#and very hinted azemet

[nomadicbug]

Prompt 2 -- Aberrant

Emet-Selch watched as the Scions walked away, their newly retrieved friend in tow. It would be a fleeting, pointless reunion, but nevertheless -- why was she still here?

His thoughts were interrupted immediately. He turned his gaze to hers, bright and blue as they had always been. A painful, pitiful reminder. The Warrior of Light had not followed them. She had remained behind no doubt for some inane banter or moral questioning -- of which he, frankly, had no interest.

"What a touching moment that was. It fair brought a tear to the eye. But as we both know, such moments are nothing if not momentary." He spoke before she could, watching her like a hawk, the words coming easily, effortlessly. "Before long, they will remember their many differences and return to squabbling."

She clicked her tongue, regarding him with something akin to annoyance, though it quickly passed. Why, he couldn't say. "So says the arch Bringer of Chaos."

It wasn't the retort he had been expecting, having instead expected -- wanted -- an outright denial. A moral high ground or something. He laughed, short and brief, lips upturned in amusement. "Flattery will get you nowhere, my dear."

She chuckled herself, short and airy, and almost unnatural, as though she hadn't in quite some time. Before he could continue, admonish and destroy the brief goodwill (Zodiark forbid he actually allowed himself to grow fonder), she pressed a gloved finger to his lips.

"Don't." She sighed, and drew her hand back just as quickly. He noted something then; she was right handed, yet used her left far more predominantly. A matter for another time, perhaps, but an oddity nonetheless. "You're a thorn in my side -- one which is overfond of his own voice, perhaps -- but I wanted to personally thank you."

"Ah. Is that all? A backhanded thank-you? How marvelous." He folded his arms, frowning down at her, wanting nothing more to be angry, to be annoyed -- how dare she put him through this again! "Do you make a habit of lingering behind once your friends are gone?" It was, perhaps, a pointed question. One which had meanings that a pitiful, frail being like herself couldn't possibly understand, but the question was out regardless.

Celeste's eyes widened, and her feline ears perked. She tilted her head, and he heard her repeat those words back under her breath, a frown on her face. He didn't see any recognition. He definitely didn't see any recognition at all. She couldn't possibly hope to remember.

There was nothing to remember. She wasn't her.

"You are just that special, I suppose." She muttered back those same words in that same tone. He didn't even have time to process the words, not the fleeting kiss to his cheek, the muttering of another word of thanks, before she wandered off, leaving him standing there. Alone, surprised, and with a wound in his chest that she seemed determined to pour salt on.

Again.