A beat, during which he frowned at her, looking about as empathetic as he was able to.
He'd never had siblings of his own; his only way of understanding what she must be feeling now was intellectual, which was his way of understanding most human ties, most emotional responses. If someone felt affection for a sibling, they wouldn't want to see them here, but once they had been here, it would be bad--difficult--if they went missing. The best-case scenario was that the vanished person wasn't themselves anymore. The worst was a terrible, messy death.
The sister was probably the girl from last week... there could be other possibilities, but if he searched his memory, she seemed like the best one. She had been very young. This wouldn't have been a place for her.
It was also interesting that the woman he was speaking to now seemed to be resisting the full spectrum of common emotional responses. She wanted to distract herself. Pride? Diligence? Repression? Hard to say. She seemed too composed, at any rate, to be grieving, although he couldn't be completely sure. She hadn't said her sister had died, but there was still a chance, shifting among the variables, that it was what had happened.
He did feel a twinge of pity for her, more than he would have expected. People were disappearing too often these days. He'd spent several afternoons in the past week feeling a species of bereavement that was more like a hollow, impersonal disappointment. His casual relationship to the dead and missing men precluded him taking it harder, but it hadn't been nothing to him. It felt like premonitions of disaster were, bit by bit, coming true.
How would he have experienced those losses if he had close ties to the people involved, maybe felt responsible for their well-being? He could only guess.
"I understand. I'm sorry." Not for intruding; it was the closest he usually came to any expression of sympathy. His tone was soft, almost chiming. "Please call me Ryuuzaki." He didn't offer his hand; even if it had been his habit, he was just far enough away from her, collapsed into the corner of the sofa as he was, for it to be inconvenient.
He could look at her more directly now, without hiding his interest. He guessed that she was somewhere around his own age, give or take a few years--it was always hard to be more accurate than that on sight, and sometimes a person's experiences might age them prematurely, or the context provided by their surroundings might be misleading.
He waited for her to introduce herself. There didn't seem to be much point in questionable reassurances that maybe, if they played their cards right, they'd be able to help her sister. He suspected that if he tried it, she'd throw the book at his head.
no subject
He'd never had siblings of his own; his only way of understanding what she must be feeling now was intellectual, which was his way of understanding most human ties, most emotional responses. If someone felt affection for a sibling, they wouldn't want to see them here, but once they had been here, it would be bad--difficult--if they went missing. The best-case scenario was that the vanished person wasn't themselves anymore. The worst was a terrible, messy death.
The sister was probably the girl from last week... there could be other possibilities, but if he searched his memory, she seemed like the best one. She had been very young. This wouldn't have been a place for her.
It was also interesting that the woman he was speaking to now seemed to be resisting the full spectrum of common emotional responses. She wanted to distract herself. Pride? Diligence? Repression? Hard to say. She seemed too composed, at any rate, to be grieving, although he couldn't be completely sure. She hadn't said her sister had died, but there was still a chance, shifting among the variables, that it was what had happened.
He did feel a twinge of pity for her, more than he would have expected. People were disappearing too often these days. He'd spent several afternoons in the past week feeling a species of bereavement that was more like a hollow, impersonal disappointment. His casual relationship to the dead and missing men precluded him taking it harder, but it hadn't been nothing to him. It felt like premonitions of disaster were, bit by bit, coming true.
How would he have experienced those losses if he had close ties to the people involved, maybe felt responsible for their well-being? He could only guess.
"I understand. I'm sorry." Not for intruding; it was the closest he usually came to any expression of sympathy. His tone was soft, almost chiming. "Please call me Ryuuzaki." He didn't offer his hand; even if it had been his habit, he was just far enough away from her, collapsed into the corner of the sofa as he was, for it to be inconvenient.
He could look at her more directly now, without hiding his interest. He guessed that she was somewhere around his own age, give or take a few years--it was always hard to be more accurate than that on sight, and sometimes a person's experiences might age them prematurely, or the context provided by their surroundings might be misleading.
He waited for her to introduce herself. There didn't seem to be much point in questionable reassurances that maybe, if they played their cards right, they'd be able to help her sister. He suspected that if he tried it, she'd throw the book at his head.