The landlord, an amiable old lymatri,
managed finally to guide Seph to the end of the third floor hallway, in front of a very narrow door. A cloth was stapled to the top of the frame, and draped down over half of it; the lymantri tapped it, and the weft flickered and began to spell out, cautiously, No.
The lymantri's wings fluttered hurriedly; they were very broad and the breeze ruffled Seph's hair and made him feel even colder, and he rubbed his neck and shivered, but concluded that the loud thrum the wings emanated only spoke of the lymantri's annoyance.
Should do it automatically, but it's old, the lymantri confided, and Seph twisted his head around to read the marquee curving around the lymantri's wings, flickering like candlelight, pixelated on the delicate scales.
The lymantri then grumbled something in its own tongue, and hit the cloth, and the entirety of the cloth flashed and then flickered. Stripes, polka dots, gingham. Then, finally:
No. Thirty-Eight.
And, at further instance from the lymantri's prodding — Sephael Denavit.
Seph frowned at the sight of his almost-full name up there, and was about to comment on it, but the lymantri was waggling its wings again, this time more slowly, and they were flickering a more pleasant sort of rose color, and it reached up and shook the half-curtain fiercely. The lights of his name fell, made a brief veil that scintillated all the way to the bottom frame.
Security, Seph read as explanation on the lymantri's wings. The font was wild and bold and huge. Off you go, then.
The lymantri left, and Seph glanced tentatively at the narrow doorframe, then stepped in, sideways and bending down a bit to get through. The doorframe flickered, and he had the distinct feeling he was walking through velvet jelly.
He glanced around his livingspace, and sighed in relief. The door might be narrower than he liked, but the place in general had a good amount of space. Wire, water, sewer, trash, security, and post was apparently already set up as well, which was more than anyone could have gotten in a High residence right off the bat.
The lymantri's wings fluttered hurriedly; they were very broad and the breeze ruffled Seph's hair and made him feel even colder, and he rubbed his neck and shivered, but concluded that the loud thrum the wings emanated only spoke of the lymantri's annoyance.
Should do it automatically, but it's old, the lymantri confided, and Seph twisted his head around to read the marquee curving around the lymantri's wings, flickering like candlelight, pixelated on the delicate scales.
The lymantri then grumbled something in its own tongue, and hit the cloth, and the entirety of the cloth flashed and then flickered. Stripes, polka dots, gingham. Then, finally:
No. Thirty-Eight.
And, at further instance from the lymantri's prodding — Sephael Denavit.
Seph frowned at the sight of his almost-full name up there, and was about to comment on it, but the lymantri was waggling its wings again, this time more slowly, and they were flickering a more pleasant sort of rose color, and it reached up and shook the half-curtain fiercely. The lights of his name fell, made a brief veil that scintillated all the way to the bottom frame.
Security, Seph read as explanation on the lymantri's wings. The font was wild and bold and huge. Off you go, then.
The lymantri left, and Seph glanced tentatively at the narrow doorframe, then stepped in, sideways and bending down a bit to get through. The doorframe flickered, and he had the distinct feeling he was walking through velvet jelly.
He glanced around his livingspace, and sighed in relief. The door might be narrower than he liked, but the place in general had a good amount of space. Wire, water, sewer, trash, security, and post was apparently already set up as well, which was more than anyone could have gotten in a High residence right off the bat.
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