It's not small hours anymore. Coffee's all gone, only got a couple bags of tea and a bunch of leftover hibiscus. Gonna need to open the cache that was left here just in case when Oracles' supplies were mostly carried off the Shrine.
He wanted to let apathy and dissociation to take over for a while. Alas, then the guest wouldn't find him and he would be rather slow to react. He did not recognise the people onboard anymore. He simply told them where he'd be if someone was to ask. They would know anyway, wouldn't they?
What the hell is happening? Just what did he miss? What state is Raven in? Why isn't the whole affair handled yet? Who is that idiot interfering and trying to wipe the slate clean and what for? He was unhinged, that was clear enough, but just how much? He couln't grasp that over that distance.
Israfel took the cup from the table and looked around. The Oracles remnants used this place as a meeting room when they were searching what was left of the archives. Most of them were employed elsewhere, traces mostly gone. His petty kingdom in the business world gave them convenient enough lives.
How the hell did that message reach him in the first place? It was disorienting enough to make him fall off the chair. Seems like the changes he was observing were just as profound as he thought despite the lack of true Nomad matter in his body. First the psychic energy turning into an EM field that he struggled so hard to suppress, now he is as much as a psychic receiver as any Nomad. Using it to send messages was a question of time, probably.
New questions never failed to appear. Israfel's existence was so flabbergastingly absurd.
