#chromaiggia

;;it had barely been twenty four hours since Herbert had successfully escaped his home and gotten away from his father-- and it never ceased to be overwhelming. he hadn’t thought about the fact that white would be... rather outlandish in the area, but he didn’t particularly have any other choice. his best bet was to hope no one asked and to keep his hood pulled down over his features. he knew his father would send people to find him, he was a rather powerful man.

;;he was certain he had been doing rather alright on his own, aside from the anxiety and just barely being able to communicate to purchase food-- his social skills were... lacking. he had no idea how to leave the city, unfortunately- or if he could... it was here that he bumped into someone. instantly his body recoiled and a whimper escaped him- he’d bumped into many the past day or so with this similar reaction. 

He finds her wandering the streets after her performance—Rotti has always been a heartless bastard—it’s no surprise that he didn’t give her an escort home. “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?” His voice is smooth and calming. . .meant to be soft and welcoming. 

When he sees her it’s as if someone has set his heart aflame—stunningly beautiful. The type of beauty that would  make angels weep. He falters. Hands hang limply at his sides as he feels his heart race. 

“Mom—?” 

Your mother is dead! You saw him take her heart! 

“Is that you?” 

His hands want to shake but he does not allow it. He is a grown man—he will not show such weakness. No, this woman cannot possibly be his mother. His mother died when he was nine. He saw it happen. He saw it happen. 

Her eyes are wrong, you idiot. What were you thinking? 

Leira shakes his head. Just like that the image of his mother is gone. This woman—he knows this woman—the woman that gave her eyes away to be free of Geneco. ( Maybe he could give her eyes. Pretty eyes. Eyes that look his his mother’s.)

“... If it’s about the paperwork-- ”  the man shuffles through his rather busy desk, tired and bagged eyes flitting over the text and labels with a flair that could only be described as forcing through fatigue. it’s not as if he didn’t do this to himself. he opted for this job, as it paid well and he often forced himself to work overtime to keep compensations up. normally he was alone here, day in, day out, so it was only natural for him that when he sees another living damn being his assumption is a complaint from the boss.

“ I’ll have the reports done by tonight-- but right now I’m working through the statistic inventory and the financial reviews-- which are all positive-- I think-- or was that the repossession progresses? ”

he shakes his head briefly, a failed attempted to clear it as he catches a tired breath and lets his heart settle in his chest, his hand persistently and rapidly tapping a pen against a stack of work.