[center][h3][color=C0392B]Rudolf Shilage[/color][/h3][/center]

There was a lavender hue, faint to the point of nearly being washed out by the albedo of mountaintop snow, hitting his brow. Through the twin slots that made up his visor, windows through the stony black edifice, the fairy could see small coppery points shy away a little from her glow after they'd confirmed the source.

[color=c0392b]"Selene... Hey, kid. How you holding up after the hailstorm?"[/color] Rudolf breathed after his eyes were properly shaded again from incoming light, forcing some sense of chumminess through the feeling of having survived a stampede the hard way. His weapons collected and well in hand again, his helmet was cast downward as the seance crystal in Esben's hands began to burn hot with collected sunlight— looking the steel over for damage while he listened for her response.

He doubted he'd spool her into too much glib-tongued sidetracking, though. He and Eos had a great track record working with one another so far, but he was at this point all but certain that Selene was the [i]smarter[/i] one of the pair. Though, her presence still revealed one thing, even if she deigned not to play ball— getting this close this readily pretty neatly corroborated the fact that [i]his[/i] glib-tongued, sidetracking influence had suddenly stopped chatting so much.

He still wanted nothing to do with Cid, in so many words.[sup]1[/sup]

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[*][sub]1. A quote from [i]The Meditations of Duke Horacio of Midgar[/i], when faced with ransomer's demands coming from along the edge of the Northern Border circa 300 years ago: "Fuck Off."[/sub]
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