"So," Alban called from the kitchen, and Seph readied himself, recognizing the tone and anticipating the next comment:
"Tell me about yourself, skyling."
Here we go.
"Well," Seph said, and it was with practiced uncertainty, "my name is Seph...I moved here from Anthem...er, I mean, High Anthem."
He trailed off himself, beginning to tug and fiddle with his tatty scarf, and Alban laughed.
"Well, don't be shy, I won't bite! Not you, anyway. How long ago did you drift down?"
"Not too long ago," Seph said, and then hesitated, and added, "I think?" And Alban laughed again.
"I guess you wouldn't be sure, would you? Do you know how to tell time at all yet?"
"I know it has something to do with the flickering of the wires."
"That's correct. It's really not too hard. Upside you have dynasties counted in years, counted in months, counted in weeks, counted in days, counted in hours, counted in ticks of a dial -- am I right?"
He went on before Seph could really reply.
"Well, here it's really the same, but like how your unit is the waning or waxing of sunlight, ours is flickers of the wires. So I guess we haven't got the dynasties, but we just count in one big block from the Tragic War, and we still have months and weeks and days and hours...simple. It's just a matter of noticing when the partim line dims."
"I do know about the partim line," Seph sighed, "I just can't tell when it dims or not. The quality of light looks all the same."
"Well, true enough, I suppose. Your eyes should adjust soon, though." Alban began to fiddle with ladles and bowls and spoons, and after a moment he walked back and sat beside Seph on the couch, sinking down with a happy groan before handing over a bowl. It was pinkish; Seph's fingers hooked into grooves that had been molded into the sides, and he looked inside. The broth was warm and emitted a salty, savory steam that felt nice on his chilled skin. Seph accepted a spoon and began to stir up the broth. It was filled with small dark particles -- spices? -- and chunks of meat.
Alban sipped anad chewed noisily for a while, and Seph followed suit, finding himself ravenous. Their conversation trickled out between gulps and sips from the bowl and tumbler on burnt tongues and numbing gums.
"So what made you want to come down, Seph?"
"Bills mostly," Seph told him, truthfully, and then went on, trying to remember what he had written to remind himself. "I couldn't pay rent, and the Prevail allows people who move to Low to continue to pay at length, at lower rates."
Alban grimaced. "Strange."
"I think it's because they'd rather have that, than have delinquents stooping on the corners. And infrastructure makes it easier than having to imprison people, or cover up that people were thrown off the cliffs." This was also true.
"But enough about me," Seph said. "What about you?"
Here we go.
"Well," Seph said, and it was with practiced uncertainty, "my name is Seph...I moved here from Anthem...er, I mean, High Anthem."
He trailed off himself, beginning to tug and fiddle with his tatty scarf, and Alban laughed.
"Well, don't be shy, I won't bite! Not you, anyway. How long ago did you drift down?"
"Not too long ago," Seph said, and then hesitated, and added, "I think?" And Alban laughed again.
"I guess you wouldn't be sure, would you? Do you know how to tell time at all yet?"
"I know it has something to do with the flickering of the wires."
"That's correct. It's really not too hard. Upside you have dynasties counted in years, counted in months, counted in weeks, counted in days, counted in hours, counted in ticks of a dial -- am I right?"
He went on before Seph could really reply.
"Well, here it's really the same, but like how your unit is the waning or waxing of sunlight, ours is flickers of the wires. So I guess we haven't got the dynasties, but we just count in one big block from the Tragic War, and we still have months and weeks and days and hours...simple. It's just a matter of noticing when the partim line dims."
"I do know about the partim line," Seph sighed, "I just can't tell when it dims or not. The quality of light looks all the same."
"Well, true enough, I suppose. Your eyes should adjust soon, though." Alban began to fiddle with ladles and bowls and spoons, and after a moment he walked back and sat beside Seph on the couch, sinking down with a happy groan before handing over a bowl. It was pinkish; Seph's fingers hooked into grooves that had been molded into the sides, and he looked inside. The broth was warm and emitted a salty, savory steam that felt nice on his chilled skin. Seph accepted a spoon and began to stir up the broth. It was filled with small dark particles -- spices? -- and chunks of meat.
Alban sipped anad chewed noisily for a while, and Seph followed suit, finding himself ravenous. Their conversation trickled out between gulps and sips from the bowl and tumbler on burnt tongues and numbing gums.
"So what made you want to come down, Seph?"
"Bills mostly," Seph told him, truthfully, and then went on, trying to remember what he had written to remind himself. "I couldn't pay rent, and the Prevail allows people who move to Low to continue to pay at length, at lower rates."
Alban grimaced. "Strange."
"I think it's because they'd rather have that, than have delinquents stooping on the corners. And infrastructure makes it easier than having to imprison people, or cover up that people were thrown off the cliffs." This was also true.
"But enough about me," Seph said. "What about you?"
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