[ There is no truenight, in Springstar. The darkest place he knows is Liem's home, kept cool and dim and apart from the dual suns that eternally shine in the skies. Routine is kept, time managed in a way that allows shops to close and workers to return to their homes for rest, companionship, and to recover for a new 'day' — and there are those, who need none of those things. The perpetually awake divine, such as Set, who dabbles in sleep and meals only as experiences, rather than necessity.
Which is why, come 'night', when there are few places open and the allure of the dark pleasures of the Last Dance are not calling to him, that he turns to soft, fine grains of sand and slips his way into Liem Talbott's home in patient increments. Puddling upon the handsome floor of his room, as he patiently feeds his natural weight in sand through a meager crack in one corner of the window's sill. Hardly enough to let a breeze through, but the sands of Egypt are ancient and worn to intensely fine grain, and so he finds his way.
As if caught on the wind, he flows across the floor in rivulets and ribbons, lifting up against gravity itself to slip his piece of the old desert under the sheets and blankets of Liem's bed — and by the time his arms begin to curl around the man's waist, he is whole and warm and solid. And hopefully, he hasn't woken the priest ( haha as if ), as he tucks his face into the back of Liem's head and rests there, awake but unmoving. ]
action; several days following the end of the exalt
Which is why, come 'night', when there are few places open and the allure of the dark pleasures of the Last Dance are not calling to him, that he turns to soft, fine grains of sand and slips his way into Liem Talbott's home in patient increments. Puddling upon the handsome floor of his room, as he patiently feeds his natural weight in sand through a meager crack in one corner of the window's sill. Hardly enough to let a breeze through, but the sands of Egypt are ancient and worn to intensely fine grain, and so he finds his way.
As if caught on the wind, he flows across the floor in rivulets and ribbons, lifting up against gravity itself to slip his piece of the old desert under the sheets and blankets of Liem's bed — and by the time his arms begin to curl around the man's waist, he is whole and warm and solid. And hopefully, he hasn't woken the priest ( haha as if ), as he tucks his face into the back of Liem's head and rests there, awake but unmoving. ]