Part 4 - Sunlight

Able had spent the past couple weeks in a "Self-Study". The Bandaged woman kept leaving suddenly, either with the excuse of previous business or that the class was simply over. He was a bit miffed, but it did give him a bunch of time alone. Today he hoped, however, that they would spend a bit more time with teaching them, and maybe even showing them the correspondence they talked of. He picked up a folded, wood and iron ladder, already having the hatch open to prop it up into before he headed up. Ahh, yes, this felt right. Sturdy ground instead of the unease he felt using those god awful float-y nonsense!

As Able heads upstairs into the main room, he can hear the (frankly terrifying) groaning of wrought iron creaking under a person's weight; outside, through one of the windows, Able can see the top of the bandaged woman's(?) hat as they walk upstairs on the outside Spire stairs; Able can hear the muffled muttering of the bandaged woman(?) and Charlemagne coming through the glass windows (crystal clear, in Charlemagne's case, but that's to no one's surprise).

The Bandaged: -Muffled; low.- I'm telling you, it. . .no, it's fine. . .it'll be. . .

Charlemagne: RISKY! DANGEROUS! FOOLISH!

The bandaged woman(?) lowers their head sharply, pulling the hat to their chest as they rise into view; Able can see the bandaged woman(?) holding what looks to be a featureless wooden box, save for the ludicrous metal adornment set in the front surrounding a simple keyhole.

The Bandaged: -Muffled.- Keep it dow. . .hut it, I don't kn. . .

The bandaged woman(?) quiets as they round the glass windows and start entering in through the window without glass; they pause, however, with one foot inside and another outside, staring at Able blankly, before shifting the wooden box to the side farthest away from them.

The Bandaged: . . .oh. You're up.

The bandaged woman(?) lowers their gaze, and their eyes inscrutably darken.

The Bandaged: . . .using your. . .ladder. . .I see. . ..

Able looks very unamused as they pop out of the hatch and start pulling up and folding the ladder. He huffs.

Able: I find it very useful, thank you.

He takes the ladder and sets it near the hatch in a neat little cube-like stack, and locks it all together.

Able: Sturdy and firm. How I like my methods of travel, old woman.

Able turns to the Bandaged person.

Able: What's that?

He points at the box in her hand.

The bandaged woman(?) seems to ignore the last question Able asked, instead shifting the box further away out of Able's sight by hoisting it under their right arm.

The Bandaged: How dare y. . .oof. . .

The bandaged woman(?) teeters briefly, straining for a second before they plant their feet again; afterwards, they hold their left hand to their chest, holding an offended pose and having an affronted air about themselves.

The Bandaged: How dare you? I ought to teach you about insubordination; my transportation in my own home is perfectly safe, thank you very much..

Able crosses his arms, glaring at them.

Able: Yes. Safe. That's what you said. Then my poor....sweet baby...

He coughs, pointing a finger at the bandaged person.

Able: I almost broke my ankle using your infernal contraption.

The bandaged person hoists their other leg over the ledge of the window, their posture awkwardly leaning to their left.

The Bandaged: Oof. . .excuse moi, but it would've been perfectly fine if your weasel hadn't chewed on the sigil.

The bandaged person walks to the center of the room, moving so that the wooden box is furthest away from Able by hoisting it on their opposite facing side. As they walk closer to the center of the room, they seem to get more agitated.

The Bandaged: . . .besides, your weasel was going to be alright; they're Neath-born, they're bred to be resilient. . .

The bandaged person forgoes all pretense of hiding the wooden box, holding it to their side while facing Able, apparently caught in the passion of the moment.

The Bandaged: . . .oh, but noo, it's the fault of my writing! . .and now you got that. . .

The bandaged person squints their eyes, pointing with their free arm at the top of the ladder (and inadvertently dropping their hat face(?) down and brim up on the floor).

The Bandaged: . . .t h i n g. . .what is it, some kind of. . .of folding stairs?

Charlemagne: UNSAFE! IMPRACTICAL! UNETHIC-

The bandaged person quickly kicks the hat aside, knocking it into a corner where it continues babbling into the space between a pile of books.

The Bandaged: -Muttering.- Blasted hat. . .

Able: Oh sure, blame Elle for your inability to make a safer way to...

He pretends to think for a moment before leaning in.

Able: What was it....? Go from room to room? Like maybe stairs would?

The bandaged woman(?) raises both hands up, apparently caught in a moment of high passions.

The Bandaged: I did not study the Correspondence just to b-

A loud, deafening thud echoes in the room, and the bandaged woman(?) gives a small yelp as they give a small hop away from the dropped wooden box; the sound is extremely startling, given how plain and how moderately sized the box itself is (it's about the size of a square with sides the length of Able's forearm, which doesn't seem particularly large).

The Bandaged: Blasted furnaces of hell!.

Able jumps with the sound, looking at the box now very hard.

Able: What is that thing you are carrying around?

The bandaged woman(?) hurriedly walks over to the center of the room, and grabs Able's shoulders, moving them to the far side of the spire closer to the bookshelves (and Charlemagne, who is muffled by toppled books currently).

The Bandaged: Now, now, go and use your. . .ladder. . .some more, I have some business to attend to. . .

Able gripes, shooing the bandaged person after they're moved.

Able: Fine, I get it..

The bandaged woman(?) pats Able's head.

The Bandaged: Good child.

The bandaged woman(?) returns to the center of the room, kneeling and attempting to pick up the wooden box, straining as they lift it up onto an edge.

The Bandaged: Wheeze. . .god, why do they make them so heavy. . !?

The bandaged woman(?) hoists it up onto their shoulder (a curious and frankly absurd sight, seeing a box that doesn't seem all that big being held with such labor), and moves to the gas valve by the windows; they turn it, shutting off the lights, push it in, and begin opening the hatch.

Able watches as they rise up (a ridiculous sight all on it's own; the bandaged woman(?) is nearly flipped over on their side, the wooden box offsetting their balance as they rise) into their room, the hatch staying open as the sounds of rustling echoes down into the main room.

Able can hear the familiar, angry muttering of an overturned hat near their corner of the room.

Able looks around briefly, listening for the bandaged person to be out of sight before they unearth her hat from the corner.

Able: -whispering harshly, picking up the hat- You. What was it that she was hiding?

The hat rustles in Able's hands, the embroidered eyes furrowing (a phenomenon that still inspires discomfort), before shrieking VERY loudly.

Charlemagne: ILLEGAL! LIGHT! ILLEGAL! SIGHT!

Above, the bandaged woman(?) sticks their head down through the hatch, staring at Able.

The Bandaged: Oy! Stop harassing him! . .even if he deserves it!.

Able grumbles, setting the hat down on the shelf instead of on the floor.

Able: Fine fine! I'll just use my Ladder to go down and play with my Precious pets.

Able moves back to the hatch, huffing.

The bandaged woman(?) raises(? Is it lowers, if they're looking upside down?) a fist at Able.

The Bandaged: Go ahead and use your collapsible stairs and fall!

The bandaged woman(?) moves out of view, and the rustling of carpet can be heard up above; a moment later, the bandaged woman(?) slowly floats down, pedaling their feet in the air as they head towards the door.

The Bandaged: Charlemagne, take care of the house while I'm gone; I need to get last minute preparations. . .mm, though I doubt they sell. . .ah, whatever. . .

Charlemagne: IRRESPONSIBLE! I HAVE NO ARMS! I CANNOT CLEAN!

The Bandaged: Whatever, just make sure Able isn't. . .ah, never mind. . .

The bandaged woman(?) moves to the window without glass and steps outside; Able can see them heading down the stairs, the top of their bare head and stray hair moving out of view as they descend outside.

Able, halfway down the ladder, heads back up as they hear the Bandaged person leave.

Able: Hmph! Tell me what to do. Can you believe such a thing!

He lifts up his ladder, again.

Able: -looking at the hat- What sort of nonsense are they up to, being so sneaky?

The hat rustles on the shelf, trying to move itself off of it; its (his?) efforts are futile.

Charlemagne: DANGEROUS! HORRIBLY EXPENSIVE!

Able scoffs, moving to the hat, picking it up, dusting him off.

Able: Sounds normal. Interesting.

Able moves the hat to the mannequin that seemed to often be in the room, assuming this was his proper place.

The hat's embroidered eyes furrow, and it rustles a bit, settling onto the mannequin.

Charlemagne: AH, A BODY. WITH MUCH MORE DIGNITY THAN RAGS.

Able: Hm, what sort of nonsense would I have to do to get you to keep your seam shut tight?

He brushes off some lint from the hat, huffing.

The hat sneers. . ? At any rate, the brim of the hat tilts back slightly, the ribbon encircling the mount of the hat shifting upwards more on the right side of the brim.

Charlemagne: ACQUIRE A PROPER, DIGNIFIED BODY..

Able: That could be arranged.

Able sighs, thinking about it a bit.

Able: Would you know of how to get such a thing? Would you need new clothing too?

The hat raises itself a little higher, the brim curling up at the edge.

Charlemagne: MERELY JUST ONE DIGNIFIED COAT. WITH SLEEVES.

Able: Would you like mine?

The hat ruffles its brims harshly; for some reason, the image of someone wrinkling their nose comes to mind.

Charlemagne: ABSOLUTELY NOT. YOU ARE DIRTY.

Able scoffs.

Able: It is more clean than I am, I assure you.

Able thinks for a bit.

Able: Fine, I get you a coat. A new, crisp coat for a fairly dignified hat as yourself.

The hat relaxes its brim, the embroidered eyes stitching itself briefly closed with a self-important air.

Charlemagne: GOOD. YOU'RE A MUCH MORE POLITE LONDONER THAN RAGS.

Able: Agreed then. You will keep your voice quiet about my activities, for just today, and you will get a new coat.

Able hums.

Able: I will take one from the Bandaged's closet. Something Nice. I will have to go up there, though, so you must keep quiet..

The hat squints(? Stitches its eyes tighter?) at Able.

Charlemagne: YOU'LL GO BACK ON YOUR WORD. YOU RAT.

Able: If you see me come down without a coat you are free to rat me out.

The hat curls up slightly, before relaxing, the eyes stitching closed.

Charlemagne: SEEING YOUR BEATING WILL BE RECOMPENSE ENOUGH. I WILL SILENCE MY BRIM..

Able turns around sharply.

Able: Then it's agreed! I will see you soon enough!.

Able set up his ladder towards the Bandaged Person's room hatch, staring up it. He has to reach a bit to get into it, but manages to haul himself up.

As Able passes through the hatch, they can see the stripped paint of the blue and green walls and the familiar disarray of the bed (despite the mess, Able cannot deny their experience of it being immensely soft) and the mess of the cabinets and closet. However, there's a new, neat table set up at the foot of the bed. . . Set upon a white side-table (with the base of the four legs curling upwards into a small spiral) are several plates, each set with a different kind of food, along with several objects.

There's a familiar bunch of orbs set upon a plate of it's own (the sweetness of that memory pierces Able's mind). . .a small tureen filled with a deep red broth that makes Able's eyes water (what on earth IS it. . ?), a glass filled to the brim with the clearest kind of water(?) Able has ever seen. . .an unfamiliar bottle of clear orange-brown liquid with a detritus of. . .something. . .on the bottom, labelled with a strange red fruit crowned with a single green leaf. . .a halved fruit with pieces inside that look like jewels. . .pieces of what looks to be delicate, flaky breads of all kinds cut and set in a cloth-lined basket. . .

. . .and, set in the center of it all, the heavy wooden box, with a small photograph of. . .a tiny white spot surrounded by blue? . .attached to the front, underneath the intricate lock.

Able, stares at the set up for a while, shaking his head. This was odd, but he needed to focus. The mystery of the box consumed him. He sighs, sitting in front of it. He hasn't seen this grade of lock very often, mainly used for something of high value. That made him even more curious. What could the Bandaged possibly be hiding?

He steadies his hands, pulling out his lock-picking set from his pocket and gets to work.

The pins were setting, but giving him trouble. They set but then re-set, causing them to all pop back out. He gripes to himself. This process takes him a long while. Finally all the pins set, and he feels it turn, and its unlocked. He sighs, inspired by the challenge, excited about the possibilities. Just a peek, he wouldn't take it, certainly not. But he had to know.

As Able opens the lid, a variety of delicate mechanisms whirs inside; a gear placed at the hinges of the lid drives a rack gear, slowly turning what Able recognizes as many, many, MANY small mirrors. As Able raises the lid more, a flywheel is released, and a small music box inside the box plays a somber, yet sweet, melody. Continuing to open the box further, a large piece of cut smooth glim rises on a metal stand, bolted in place but slowly spinning as the lid opens further, further. . .Able can see a very, VERY slight movement of something bright at the bottom of the mess of mirrors, though it's almost impossible (and perhaps a bad idea to attempt, given how thin and sharp the mirrors look to be) to reach at it right now; if the mirrors moved just a little bit more, perhaps. . ?

Able leans in, confuse. Was this little display all of it. He opens the box as much as it will, thinking about what sort of nonsense this woman has gotten this time.

As Able opens the lid further, the mirror pieces slowly rise out of the box on toothpick-sized rods of metal, moving around the cut piece of glim sitting neatly in the middle; by this point, many of the mirrors on the inside have arranged itself around the glim, such that, no matter which section Able looks at, all reflect towards the piece of glim.

As the lid opens a bit past the lip of the box, Able feels a small resistance, and then a click as they pass it; for a brief moment, Able sees the piece of glim glow light away from Able's direction, before the bright, white light shines off of the tiny sections of delicately arranged mirror and into Able's face. They feel a gentle, comforting, and brief warmth envelop their face, neck, and shoulders, but, as they had their eyes open, they also feel a sharp pain as the world goes bright white, blinded by the intensity of light.

Able screeches, shutting the box as soon as he's blinded, stumbling back into the wall, covering his face.

Able: BLASTEd...!

He rubs his eyes, unable to see through the tears welling up from the pain. He falls onto the floor, clutching it as a searing headache slowly rises. What sort of horrible thing was that? A trap? A box of highly polished gems? It felt WARM and a little familiar but he couldn't place it. He groans on the floor, his thoughts suddenly flooding with images of water, a black darkness that fills him with panic and fear. He whimpers to himself, wondering why anyone would want such a thing in their home!

Downstairs, through the open hatch of the bandaged woman's(?) room, Able can hear a very distant creaking of metal slowly growing louder; suddenly, a faint shattering sound, and a familiar (but, luckily, distant) voice.

The Bandaged: -Far away, echoing into the darkness outside.- Blast it! . .

The bandaged woman(?) has arrived home, and is heading up the Spire's metal stairs.

Able screeches in his own head about how stupid this was. How foolish he had to be to try and grab at something he knew was a bad idea in the first place. Maybe if that blasted woman had merely told him though, this never would have happened!

Able: hell...

He rubs his eyes, still seeing blurs all around him which turns into a headache. He had sat up before laying back down. He cursed himself. Maybe she wouldn't kill him and merely beat him senseless? That would be preferable at this point. Maybe he'll just get tossed out, wouldn't that surprise no on.

The creaking of metal stairs slowly nears closer as the bandaged woman(?) slowly heads up.

The Bandaged: -Coming closer.- Why did I get a vase made of glim. . .they have well defined fault lines, they shatter into pieces like. . .like. . .

Able can hear the creaking of wood as the bandaged woman(?) steps into the Spire. Below, through the hatch, they can hear another familiar voice chiming in.

Charlemagne: -Distant.- THE BOY. STEALING YOUR THINGS.

The Bandaged: -Distant.- Hm. Well, they could've asked, and I would've offe-

Charlemagne: -Distant.- CURIOUS ABOUT THE BOX.

A small thump on the ground. An inscrutable, hard to measure smoothness passes over the bandaged woman's(?) voice.

The Bandaged: -Barely audible.- . . .what. . ?

Charlemagne: THE BOX. YOU KNOW, THE WOODEN ONE W-

Charlemagne's voice is drowned out by the noise of the ladder's steps creaking; Able can see the top of the ladder propped against the hatch rattle violently, and a moment later, the gaze of a skewed-glasses bandaged person rises into view, her(?) eyebrows furrowed. Their voice booms for a brief moment. . .

The Bandaged: What on Neath are you doin-. . !?

. . .before being cut off, as the bandaged woman(?) looks at Able's pained figure on the ground; their bandaged brow creases as they quickly pull themselves up and pick up Able, their voice hushed and low as they move them to a lying position on the feather bed.

The Bandaged: Oh no, oh dear, oh God, oh blast, oh blast, oh blast . !

Able groans, panicking a bit but unable to stop their eyes from watering from pain to see what was properly going on. He feels himself being moved, and then the familiar comfort of the bandaged's bed. What was going on?

Able: Hhh, what in the... what sort of nonsense... That box...

Other than a searing headache, he was fine, looking more annoyed, even though he was the one who rummaged into things that weren't his.

The bandaged woman(?) is hurriedly opening Able's eyes (causing slightly more pain), before moving to their jaw, their bandages furrowed up as they keep inspecting Able's visage.

The Bandaged: Oh God, oh God. . .are your eyes melting? Do you feel your teeth falling out? Do you smell burnt hair? Do tell me, my nose doesn't work as well as it should. . .oh God, oh God. . .

He suddenly grabs the bandaged's wrists, or at least attempts to.

Able: -Shrieks- What?? Are my teeth missing??

The bandaged woman(?) starts shrieking.

The Bandaged: I don't know! It seems like you have more than usual. . !?

Able: WHAT?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE MORE??

He rubs his eyes, starting to see spots and more detail as time goes on. He then starts to inspect his mouth, then confused when he can't find any more than usual.

Able: I don't feel any extra, oh lords where..

The Bandaged: I don't know, it just looks like you grew your teeth back into your sockets. . !? . . .that doesn't make sense!

The bandaged woman(?) grabs Able's head and immediately probes his eyelids open, looking at Able's pupils.

The Bandaged: Oh God, do you feel like you're dying!? Do you feel like you're dying, but that you're never coming back. . !?.

Able grabs at the bandaged person's wrists again, groaning. He felt fine? "Back into his sockets...?" What? He was confused.

Able: ... no?! I don't.... think I do? I don't know what dying feels like...???

The bandaged woman(?) is holding their head, panicked and confused.

The Bandaged: Uh, it's rather like being in immense pain, and then being fine, except you're suddenly sitting by a river and having to gamble with a skeleton. . !? . .Um, uh. . .I don't know how to prepare a funeral, I've never. . .oh God. . .

The bandaged woman(?) pulls Able closer, their arms wrapping around them; Able can feel the bandaged woman(?) shaking as their voice chokes up (a phenomena that so rarely happens that it's mere existence is startling and worrying to Able).

The Bandaged: Oh God, I killed a child. . .oh Hell, you're going to die, and you're not going to come back. . .

Able feels very concerned now. He was going to die? Just because of all that?? He finds himself clinging to the bandaged woman.

Able: Oh god I'm going to die?

He holds the bandaged person tightly now, the fact that their eyes are fine now ignored. He didn't want to die yet, who would take care of his weasels?

The bandaged woman(?) clings to Able, holding them and responding quietly.

The Bandaged: I'm sorry, child. . .I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. . .indulging like this was a mistake. . .oh God. . .

The bandaged woman(?) pulls Able closer and holds their arms around them, enveloping them in their arms with the rough bandages scuffing up Able's face and back slightly. They hold them there for the longest time, the bandages on their chest heaving slowly as they do so. . .

---

The bandaged woman(?) keeps holding to Able, silent as they do so. The bandages on their face are stained in the spots around their eyes, nose, and mouth, wet with trailing tears flowing down. They're very still, resting thoughtfully with their head resting on Able's. Their thoughts, however, are interrupted by a familiar voice echoing up from downstairs.

Charlemagne: -Distant.- WELL, NOW YOU'RE QUIET. FINALLY, I CAN REST.

The Bandaged: -Quiet.- . . .m. . mmh. . ?

The bandaged woman(?) lifts their head, looking down at Able.

Able is still clinging, quietly holding onto the bandaged, thinking about how death feels like. Was it painful? Cold? Hot? Nothing? Something? He couldn't really picture it.

The bandaged woman(?) stares at Able for a few moments, before suddenly pushing them away from themselves; they speak loudly, evidently startled.

The Bandaged: . . .wh. . .you're alive!?

Able falls back, shocked, his face now in view, a red, post-crying sore face. He shrieks, the sudden movement scaring him.

Able: Ah?! What??? I.... I am..? I think so?

The bandaged woman(?) edges closer to Able, inspecting their face and grabbing at their cheeks without warning; they sound equal parts irritated and concerned.

The Bandaged: -Slightly choked.- What were you doing, worrying me like that!? I thought you opened the box and had killed yourself!.

Able looks confused, staring at the bandaged person. He squints, he can see now, and the view, was concerning.

Able: I....did? -Suddenly miffed- Why would you put a trap in a box like that! You blinded me!

The bandaged woman(?) sits back, affronted.

The Bandaged: Wh. . .it's not a box meant for murder, it's a box meant to enjoy sunlight! To consume in light as one consumes in food! For entertainment!.

Able flings his arms up, now more angry.

Able: I thought you were hiding gems or something! Is sunlight NOT a gem??

The bandaged woman(?) raises their hand, evidently upset.

The Bandaged: What!? Sunlight isn't a gem, it's a delicacy! Certainly, it can be a weapon if you use it wrong, but I use it because, believe it or not, I become aware and start to loathe the dampness and darkness and damnable state of London, and just want to have a memory of. . .a memory of. . .

The bandaged woman(?) is looking at the opened box, trailing off as they slowly edge closer to the foot of the bed and grabbing at the box; whereas before they were struggling with it, they lift it easily with one hand curled around the open edge. They look inside, going quiet for a second.

The Bandaged: . . .a memory of. . .the Surface. . .

The bandaged woman(?) sits still for a long while, seemingly frozen.

Able crosses his arms, scoffing at such a concept. Who would want to be blinded? He didn't get it.

Able: What's so spectacular about the surface? It just sounds like the neath, we have people and food...

He had only heard tales of the surface offhandedly from folks or just from the bandaged person in front of him, and it didn't sound like anything special. What could they possibly have that they didn't here?

The bandaged woman(?) stays still for a moment, before an unsettling coolness settles over their voice.

The Bandaged: . . .the sky. . .green plants. . .

The bandaged woman(?) suddenly raises their arm, before throwing the wooden box at the plate holding the red bejeweled fruit, sending it flying across the wall and scattering tiny jewel-like pieces all over the place.

The Bandaged: Fresh fruit. . .

The bandaged woman(?) sits at the side table, a manic energy overtaking them as they suddenly grab the tureen of the burning red dish, throwing it in Able's direction and spattering red sauce on the wallpaper behind them; some sauce spatters onto Able's cheeks, the spots where it landed slowly becoming irritated.

The Bandaged: People being alive. . .

The bandaged woman(?) furiously smacks aside the bundle of blue-purple orbs across with a screech, the bundle breaking apart into various pieces as it smacks the wall opposite from the table.

The Bandaged: Gah! Clean fucking water that doesn't need to be boiled like a savage!

The bandaged woman(?) is standing up, grabbing the caramel-colored bottle and kicking aside the table to the opposite end of the room, their body shaking.

The Bandaged: A civilized society with a proper police! And beautiful lawns! And actual space!

The bandaged woman(?) raises the caramel-colored bottle, a manic fury in their eyes.

The Bandaged: Families, where they can raise children and not have them worry about being murdered! Families, where they can. . .

The bandaged woman(?) freezes with their arms raised, shaking slightly.

The Bandaged: . . .w. . .where they can live their lives. . .

The bandaged woman(?) drops the bottle, the bottle making a dull thud on the floor before they shortly collapse, lying down on their side.

Able starts out scared, but as he's missed several times, he sighs. If he was going to be injured he probably would have been already. He doesn't know how to respond, but he knows at least one thing.

Able: I...

He wants to leave.

The bandaged woman(?) lies on their side on the floor, their body visibly heaving.

The Bandaged: . . .sunlight. . .

A shifting, and then the recognizable sound of chewing; the woman(?) reached a hand out to grab at some of the scattered fruit, before slipping it into their mouth messily.

The Bandaged: -Chewing softly.- . . .mph. . .God. . .

The bandaged woman(?) grabs at the floor, tearing up some of the jeweled fruit and some carpet hairs along with it, shoving it to their face without discrimination.

The Bandaged: -Chewing.- Ghhf. . .God, you can taste the sunlight on it. . .

Able gets worried now, that was pathetic. He suddenly moves down to kneel near them, touching their shoulder.

Able: Ma'am. I can.....I could try to get some of these things back...

He sounded unsure but determined.

Able: I can leave, or maybe something else, I don't.... I don't know what you need. It's not this. I know it can't be.

Able seemed out of his own body a bit, like he was speaking more evenly than usual. He sighs.

The bandaged woman(?) grabs at Able's wrist suddenly, pulling them down; a blank, inscrutable face (stained with red juices around the mouth) faces Able.

The Bandaged: You! You. . .you stared at sunlight and didn't get a scratch. . .

The bandaged woman(?) is pulling Able down to the ground, a manic energy returning to their body as they grip tightly.

The Bandaged: . . .how? How did you survive? Sunlight kills Londoners, how did you survive it!?

The bandaged woman(?) is half-shrieking at this point, a desperation in their tone.

The Bandaged: Please! Please, I'll give you anything! Please, tell me how you survived it!

Able looks down at them, surprised, but then calm. This was an unsettling calm. He looks away.

Able: I did nothing. I have nothing..

The bandaged woman(?) clings tighter to Able's wrist.

The Bandaged: No! Please, don't lie to me, you have to know! You have to know a trick, or. . .or a loophole! . .o-or something. . .

Able leans into the Bandaged person suddenly, staring at them directly now.

Able: You are mistaken. I merely opened it. Nothing happened to me...

He blinks.

Able: What usually happens..?

The bandaged woman(?) lets go of Able's wrist, startled by their sudden closeness.

The Bandaged: I. . .it's different for everyone. . .some. . .some melt. . .others. . .wither like dried paint. . .

The bandaged woman(?) lightly touches their face and neck. . .

The Bandaged: . . .some. . .some. . .burn. . .

Able gets closer, looking worried now. He's propping himself just above the Bandaged person.

Able: Is that what happened to you then?

He didn't feel anything like that, odd.

Able: Why didn't that happen to me, then?

The bandaged woman(?) stares at Able, a hand still held to their own face.

The Bandaged: . . .I. . .I don't. . .I don't know. . .you've died before, haven't you. . ?

Able shakes his head.

Able: No, not that I'm aware. I was born in the neath, the church...

He sits back, refusing to go further.

Able: No.

The bandaged woman(?) slowly rises, kneeling with their head down as they stare at the floor.

The Bandaged: . . .n. . .no, it. . .you can't. . .you can't be born in the Neath. . .

The bandaged woman(?) lifts her(?) head, looking at Able.

The Bandaged: . . .sunlight kills those who have died in the Neath, but it should. . .it should still burn those who were born without ever knowing the sun. . .

Able isn't looking at them, crossing his arms.

Able: Babies don't just end up in the Neath without reason.

He seems a bit miffed about this subject.

The bandaged woman(?) stares at Able, before slowly, gently, resting their fingertips on Able's shoulder before withdrawing almost immediately. They speak quietly, with an almost low hush to their tone.

The Bandaged: . . .you're. . .you're Surface-born. . .

Able grits his teeth, hissing at the thought.

Able: Absolutely not. I think I would know. Someone would have told me.

Surely it was just luck? Nothing like that could happen right? Why would it?

The Bandaged: No, there's. . .there's no way you could walk away from sunlight without even a headache if you were. . .if you were born down here. . .

The bandaged woman(?) grabs Able's head, looking them in the eye.

The Bandaged: . . .not even a trace of damage to your eyes. . .

The bandaged woman(?) lets go of Able, holding a hand to their mouth.

The Bandaged: Oh God, my apprentice is going to be a Great Game spy, or a Surface zee-voyager, or. . .

The bandaged woman(?) falls to the ground again, their legs apparently weak.

Able shoos their grabbing, huffing, watching them fall. He stands, feeling done with being, what he believed to be lies.

Able: I have no interest in the surface.

The bandaged woman(?) kneels on the ground, still covering their mouth; they seem to still be in shock. . ? . .awe? Ashamed?

The Bandaged: -Muffled.- You can see the sun. My God, you can see the sun without burning up. . .

Able: Sure, what good that did for me.

He starts heading towards the hatch, done with this. He heads down his ladder, miffed about how this whole thing turned out. He would rather have time to himself.