"Ah, yes." Solomon's gaze was drawn rather inexorably toward the swell of indignant ants, and he didn't even try to restrain the smirk. Somehow things were easier to manage when he had someone to taunt, even though they were responsible for his condition in the first place. He lowered his voice so that only those in the immediate vicinity--the Dead Men and Valkyrie--could hear, knowing quite well that coupled with the smirk it would only make Craven paranoid. "Did you know Craven's soul looks like an anthill? I wish I had a magnifying glass and some sunlight."
The ex-Necromancer accepted Valkyrie's offer by holding out a hand to find her shoulder, and finding it a moment later when she slid it under his palm. "Of course she does. At least if she gets bored, she can try to lead me into walls. Just keep in mind that I've some cards up my sleeve before you give that any more thought you already were, Valkyrie."
He squeezed her shoulder lightly, though, a quiet thanks, as he turned to Ravel.
"I'm always careful," he said, and tilted his head toward the gathering of souls. It was fascinating in one way, and bright in another; Solomon wasn't aware, but he had faint strain-lines around his eyes already. No headache, yet, though he could feel one in the wings. The car-ride had been too fast for him to be able to dwell on the ocean of colour and rebounds of the passersby, but here, in this magical room, the souls of the mages felt like an ocean wave caught between rocks. Instead of merely watching it, Solomon was in it--on the outside, true, but still close enough that the colour was disorienting.
Either way, it meant he didn't want to look too deeply into it. He could see darkness, and he could see light, and colour and shifting textures between silk and ash. On the other hand, maybe it wasn't at all like a trapped ocean wave. This Sight was almost as much the other senses as it was sight, and few sorcerers, apparently, had souls as pleasing to look at as the ones already in his company.
"I can see Tenebrae," he said. "He's hard to miss." An immovable stone, in the middle of that wash. "And Quiver as well." The bonfire had burned brightly, and now the man's soul look liked clinging ash. As if a forest-fire has ravaged an area, and now all that was left was for the forest to die utterly--or be renewed. "How many people along from them is Deuce?"
He didn't know it, but Corrival had just broken off from talking to someone and turned away with a shake of his head, and was now making his way toward them. Or trying; people kept trying to talk to him.
no subject
The ex-Necromancer accepted Valkyrie's offer by holding out a hand to find her shoulder, and finding it a moment later when she slid it under his palm. "Of course she does. At least if she gets bored, she can try to lead me into walls. Just keep in mind that I've some cards up my sleeve before you give that any more thought you already were, Valkyrie."
He squeezed her shoulder lightly, though, a quiet thanks, as he turned to Ravel.
"I'm always careful," he said, and tilted his head toward the gathering of souls. It was fascinating in one way, and bright in another; Solomon wasn't aware, but he had faint strain-lines around his eyes already. No headache, yet, though he could feel one in the wings. The car-ride had been too fast for him to be able to dwell on the ocean of colour and rebounds of the passersby, but here, in this magical room, the souls of the mages felt like an ocean wave caught between rocks. Instead of merely watching it, Solomon was in it--on the outside, true, but still close enough that the colour was disorienting.
Either way, it meant he didn't want to look too deeply into it. He could see darkness, and he could see light, and colour and shifting textures between silk and ash. On the other hand, maybe it wasn't at all like a trapped ocean wave. This Sight was almost as much the other senses as it was sight, and few sorcerers, apparently, had souls as pleasing to look at as the ones already in his company.
"I can see Tenebrae," he said. "He's hard to miss." An immovable stone, in the middle of that wash. "And Quiver as well." The bonfire had burned brightly, and now the man's soul look liked clinging ash. As if a forest-fire has ravaged an area, and now all that was left was for the forest to die utterly--or be renewed. "How many people along from them is Deuce?"
He didn't know it, but Corrival had just broken off from talking to someone and turned away with a shake of his head, and was now making his way toward them. Or trying; people kept trying to talk to him.