The laughter in Esteban's lungs shivers; a bit of cold that he can't quite keep away from. But it can't be helped, and he's not upset at Tidus' words, it's just.
"Mortals die, Tidus. Objects don't." His grin returns and he snickers, considering it, just, just for one moment. "An' I mean. I wouldn't wanna walk into a hoard where everyone's just there but not sayin' anything? That'd be super creepy~" Alright, that is one hell of a disturbing mental image, thanks for that.
Right. Right, he still hasn't explained. It's a little odd for the half-elf to try and paint a concept that is so prevalent in his world that anyone who's ever heard of an immortal would know exactly what he's talking about. He can't even recall which of his parents had explained it to him, because he'd just been so young, and he'd just understood it as a part of himself. It was probably Melchor now that he thinks about it.
"It's... it's a piece of my soul?" he tries, words a little lighter, as he's not sure if he can explain it well. But he can try to, at the very least.
"It's a piece of my soul where I collect the reasons why I wanna live. Not jus' survive but live for however long I've got." There's a quick break where Esteban shakes his head, words falling too short of what he means to say. "It's what keeps me sane 'gainst time passin' me by."
Right. That's-- that should be enough. He doesn't want to linger on this.
"I like callin' mine a hoard best, 'cause that's really what it looks like," His grin is back, mischief bright in his eyes as he goes on with far more ease. "It's a cluttered mess," he snickers, lightened by this. "With things an' dangles an' veils an' books an' sharp daggers an' pretty paper fans, all 'round me. There's a bottle of sunshine for you, an' a lil' fox plush toy for Romeo, sittin' on some books. There's a dancin' cloth for Inigo, an' a pair 'f gauntlets for Amaya. I'm still workin' on Kaiba's; I'm missin' too much info for him."
There's warmth when he grins this time; gathered hopes in the edges of his smile. He loves them; loves them all so much. These people he's met, those who have pulled him along and back into trying, back into caring for others. It had been-- it had been a while since he'd built anything for his hoard.
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"Mortals die, Tidus. Objects don't." His grin returns and he snickers, considering it, just, just for one moment. "An' I mean. I wouldn't wanna walk into a hoard where everyone's just there but not sayin' anything? That'd be super creepy~" Alright, that is one hell of a disturbing mental image, thanks for that.
Right. Right, he still hasn't explained. It's a little odd for the half-elf to try and paint a concept that is so prevalent in his world that anyone who's ever heard of an immortal would know exactly what he's talking about. He can't even recall which of his parents had explained it to him, because he'd just been so young, and he'd just understood it as a part of himself. It was probably Melchor now that he thinks about it.
"It's... it's a piece of my soul?" he tries, words a little lighter, as he's not sure if he can explain it well. But he can try to, at the very least.
"It's a piece of my soul where I collect the reasons why I wanna live. Not jus' survive but live for however long I've got." There's a quick break where Esteban shakes his head, words falling too short of what he means to say. "It's what keeps me sane 'gainst time passin' me by."
Right. That's-- that should be enough. He doesn't want to linger on this.
"I like callin' mine a hoard best, 'cause that's really what it looks like," His grin is back, mischief bright in his eyes as he goes on with far more ease. "It's a cluttered mess," he snickers, lightened by this. "With things an' dangles an' veils an' books an' sharp daggers an' pretty paper fans, all 'round me. There's a bottle of sunshine for you, an' a lil' fox plush toy for Romeo, sittin' on some books. There's a dancin' cloth for Inigo, an' a pair 'f gauntlets for Amaya. I'm still workin' on Kaiba's; I'm missin' too much info for him."
There's warmth when he grins this time; gathered hopes in the edges of his smile. He loves them; loves them all so much. These people he's met, those who have pulled him along and back into trying, back into caring for others. It had been-- it had been a while since he'd built anything for his hoard.