Celia carefully places the dragon sculpture in Section 1's common room, huffing from the weight and size of it.
It was big. But it didn't overwhelm the room.
Outis stopped. She studies it in silence. Her gaze running along the thin red threads.
She turns to Celia. "Who made this?"
"An Index Messenger." She replies, fixing her hair.
The room is silent for a moment.
"I would expect this type of stitching from a Ring Corporist or a Fauvist."
Outis approaches the sculpture, inspecting the stitching, the joints, the balance.
"No hidden mechanisms. . . no concealed blade. . . nothing dangerous. . ."
The smoke war veteran exhaled softly, placing a finger to her chin. "This is highly atypical of a messenger."
A voice called out from the doorway.
Heathcliff steps into the room, still in his Liu coat, drying his hair with a towel after training.
He stops in front of it. "Bloody hell."
He walks around the sculpture once. A grin lit on his face. "That's brilliant."
"Who made it?" His purple eyes turned to Celia. "Did you commission it or somethin' lass?"
"An Index Messenger." She repeated once again. "It was a gift."
His grin faltered. "You're jokin."
Celia shook her head. "I wouldn't, no."
It earned a scoff from Outis. "The workmanship is exceptional. Whoever assembled this possesses considerable skill."
"Those stitches are clean." Heathcliff nodded. ". . . Probably took ages, that."
". . . If they crafted this of their own volition, I hope they continue to do so." Outis turned to leave, her coat swishing behind her disciplined steps.
Heathcliff let out a low laugh. ". . . Shame they wound up with the Index."
Heathcliff gave the dragon one last look before turning away, patting Celia on the shoulder.
"Hey, I heard yer's Grade Evaluation with Hana was coming up soon."
Celia stilled. An eyebrow raised. ". . .Already?"
"Aye. Heard Miris talkin' about it. Said it was good seein' the juniors climb the ranks or some nash like that."