It is a comfortable friendship, ours.
Not hedged in by opinions or perspectives,
Just the coming together of two academics,
If I can call myself one that is.
For you hold the intellect of the mathematic variety,
I hold that of English and music,
Less wanted and more neglected.
But that matters not when we speak,
Scenery passing by like strangers who you meet
Every week at the same café
And yet have never spoken to.
It’s interesting, isn’t it? ...

Russet tones of their homeland hugged and floated around them, encompassing them in a swirling storm of fabric. An outfit of antithesis, the softest cotton in the Three Worlds, and the protective second skin of glinting metal. Their androgynous face framed by wisps of two-tone hair, passive in thought as they perform, or rather battle, given the current circumstances. Years of practice in closed off rooms, hidden from polite society by a misunderstanding family. What they do is just as...