess - “ A shake of his head. “I fight for the Lions because of habit, I think, not out of any loyalty.”
That wasn’t what Sephiran asked, but it was the best answer that he could give without directly confronting the thing that had truly been suggested. Although they had spoken closely at the Ball last year - more up-front and honest with one another than…perhaps at any other time, with any other person, by Raven’s reckoning, and he had offered his…what, friendship? Was that even his to give?
He couldn’t renege it now, and wouldn’t besides, but the thought of it still brought him short.
Sephiran waited for an answer from him, so Raven took another bite of sausage and chewed thoughtfully, dipping his chin in assent.
“But I suppose it would be good to have…someone I believe in at my side.”
He relaxes with a quiet shift in the shoulders and an imperceptible change in his expression- Sephiran takes care not to make it too obvious. It may have not meant much, that both held no loyalty to the flag, bound only by the simple force of one's habit, but it was a request and an acceptance regardless.
Though he takes care to not bare his heart so easily, he would worry the ideas that he had spilt and the offer that had been granted in return until they bruised, to provide proof that it had happened and that it would still stand.
There was still something heavy in the air, after all, with the questions unasked and unanswered, waiting for the moment his request would not be granted without demanding information in return.
But for today, Sephiran smiles, and responds, "Then… I will see you on the field- or in the tent afterward."
[end.]
and since we've no place to go
(x)
The way that the air shifted would have been imperceptible for anyone who had not broken their teeth on war and death, knowing instinctively the way that everything seemed to slow and still when menace emerged into true malice, the intent to kill.
Sigurd would not have recognized the lights as anything but stars if it were not for how bright and constant their shine, the ruddy gold against the inky blue of the night sky. When he thought back on it, throughout the unending trudge into the cold, a chill crept up his spine to realize that they had been there all along, at every point of the journey, at every distance to outposts, watchful and unblinking.
His fingers, stiff from the cold, found the hilt of Tyrfing at his side, and he rose from his seat, sliding a glance to his companions: elderly escort, man and wife continued with their motions, she pouring a final cup of cocoa to hand to her husband, who puffed on his pipe while a smile curled at his lips; the clergyman, who had risen alongside Sigurd; and the young lady, the student of the Academy.
When he blinked, glanced back to the emptiness ahead of them, the eyes had moved, far closer now.
"It's time." The man huffed a gentle ho of laughter, finally rising to his feet and taking pipe in between teeth. "Mary, the tapers. Let's shed some light on this silent night."
Their motions were unbothered in a way that truly impressed Sigurd, even as the clicking sound grew louder and more insistent, ekekekekek- and Mary moved about their carriage lighting a handful of tapers and slotting them into their proper place to give the space the warmth of a home's hearth, rather than a clearing off the frozen road.
"Stick by me," Sigurd said, raising his voice and shrugging a shoulder from beneath his cape to free his sword arm. A smile, creasing his eyes, at the young lady, at their clergyman as he drew Tyrfing from its sheathe.
"Forward!"
Forward indeed- and forward she goes, the student- third of their party- who charges forward without hesitation. Far unlike Sephiran, who stumbles backward from her eager assault, a two-fold crack of eager lightning breaking through the dark.
In return, a scream, a howl- the beast nearly down from the student’s assault alone. In its wake, Sephiran finds himself hesitating. It is not as though he were concerned that he may fail to finish it off- no, even if it missed, it was already on its last legs, swaying as if caught in a particularly powerful wind- the two hunters, leisurely preparing themselves behind him, would easily make up for what he lacks.
But rather, it felt as though something were incomplete- that the story he had been told had not been said in its entirety- or worse, that it had not been true at all. Large eyes shine as if coated in tears, though he knew it were only a trick of the light. Yet, he could not quite ignore the low wail that seemed to be building in its throat.
Marked by hesitation, he first reaches for his tome- but he was soft, as he has always been soft, and one could hardly mistake the wail as anything but distress. His staff glows lightly- providing almost nothing at all- as if still unsure if he had made the correct choice, or if he had even made one in the end.
wanted plots;
Capping myself at 3 threads for Sephiran and Elffin (@moriddyn) combined to stop myself from grabbing too many at once. (2/3 taken!)
Zasha's (@deflere) free game, since he needs more threads:
Bow +1 (Zasha) - Zasha will be distinctly displeased about the overhunting and fudging of numbers- hoping for a little light conflict to get myself more familiar with in character conflict haha
Riding/Flying +1 (Elffin, requires Unaff) - Elffin would focus on some form of negotiation between the rising tensions of the different camps, where for Zasha I'd like for it to be somewhat of a rumor mill- details can be hashed out later.
Heavy Armor +1 (Sephiran, Zasha) - It's time to clean up and reflect! Want to talk about the ball with one of them? This is a prompt I'd like to do it on!
Any +1 (Sephiran, Zasha) - its dependent on the character, and I'll be picky about it! I need to be careful with AU-adjacent threads, so I'd like there to be some exploration on the TOAcanon side of what the facet means to them.
I can be pinged in plotting or dm'd in discord! Also free to message me on here, though it'll take me longer to notice.
May Activity
Points Earned: 3
Check: Heavy Armor +1 Threads: Faith +1 -> Heavy Armor +1, Reason +1 -> Heavy Armor +1
Skill Changes:
Heavy Armor E+ -> Heavy Armor C
cont. from here
There were a great many things he wanted, but there were not many of his desires that could actually be fulfilled. Perhaps the goddess could, if she truly resided in this tower- perhaps that was why the church makes a show of guarding it, though it would not explain how easy it was to make it past.
A request for a dance, on the other hand, was hardly so grand.
"No," He says first. "Not here."
It is hardly large enough to hold a dance without the risk of stumbling over its steps, and no music to accompany it. Though those were only the excuses he would offer if asked- even if they were truthful, to an extent.
“I suppose she doesn’t need to,” Sephiran acquiesces. “But where else would she be?”
If not at the top of a tower, sleeping- like his own? He glances upward, but does not ascend. He doubts the security would be so easy to pass if she were actually there- unless she herself chose not to leave protections for her holy form.
After all, life continued onward, regardless of where she slept, or if she even slept at all.
Then, curious, “The gods you know of, where do they reside?”
@peerlessscowl
"classic opera fare." dorothea rises alongside him, accepting the hand sephiran offers so they can walk step-in-step. "romance is always popular with audiences. what's that saying? 'people love love.'"
or so they think, much like the sculptor himself. they confuse love for infatuation and mistake possession for devotion. they do not often consider this: would he have loved his creation still, had the statue not turned out as beautiful as she did? if the stone from which she'd been carved had chipped halfway through, would the sculptor have cast her aside in favor of another project? "bittersweet, wasn't it?"
and then, that so-called mercy of the goddess—a curse under the guise of a blessing. she who thought only of man and his desires, and not that of his would-be lover.
the sculptor loves his creation—or so he claims. does she love him? or has she been coerced into it, not knowing what else lies beyond the man and his workshop?
"who's to say she wanted that life?"
“She’ll never know anything else,” He responds, though he does not know if that works to her detriment or benefit- if she never learns to want something beyond what she was given, then in a way, isn’t that happiness? It’s only those who look upon her, knowing what is beyond that feel pity. “I wonder- is the Goddess’ blessing life, or a mere facsimile of it?”
Can she live, if she cannot die? Is it a life if it is so contained, only defined by one man and his desires? (Not even a god, Sephiran derides, though he keeps that to himself).
“Is she even able to love?”
Or is she only meant to be loved?
[ MOVIE - MELODRAMA ] - A techno-magical reproduction of a melodrama following a creative that falls in love with his own creation, which is subsequently given life by the Goddess.
“Sephiran, do you remember? In Haven, we had these instruments that projected something like this. But I used them to look things up in the library... and Sanaki used them to look up maps and other things.” After some time of basking in this newfound technology, Leif's mind drifts away from the initial novelty of it and instead to a memory.
Sanaki, not Empress Sanaki, he states, because the two girls are quite different.
“Do you think we'll look like Virato one day?”
Sephiran remembers much more than just the screen-s wary eyes from every direction when he entered a room, of prodding the light and finding information he should not understand. He remembers knowing he did not belong, of piecing together a story that was his and not his altogether, of the world seeking to reject him and he doing the same in turn.
This screen was ultimately much easier to understand.
“I remember them,” And everything else they came with. “But with this, we’re partway there, aren’t we? Even if not exactly the same… perhaps eventually the world will resemble it too much to separate them as distinctly as we do now.”
This boy will not live to see it- Virato will remain a memory of a mirrored world- reflective but not the same as the one they live in. Perhaps eventually all that will be left of his experiences will be a painting of a flower, before even that withers with time.
Sephiran wonders how long it will take- and if, by then, he will have forgotten the pristine walls of Haven and make the same mistakes as the man who shared his name.
[ sequester ]
when the lights dim, the empress accepts it, like she does most occurrences, as an opportunity. she slips past the crowd clamoring before the theater doors; shakes her head at the serving staff offering flutes of champagne; and marches towards a room at the end of the hall, hoping no one is any the wiser.
in truth, marches may be too strong of a word. she would have continued to succeed in achieving it, had the hall retained normal visibility... but as things are now, in the dark, her feet are free to stumble about in a hobble, a ratcheting limp.
finally, after what feels like millennia, the latch clicks shut behind her. she wastes no time; she tears pins out of her hair, stomps her feet free of her shoes, throws herself bodily onto the softest-looking cushion she can find. she doesn't need to look to know that her shins are indented with angry red from the greaves, or that her ankles are bruised from how unkindly she'd taken to the livelier dances---
---but the night is still young, so she merely curls into a ball, clutches the back of her ankles, and prays to the Goddess for a few minutes of reprieve.
of course, that's when the door clicks opens once more. shooting straight up in alarm, she stares at him for a second, two---and then lets her shoulders fall.
a sigh. "I should have known you'd follow me."
When the lights dim, Sephiran is accustomed to guiding himself through the footsteps of others- he has done it before, acting as though nothing was the matter while dodging the rustle of clothing and the heavy floral scent that decorated every attendee.
In the distance, he catches the silhouette of someone slipping into one of the (supposedly) locked rooms. He can recognize her dress even at the briefest of glances, knows her gait well enough to tell that something was not quite right.
He still hesitates- just a moment, debating if it were better to give her space, wondering if he had a right to concern. But concern he had, and so he makes his way to the end of the hall.
She startles when she sees him. Relaxes when she recognizes him.
“Perhaps,” He responds easily, slipping in- shutting the door once again with a click. He studies her for a moment, then sighs. “Pardon me,”
[ RECOVER ]
The healing is quick, as it always is, and the moment it fades, he continues, quietly, “I may not be the most reliable otherwise, but I am good with a staff- please, come to me next time.”
Sephiran lingers, just for a breath- as if checking his healing all over again. (It had done its work, as it always had).
“I’ll leave you to rest, Lady Sanaki. Have a wonderful rest of the night,” The door clicks open again, and he turns to look at her (curled, and still so small), and,
“… You look so much like her.”
[ PHOTO IN MOTION ] - And in addition, this year boasts a similar device bolstered by new advancements that allow it to capture more than just a moment; now, even motion and sound can be immortalized forever. Take a video with a friend—or catch something juicy you'll want to keep up your sleeve for later.
"Ah, I remember you; we made use of the photo-artifex together at the last Ball!" Chrom eagerly greets the familiar man, though he doesn't seem to remember his name, or if such pleasantries were ever even exchanged. This time, Chrom wasn't in a suit of armor, but rather a proper suit (with a missing jacket now, to boot). Less embarrassing, at least.
Laughing a bit awkwardly, Chrom holds out a hyacinth. "Call it keeping tradition, but would you like to take a brief photo in motion together? I'm interested in seeing how this fancy contraption works..." Perhaps to show his little sister as well, as he wished to in the year prior.
"Oh?" It wasn't the photo that Sephiran remembered him by most prominently- though who could blame him? It would be difficult to overcome the sight of the two women screaming in silence in the ballroom. Fighting over him, as per Sanaki's words.
But who was to say?
"I'd be honored to, of course." He saves his commentary for when they're in the booth, picking through the flamboyant props with an air of quiet ease. He starts with something simple, innocent even.
"You're missing your jacket. Care to replace it with one of these?" He isn't taking no for an answer, dropping a few mismatched props into the other's arms. Then, "I see you've picked your side in the conflict from earlier."
"Though as interesting as this is, I'm afraid any souvenir wouldn't match the story you have to tell, wouldn't it?"
(Oh, but he's never been the direct sort in this form of teasing.)
While he gives the swordsman some time to adjust, he finds the button on the contraption and presses it discretely, stepping out of its view as if to inspect its workings.
Chrom’s smile wavers, though it doesn’t drop entirely, as the myriad of props fall into his arms. It is in this moment that he realizes that the not-so-stranger is ever so similar to Sanaki in their odd choice of behaviors. He opens his mouth to call such a fact to attention- “haha, you know, you remind me of-”
And then all of the various trinkets fall to the ground, and Chrom’s face flushes a sublime crimson as the man so subtly teases him over something that Chrom would take recognition in rather well. “HEY!” But it is far too late. Chrom is scrambling to pick up everything he dropped, while this unfamiliar man had already moved over to the machine instead. And in a moment, a simple sound escapes his lips, “bah!” as he drops everything once more, clambering over to the man, his face a canvas painted expertly with embarrassment.
“Wh-What do you mean I picked a side!?! What stories about me did you hear?! Did Sanaki say something to you????” She had been with Chrom when the events earlier unfolded; did she move to spreading salacious rumors about her own professor behind his back?
Oh Heavens, Chrom will need to speak to her later if she’s at fault for this…
The button is pressed again, and the machine comes to life, a series of mechanical sounds clambering to create the photo in motion.
In the meantime, the man before him was more preoccupied with his words, it seemed.
"Sanaki?" A tilt of his head, confused- a practiced gesture that he has no qualms using today. She had her fun, it seems. "What has she got to do with this? The two who were fighting would be Alear and Baldr, would they not?"
Dismissive- he isn't sure how much the man knows about their relation, so he doesn't make much of an impression towards it either way. It would not be difficult to learn, either way, if the man was the scheming sort.
He doesn't seem to be.
Sephiran continues, lightly, as if he hadn't heard the accusations, "Ah, but it seems that your ensemble is incomplete."
A tulip is inserted into his hands without much fanfare, then adjusted to fit the rest of his bouquet, followed by a large hat placed on his head.
"Let's not keep people waiting, shall we?"
[ WATER ] - The liquid of life, the quencher of thirst. Served in crystalline glasses. And what’s more dramatic than throwing water at someone’s face!
"Have you been keeping yourself hydrated?" The glass of water is offered, a white tulip tied around the stem. "It seems as though the ball is not itself if there's no scuffles."
"Hm?" He takes the proffered water with a smile. "It's much better than last year, I'll say that much. Perhaps the guests have allowed the more belligerent among us to calm themselves?"
It's said only partly in jest. "But that's enough reminiscing, I'd think. You've stayed out of trouble this year as well, which has lightened my workload greatly."
Untangling the tulip from the cup was a simple affair, and he tucks it in with the rest of his own. "But I shouldn't take too much of your time- here."
A violet one is handed off in return.
[ PHOTO IN MOTION ] - And in addition, this year boasts a similar device bolstered by new advancements that allow it to capture more than just a moment; now, even motion and sound can be immortalized forever. Take a video with a friend—or catch something juicy you'll want to keep up your sleeve for later.
"Ah, I remember you; we made use of the photo-artifex together at the last Ball!" Chrom eagerly greets the familiar man, though he doesn't seem to remember his name, or if such pleasantries were ever even exchanged. This time, Chrom wasn't in a suit of armor, but rather a proper suit (with a missing jacket now, to boot). Less embarrassing, at least.
Laughing a bit awkwardly, Chrom holds out a hyacinth. "Call it keeping tradition, but would you like to take a brief photo in motion together? I'm interested in seeing how this fancy contraption works..." Perhaps to show his little sister as well, as he wished to in the year prior.
"Oh?" It wasn't the photo that Sephiran remembered him by most prominently- though who could blame him? It would be difficult to overcome the sight of the two women screaming in silence in the ballroom. Fighting over him, as per Sanaki's words.
But who was to say?
"I'd be honored to, of course." He saves his commentary for when they're in the booth, picking through the flamboyant props with an air of quiet ease. He starts with something simple, innocent even.
"You're missing your jacket. Care to replace it with one of these?" He isn't taking no for an answer, dropping a few mismatched props into the other's arms. Then, "I see you've picked your side in the conflict from earlier."
"Though as interesting as this is, I'm afraid any souvenir wouldn't match the story you have to tell, wouldn't it?"
(Oh, but he's never been the direct sort in this form of teasing.)
While he gives the swordsman some time to adjust, he finds the button on the contraption and presses it discretely, stepping out of its view as if to inspect its workings.
@encantresse asked:
[ MOVIE - MELODRAMA ] - A techno-magical reproduction of a melodrama following a creative that falls in love with his own creation, which is subsequently given life by the Goddess.
When the story comes to a halt, the sculptor and his creation return to nothing- they have no future beyond what the magic tells, and though it claims that happiness follows them, there is nothing for happiness to follow.
How kind.
The statue will learn nothing of cruelty, of how love can fade with time- she does not concern herself with finding a purpose before her creator falls into an eternal sleep. The living cannot persist entirely on love; she will never truly be alive. She does not know what the world around her would look like when the one she lives for is gone.
Her story ends in an embrace; warmth felt for the first and only time. The story will return to its beginning, and she will turn to stone again.
"How cruel." His commentary remains soft, sympathetic— bitter. Confined to the end, when he stands with customary grace, offering Dorothea a hand as they leave the cycle of the statue and her creator behind.
Who he means, he leaves to her to decide. "Though I suppose that's what makes it popular."
what a steel!
cont from here
What does it matter to Ike? What does any of this matter?
Because part of him still blames Sephiran for everything. Had it not been for him, perhaps things would have been different. Perhaps his father would not have been killed. Perhaps, but Ike has finished mourning that loss years ago. Right?
"It matters," Ike says, "because I know who you are and what you did." Both on a global and on a personal scale. "You're only lucky that I don't care enough to try and kill you." For now, anyway. What would even be the point? Besides, it would only end on Sanaki being upset with him, and he'd rather not deal with that.
"So, no. I don't have a contract on your head." Ike looks Sephiran up and down. "I'm guessing I won't, if you're trying to look like a normal person."
Ike sighs. "I guess if we stay out of each other's ways, it's fine." It has to be fine.
“A shame,” He responds, unconcerned. “If you still have Ragnell, you could have made your life much simpler.”
Well- perhaps he could have. How long did Yune’s blessing last on the holy blade? And, well, Sephiran did not particularly intend to go down without a fight.
But the mercenary was not one he would regale with such intentions.
“You can avoid me, if you so desire,” An offer, maybe, or something disguised as one, leaving the implication of his own movements out of the picture entirely. “I don’t mind. But I will continue to browse swords while here- there are many, you see. It seems the monastery gets into some amount of trouble every month."
So it will be difficult, his tone implies, pleasant but not lacking in edge.
➥ in the midst of life
epidemic | faith +1
Please find my son.
The desperate plead of a father — accompanying hands wrapped around Bruno's to give their small group a portrait of the kid, the warm hold clawing at his wrists as it held them together with unyielding force. Violet irises flickered down toward the tattered parchment, covered in rough, rushed sketch lines to build out an empty face: smiling, Bruno noted, but with eyes that seemed unfocused even in drawing, eyes that couldn't quite embody the joy that his family had attempted to portray.
( "Did he," Bruno glanced up, mask hiding his frown, "always look like that?" "Oh, he's kept the same face since he was a baby! Never was able to grow up." Forced laughter. "He's a child at heart. You'll see when you find 'em." )
And this was where their search led them: trailing behind a strange-looking priest to a temple in the woods, obscured by the silhouette of the trees. Tucked behind a small rock, Bruno tilted his head toward his dark-haired companion — Sephiran, wasn't it? — and hummed. Distaste left bitters slick against the back of his throat.
"I'm afraid I see little in this night," he murmured, peering above their hiding spot once more — no, nothing beyond unmoving silhouettes. "But it may be worthwhile to search further. Perhaps he is... within the temple itself—"
Someone cleared their throat, and he snapped his head back to face unfamiliar eyes barreling upon the duo.
"Ah, welcome!" A smile, soft and warm and comforting; two hands, extended toward both of them, as their saintly robes fluttered behind them. "I can't seem to recognize you both, but it... is quite difficult in this darkness. You must be new to the village — tourists, I assume?"
@thelightofcreation
If the other man saw little, than Sephiran could see absolutely nothing.
Perhaps an exaggeration, but close enough to the truth that a search would prove fruitless unless a hint were to simply drop in front of them- it was simply too dark within the woods at night to find someone who had gone missing for so long.
They were new to the area, after all, and anywhere that they search now must have been combed over endlessly- as long as his family proved to be just as concerned of his whereabouts as they claimed to be.
Though, as he opens his mouth to respond to the suggestion- mainly to turn it down, and suggest they search again in the morning, someone approached- quietly, and with a familiarity of the terrain that the two of them lacked.
Sephiran finds himself wary of the new arrival even before he speaks- though he cannot identify the reason why. Perhaps it was the sudden arrival, or the fact that the man sought to keep it hidden until he spoke. His actions, at least, did not match the goodwill that he tried to present.
A glance towards his companion (Goddess, that mask must make it all the more difficult to see), to try and convey his caution, before sliding a smile onto his face.
Then, with the same airy tone he took with those he did not trust, “Ah, you would be correct. It seems we got too excited and got lost in these woods.”
Spill the Tea (But not This Tea, Please)
August Mission - Any Skill+1
The last they baked, it was a cake that defied expectations - in many ways. The original that Niamh had attempted was even more bizarre, with choices that left one asking, 'was that really a whole orange in there?' This time, though, she has an idea about what to do. There's a practical purpose behind mastering something like this. Something small, discreet - it could be easily modified based on its intended purpose. Right? Probably, she at least figures. There's lots of ingredients to experiment with, that's for sure. "...let's make cookies..." she goes through some of the drawers, and pulls out a couple of cookie cutters. They're in a wide array of shapes, from simple hearts and stars to various animals in all sorts of sizes. Some of these were definitely festive, and could be used to celebrate some of the yearly events at the academy. Others were suited for a particular season, with snowflakes and flowers being the most notable. "There's a lot of artwork and statues..." she follows up, placing her findings on the prep table. "...if they look like them, maybe they'll like them better..."
The matter of taste could be overlooked, probably.
The last time he had watched her bake, the cake had ended up entirely inedible- to put it lightly, at least. He isn’t optimistic about the potential of this upcoming confectionery, either, but he isn’t optimistic about much of anything, so he keeps his thoughts to himself.
To a point, at least.
“We should bake something simple, then- otherwise we can’t guarantee the shapes are recognizable.” While she searches the drawers for supplies, he hunts for a recipe book- for surely if they were allowing anyone they hired, even on such short notice, into the kitchens, there must be instructions somewhere.
He finds one- after more effort than he’d like to admit, tucked behind kitchen gadgets that he could make no sense of- perhaps so specialized that they were only used once and never again. It comes with a fair share of dust, as well, that he brushes off.
“Care to take a look?"
