[The door opens, and maybe it's less like an opportunity--maybe it's more like a change in seasons. It's hard to tell which season rolls in: zaShunina could be winter, with his crisp whites, with his face and its neutrality at the very least rivaling Kaworu's; it could be spring for the newness, something lush in him maybe growing evident during a final melt of frost. So, he was using a door, or trying to, and he was going somewhere--anywhere, really. He doesn't jump, when Kaworu unexpectedly fills the other side of the doorway. He doesn't flinch or tilt his head. He does blink once, and it's slow and considering. After a moment more, he even opens his mouth.]
In which way is this door the wrong one? [he asks at last. His voice is similar to fine white sand: it's definitely there, it's clean, and one could find one's foothold in it, but one might sink, too. It's soft and it's hard to tell how much give it has to it.
His arms are floating on either side of him. Yeah, his disembodied arms. The shroud of his white cloak keeps the rest of his body tucked out of sight, but one of his hands is about a foot away from him, touching the door he had opened. If it's possible, he looks even younger than Kaworu and even older than the soul of him, all at once. Ultimately, though, he's ostensibly seventeen or eighteen, even if he has the bearing of someone heading some sort of cult.]
no subject
In which way is this door the wrong one? [he asks at last. His voice is similar to fine white sand: it's definitely there, it's clean, and one could find one's foothold in it, but one might sink, too. It's soft and it's hard to tell how much give it has to it.
His arms are floating on either side of him. Yeah, his disembodied arms. The shroud of his white cloak keeps the rest of his body tucked out of sight, but one of his hands is about a foot away from him, touching the door he had opened. If it's possible, he looks even younger than Kaworu and even older than the soul of him, all at once. Ultimately, though, he's ostensibly seventeen or eighteen, even if he has the bearing of someone heading some sort of cult.]