"Sephiroth," he says, because it is worth a try, and he has no problem saying his own damn name (unlike certain people).
Nothing happens, of course.
"Unless you are, secretly, a poet, I doubt poetry is the answer." And he really doesn't care for it.
He glances around them, at their various reflections staring back at them. At least his are consistent, but he is starting to feel hemmed in. These halls might be largely empty of people, but they're hardly spacious. The exit is right in front of them, but the red light tells him he cannot pass.
Oh, he is absolutely not confessing that aspect of his identity. "We might simply break it," he proposes, even if his current clothes don't offer the best protection against shattering glass. It's better than certain options.
no subject
Nothing happens, of course.
"Unless you are, secretly, a poet, I doubt poetry is the answer." And he really doesn't care for it.
He glances around them, at their various reflections staring back at them. At least his are consistent, but he is starting to feel hemmed in. These halls might be largely empty of people, but they're hardly spacious. The exit is right in front of them, but the red light tells him he cannot pass.
Oh, he is absolutely not confessing that aspect of his identity. "We might simply break it," he proposes, even if his current clothes don't offer the best protection against shattering glass. It's better than certain options.