this would all be a lot more poetic if it weren't for the fact that the hem of his maid dress continues to swim around his knees like the burgeoning surface of a pleated and extremely ruffled sea. this would also be a lot more poetic if he weren't carrying a wooden plank over a shoulder with the grim determination of a man who is planning to fight a house and win. but isn't that so? it's not the people who are at fault. it never is. it's this city that turns its infrastructure against them, houses and buildings turning from homes to nightmares-made-form. as an architect, kaveh naturally stands against it. but that isn't all.
there had been a hand on his cheek. there had been a maintenance tunnel. there had been blood.
so kaveh searches for ghost. of course he does. the wending hallways of the haunted manor is an ever-shifting map in his head as he clears each room with the kind of efficiency one would save for professional, competitive minesweeping. kaveh calculates side-passages, he opens maintenance tunnels, he checks on some of the infrastructural traps that he's set just in case, he checks off each corridor and each room one by one. it's only when kaveh has ascertained that the first two floors are clear that kaveh ascends to the third.
he finds ghost. he isn't certain he wanted to be found. but surrounded by the artificial cheer of a party made for people without people, the hunched line of ghost's back is a stark reminder of what is at stake. kaveh puts down his plank of wood. he takes off his shoes before he gets to her. he slips them by her side, the short leather wedge-shaped pair. kaveh says: ]
There's you.
[ and then, in that self-same tone: ]
Is hell this building and the scenario it's spun, or is hell other people, do you think? Miss Ghost.
iv.
this would all be a lot more poetic if it weren't for the fact that the hem of his maid dress continues to swim around his knees like the burgeoning surface of a pleated and extremely ruffled sea. this would also be a lot more poetic if he weren't carrying a wooden plank over a shoulder with the grim determination of a man who is planning to fight a house and win. but isn't that so? it's not the people who are at fault. it never is. it's this city that turns its infrastructure against them, houses and buildings turning from homes to nightmares-made-form. as an architect, kaveh naturally stands against it. but that isn't all.
there had been a hand on his cheek. there had been a maintenance tunnel. there had been blood.
so kaveh searches for ghost. of course he does. the wending hallways of the haunted manor is an ever-shifting map in his head as he clears each room with the kind of efficiency one would save for professional, competitive minesweeping. kaveh calculates side-passages, he opens maintenance tunnels, he checks on some of the infrastructural traps that he's set just in case, he checks off each corridor and each room one by one. it's only when kaveh has ascertained that the first two floors are clear that kaveh ascends to the third.
he finds ghost. he isn't certain he wanted to be found. but surrounded by the artificial cheer of a party made for people without people, the hunched line of ghost's back is a stark reminder of what is at stake. kaveh puts down his plank of wood. he takes off his shoes before he gets to her. he slips them by her side, the short leather wedge-shaped pair. kaveh says: ]
There's you.
[ and then, in that self-same tone: ]
Is hell this building and the scenario it's spun, or is hell other people, do you think? Miss Ghost.