"All right, then," Nigel says before shutting his mobile and slipping it back into the front pocket of his jacket. In truth, there were other errands he'd intended to take care of, having braved some of the snows enough to warrant a proper trip outdoors. But those things, as far as he could tell, could wait; there were more pressing matters at hand.
It's not until he's almost home, his books tucked inside the front of his jacket and out of wet blow of the breeze, that Nigel actually stops to consider why this qualifies as a pressing matter. Curses, even debilitating ones, were to be expected in the City -- bordering on old hat, in fact. Still, there had been a grain of truth in what he'd told Rosella. The weekend he'd spent in a stranger's body had required some attention on both Rosella and Saya's parts; and although the time spent with Saya had come that much more naturally, Nigel had come away from the experience feeling somehow...closer to Rosella.
It wasn't often that Nigel spoke of his mother (it took a certain set of circumstances, a very specific tone of voice to pull it out of him) but Nigel knew once that topic had been broached it became very difficult to ignore in the future. Like a valve that had been surreptitiously opened without hope of ever being shut again. Upon reflecetion, he's certain Saya would find his attachment to his mother and her memory to be something of a weakness. Debilitating, maybe.
But not Rosella. Sweet, kind Rosella.
When Nigel arrives, there's a powdering of snow on his shoulders and in his dark hair. As promised, he makes a direct path to the kitchen, pausing only to shake some of the dampness from his jacket and hang it near the door.
on the night i die, i swear i'll sleep outside your window;
It's not until he's almost home, his books tucked inside the front of his jacket and out of wet blow of the breeze, that Nigel actually stops to consider why this qualifies as a pressing matter. Curses, even debilitating ones, were to be expected in the City -- bordering on old hat, in fact. Still, there had been a grain of truth in what he'd told Rosella. The weekend he'd spent in a stranger's body had required some attention on both Rosella and Saya's parts; and although the time spent with Saya had come that much more naturally, Nigel had come away from the experience feeling somehow...closer to Rosella.
It wasn't often that Nigel spoke of his mother (it took a certain set of circumstances, a very specific tone of voice to pull it out of him) but Nigel knew once that topic had been broached it became very difficult to ignore in the future. Like a valve that had been surreptitiously opened without hope of ever being shut again. Upon reflecetion, he's certain Saya would find his attachment to his mother and her memory to be something of a weakness. Debilitating, maybe.
But not Rosella. Sweet, kind Rosella.
When Nigel arrives, there's a powdering of snow on his shoulders and in his dark hair. As promised, he makes a direct path to the kitchen, pausing only to shake some of the dampness from his jacket and hang it near the door.
"Rosella, I've returned," he calls.