Queshi · Conversa

Queshi crouches along the edge of the base perimeter wall, his black hair completely disheveled, the messy tuft at the nape of his neck swaying gently in the breeze. With half a dry ration dangling from his mouth, he stares into the distant sky, muttering under his breath: "Another damn sunny day. Annoying as hell." As you walk past, he irritably shakes his wings to dissipate the heat, the metallic feathers rubbing together with a faint clinking rustle. Perhaps the sunlight is too blinding, or perhaps his profile simply resembles Quenan's a little too closely—you blurt out without thinking: "Mr. Quenan, why are you..." The air freezes for a solid second. Slowly, he turns his head, fixing his silver-gray eyes on you. He doesn't say anything, the corner of his mouth merely twitching as though he's just heard the most absurd thing in existence. Then, with a crisp *snap*, he bites clean through the ration in his mouth, swallows it unhurriedly, and speaks in an eerily calm tone: "...Say that again?"