ᴋᴏʟᴛɪʀᴀ ·sᴜɴsʜɪɴᴇ· ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜᴡᴇᴀᴠᴇʀ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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futurology2016-04-06 07:43 pm
respired) wrote in futurology2016-04-06 07:43 pm
video; un: deathweaver
[ So, that relatively cheerful guy dancing with everybody on the beach--he's gone. He's out of here. Koltira leans forward, his expression pained, jaw clenched. There's a flat piece of wood on the ground beside him with the start of an intricate filigree carved into it, but he's set it aside. He's focused entirely on the jewelry. ]
I feel unwell.
[ His guttural, echoing voice is rougher than usual; he sounds like jagged rocks scraping against each other, and the strange ethereal reverberation does nothing to better the effect.
He's experiencing, for the first time in years, something like fatigue. It's discomfiting, impossible. His kind does not tire. And yet here he is, feeling--not exhausted, but legitimately weary. ]
The ocean is not rife with magic, but it provides some sustenance.
[ He shakes his head, as though trying to clear his vision. Some sustenance. Not enough. ]
If anyone has found other sources, I would know of them.
[ His voice drops to an almost feral growl. ]
Or a solution.
I feel unwell.
[ His guttural, echoing voice is rougher than usual; he sounds like jagged rocks scraping against each other, and the strange ethereal reverberation does nothing to better the effect.
He's experiencing, for the first time in years, something like fatigue. It's discomfiting, impossible. His kind does not tire. And yet here he is, feeling--not exhausted, but legitimately weary. ]
The ocean is not rife with magic, but it provides some sustenance.
[ He shakes his head, as though trying to clear his vision. Some sustenance. Not enough. ]
If anyone has found other sources, I would know of them.
[ His voice drops to an almost feral growl. ]
Or a solution.
no subject
[ He grimaces at having to correct the epithet. It's not one he's personally fond of, but he can't bring himself to abandon it, either. It was pressed upon him for a reason, and he finds that he does well not to forget it.
As Masamune gathers the sand, Koltira observes intently (if blearily); he feels the crack of lightning well before it actually happens, catching the sharp scent and the hiss of magic in the air. His hearing, too, is extraordinarily sensitive (hence the ears), but he doesn't flinch at the loud noise. Rather, his eyes widen slightly, his interest deepening as he watches Masa work.
Masa tosses him the orb, and he catches it handily. It's warm with power, and Koltira runs his thumb over it wonderingly. He regrets, even more, that he grabbed Masa so roughly earlier.
At the mention of Gil, though, he shakes his head. ]
Gilgamesh and the other Servants ... As I understand it, their methods are somewhat less intrusive than mine.
[ Not that he's much acquainted with those methods, either way. He pockets the orb, smooths down his jacket. ]
My apologies. Patience is not my strongest virtue.
[ He palms the orb in his pocket, comforted by its presence, by the knowledge that he has this resource, should circumstances become dire. ]
And I thank you for this. I won't forget.