"Well, you have your wits and manners about you at least," the stranger informs him as though she has reached a verdict about his nature, and his demurral of, "thank you, ayi," rolls off his tongue without a moment's pause.
And while Alcina's attention briefly wanders to the other bodies along the shore, Jin Guangyao takes a swift visual inventory of her peculiarities, beyond those that are most glaringly obvious. (Her size and pallor are impossible to overlook, of course--but those tiny scars marring her skin are fascinating, and he commits their appearance to memory. She's unlikely to be a ghost or fierce corpse, but human? Not anymore, at the very least.) Naturally, when she directs her focus his way again, he is all guilelessness and disorientation once more, and only a small portion of that needs to be feigned.
"Another world," he echoes, and slowly his gaze begins to absorb more details of the world around them. The darkness, the alien nature of the sky, the clothes--
--fuck, he's barely wearing any clothes. He immediately pulls the thin robe he's wearing more securely around himself, hot with humiliation. "A thousand apologies, ayi, I intend you no disrespect--my clothes are--" And he realizes with a frantic, searching look around the shore that they are nowhere to be found. (A watery memory of a journey through these ocean currents returns to him, with recollections of tentacles and ink, and absolutely no expensive silks procured for his enjoyment in Lanling.)
no subject
And while Alcina's attention briefly wanders to the other bodies along the shore, Jin Guangyao takes a swift visual inventory of her peculiarities, beyond those that are most glaringly obvious. (Her size and pallor are impossible to overlook, of course--but those tiny scars marring her skin are fascinating, and he commits their appearance to memory. She's unlikely to be a ghost or fierce corpse, but human? Not anymore, at the very least.) Naturally, when she directs her focus his way again, he is all guilelessness and disorientation once more, and only a small portion of that needs to be feigned.
"Another world," he echoes, and slowly his gaze begins to absorb more details of the world around them. The darkness, the alien nature of the sky, the clothes--
--fuck, he's barely wearing any clothes. He immediately pulls the thin robe he's wearing more securely around himself, hot with humiliation. "A thousand apologies, ayi, I intend you no disrespect--my clothes are--" And he realizes with a frantic, searching look around the shore that they are nowhere to be found. (A watery memory of a journey through these ocean currents returns to him, with recollections of tentacles and ink, and absolutely no expensive silks procured for his enjoyment in Lanling.)