red - a world about to dawn, zahhak

Ahhh. The carpets. He looked up at one, tilting his head at the animals galloping around and the psychedelic geometries. It was one that had once belonged to him. He had sat cross-legged on that medallion centuries ago, and nostalgia seared his ancient heart. It was idiotic that he could not touch what belonged to him, but he must yield to humans for this.

It was stupid really, the entire concept of possession. Nothing belongs to anyone forever.

But he was still bitter about it, and so, he shoved his hands into his dark grey coat's pockets, letting his fine black hair drift over his eyes. His mind shifted with memories of the heat and the date palms. This was no zoo to him - he was just a grandpa perusing his attic. The children he sired as a mortal were all dead. One of the frayed ends of this woven masterpiece, he knew, was not caused by deterioration, nor by some careless king who succeeded him. No, he had been there. His son had once had a tantrum and slashed his father's throne (for carpets were thrones back then).

He'd never been one to people watch. These hordes were as cheap as insects, and they all looked the same. It was nearly comedic how long he spent in the same gallery as his daughter without even noticing the way she looked like his other, late daughters, with her silky dark hair, and the vase-like shape of her face. Nope. Heck, they had crossed pathes on two other instances in this enormous city.

People wandered around with audio tours, the smell of the cold weather outside on their coats, a blur. He memories replaced them all like a mirage. But then, with a side glance at the antsy girl admiring the carpet beside him, reality began to cling back onto him. His eyes flicked to her necklace, and slowly, the museum rematerialized around him, the idle drone of chatter no longer shoved wherever the sounds of the refridgerator go.

He stared at her pendant quite awkwardly. It was his vessel. The one he had lost. He cleared his throat.

"That pendant of yours - are they selling them at the gift shop?"

His eyes ran over the teenager more, and slowly, it dawned on him.

note this thread is so stimulating for zahhak. pls don't try to match this length.

"I see." How adorable she was.

Yes, she was very, but he still looked as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him, a painful and surreal experience for a creature made of a divine flame. But the hair-raising sensation soon melted into a smile.

So the ritual had worked?

His face squirmed into an even stranger, gloating expression, as he realized, he was still a sexual creature.

"It's very nice. It looks like it is something that would belong in a museum like this. Have you ever gotten it appraised?" He was good at this casual mumbo-jumbo, patience easy after a three thousand years of practice. It would be interesting to just play her a long for a bit.

He looked around too, his eyes flicking every now and then into the crowd. Perhaps Sandrine was not far off?

"Thank you. Yes, it isn't the seventies anymore, so that is a silly notion," he muttered like a professor. He scooped up the relic and juggled it in his lithe hand, feeling the weight. It was a round like a coin, but peculiarly thick.

Yes, it was the piece of his soul he had given her over a decade ago. The yearning of returning inside harassed him, and he suddenly felt like a naked snail exposed too long to the salt of the twenty-first century - it had been so long since he was home, but he refrained from the urge.

"Resilient?" he said, turning it over. "Indeed, the craftsmen back then were more skilled than the textbooks let on. These pieces were forged from a rare complicated amalgam. The paint, however, is a mystery to me. How did it come into your possession? Maybe that would explain why it is so well-preserved. Do you know how the previous owner found it?"