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"Asmadai," she said, "I can't."

Lukia heard fabric shift, and then a patient sigh; the seat protested as she inched farther from the open door. "Of course you can, it's as simple as taking my hands and standing up. I promise I won't let you hit your head on the car." The smile on his face was evident in his voice.

She scowled, slid towards Asmadai's voice and put out her hands; he helped her out of the car, and as they walked up to the door - or somewhere near the door, in her case - she continued, "You know that wasn't what I meant. That wasn't even a part of the conversation-"

"I know," he said. "But you've known Christopher for a long time, and I highly doubt he'll find your appearance repulsive. You look very nice today." She looked for some sort of negative undertone, a trace of a lie, in the priest's voice and found only honesty; but still, she was not so certain as he. It was one thing to talk to someone on the phone, but when confronted with the reality of that person, opinions probably would change. She gritted her teeth as Asmadai knocked on the door, three sharp raps.

He wasn't going to like her; she looked like a freak, she was willing to bet on it. Of course, it didn't matter what he looked like, not to her, because she couldn't see, but he could and -

The door began to open and she slid back half a step, hating herself for the illogical action but unable to stop.

She trailed her fingertips along the wall, trying to memorize the path in case she had to beat a quick retreat; anxiety chased away all of the thoughts that tried to present themselves, replaced with: He's going to hate me, if not me then the way I look, my face--. They stopped - she bumped into someone muttered an apology and stepped back, rubbed her palms against the long, thick sleeves of her dress.

"I can do it myself thank you," she said, panic edging out the strength she'd hoped to put in her voice as she shrugged off Asmadai's helping hand- she stopped just inside the room, heard her skirt swish across the floor and behind her the door clicked shut with a sound of finality.

Lukia tried for a smile, touched her fingertips to the blindfold to make sure it was still there. Her skin was bad enough but the place where her eyes had been was worse, so much worse. Breathe. It's illogical to be so frightened. You've done stranger things than this, she chided herself, and then she said in a strangled voice - "Christopher?"

Another deep breath. She couldn't make herself take even one step forward. Trying to think of something, anything, she forced a laugh and then said, "It's illogical, you know, I always thought I was so brave! But I'm such a coward I can't even greet my best friend."

She had achieved her goal; he laughed, and her smile stopped looking quite so forced, more bright and- perhaps not cheerful, but something like it, as near as Lukia could get to being really, truly happy. Her instinct to flinch away, fostered by her long periods of wandering, was hard to quash but somehow she managed it, and with the sort of giddiness that came with adrenaline, she gently closed her fingers around his; his hand was soft, but it was a different softness compared to Maria or Etienne. She didn't know quite what it meant, but - it was Christopher. "Yes, barely," she said, quiet.

Looking down, she said, "It's illogical to make such a big deal out of it. The stories you tell me are more than enough." Lukia paused for a moment, carefully disentangling their hands so as not to prink him with the thorns on the back of her own; with her bangs dangling in front of her face, she was free to let her uncertainty show for a heartbeat. Her tales were hardly anything compared to his, just things she had heard and felt, but what he told her gave her back something like sight, and that - she couldn't express what it meant. She looked back up at him and tried to smile.

"I'm surprised," she said, feeling stupid for choosing this path of conversation, "you sound just like I imagined you would - you know, without the phone in the way..."

It was, she reflected, illogical to expect that their accelerated growth did not lead to accelerated death. They could very well be like fireworks, brightly lighting up the night sky before fading into nothingness - but that was nothing but fanciful thinking. Plenty of children like them grew up to live long and fulfilling lives. Asmadai had said so... but maybe it was different for freaks like her, and of course Christopher was fragile, but as long as he was careful everything should be fine. Lukia found it easy to imagine him growing up to be fifty or older.

"I suppose it is," she said, turning her head to follow the sounds he was making. The loudness of his steps seemed out of character with his voice and his hands. Was he trying to make it easier for her to keep track of where he was? She took a hesitant step forward, mindful to 'watch' for any obstacles; when she thought he was walking her way once more, she straightened. Logically, she should just take whatever it was he was offering, that would be polite and she knew Christopher was a gentleman. But she still hesitated to reach out for the package, mindful of the thorns on the back of her palm; Lukia did not know what she would do if she hurt her friend.

Her hand settled on the package; its shape was large and rectangular, the wrapping was smooth, probably paper, and she would have continued her investigation but she already felt like an idiot -- "Oh," she said stupidly, fingers pausing on the bow. How did she describe the sound of someone's voice? "Yes, you sound better," she continued, after a moment to collect herself, "You don't sound weak at all." The idea of Christopher as weak was laughable to her. If he spent all his time cooped up in here and remained sane, she thought he was probably pretty strong...

With one hand holding the box - she couldn't bring herself to unwrap it, too embarrassed over the inordinate amount of questing involved to open it when you couldn't see where the folds were - the other was free to uncertainly touch a curl for just a moment before she let it drift back down to the present. It would probably be a bad idea to ask how Christopher looked - he had always seemed insecure about it, though she doubted he had any real reason. "Thank you," she said, wondering if her face was indeed as red as it felt. "I- I really-" Lukia paused.

"I am very glad you think so," she said, fighting to maintain an even tone of voice over a sudden surge of panic. She couldn't tell if he was lying; he wasn't speaking like he normally did, which might indicate a lie, but at the same time, Christopher was not one to lie and she didn't think he would lie to her even if he was the kind of person - and then she had to think of a compliment back. Something more than 'I love your voice, I think it's beautiful, I want you to talk all the time'; that, she felt, would be the sort of admission that would bring her priestly guardian to an aneurysm and probably therefore Christopher's father, too, would have issue. There wasn't even the 'safe' topic of hands - he only had one, and she...

Instead of finishing that thought, she repeated lamely, "I'm very glad you think so." Her shoulders hunched together in an uncharacteristic display of insecurity. For once, she had absolutely no idea what to do next.

An anxious inquiry as to his health was cut off when he spoke; she might think it illogical, but politeness demanded that the one who started first be allowed to finish first. The news that he had not wrapped the gift did not really surprise her; she could probably not wrap a gift well either and it was only good sense.

"That would explain why I can't find the folds," she said to herself. Mr. Wells probably measured out the ends of his wrapping paper with a ruler and flattened them with an iron, he seemed the sort of thorough type from Christopher's description.

The color in her cheeks grew red enough to challenge the roses in her hair at his offer, but... It would be so rude to refuse to open a gift he had given her in his presence. Asmadai would never stand for it, and it would be even worse for him to see evidence of her self-absorption. "Y-yes," she agreed, "I know how he is with shopping. You've told me." And she worked up an embarrassed smile. "I- er, I would like the assistance... with the wrappings."

As an afterthought, she added: "Please?"

Lukia did not have any such inhibitions about blushing; perhaps, being blind, she had no idea that she was even doing it. She smiled as she listened to him, though, and opened the present as quietly as she could. Her lack of sight made this difficult, though, and she winced every time the paper protested. The blind leading the blind, she finished silently, unaware that Christopher had been about to say the same.

That statement, illogically, made her want to like the gift so much that she let out a quiet oh of surprise, though she hadn't yet opened the box. Realizing this, she looked down to open it and carefully placed the lid down at her side. The gift, whatever it was, was made of fabric; soft fabric, and light, too. Her entire face lit up with pleasure, though she still didn't actually smile as she lifted the gift up out of its box. The box shape had worried her for a moment. What if it had been something requiring eyesight to use? but this was something fabric, maybe a shawl or a blanket of some kind. It was useful. It didn't need her eyes.

Then she turned her face towards Chris and then she smiled, bright but somewhat uncertain, like she didn't really know exactly how to be this happy. "Christopher, thank you," she said. Still playing her fingers along the folds in the fabric, she tilted her head and asked, "What does it look like?"

For a moment, Lukia didn't know how to react to that statement. She paused in her continuing investigation of the gift, head still tilted like she was listening to something. Her smile dimmed a bit, and she held up her hands to him uncertainly with the shawl over one arm, the rest of the box at her feet next to the lid.

"Christopher, I always come home," she said, "Worrying about me is... illogical." Had she done something to make him think she would leave? She worriedly reviewed this conversation; had it been something she said? Or something she didn't notice, body language, things she couldn't recognize? Maybe that had been it, maybe it had been the way she simply stood still and didn't... reach out before that moment, maybe - maybe she'd done something wrong that she couldn't have done wrong with her voice.

Lukia had tried to stop wandering like she did, but it was like a compulsion. A geas, she'd heard the similar sort of thing called in stories: a command from a god. Something was wrong with her, that she knew, just the relentless urge to move - just thinking about it seemed to make it more present in that moment. Her hands, splayed in front of her, tensed a little at those thoughts. She was going to stay, no matter what. "I'll... stick with you... for always, Christopher. You're my best friend."

"As you should," said Lukia, folding her hands in her lap.

Looking towards his voice, Lukia's frown slowly deepened as she listened. Christopher believed the green-eyed woman was benevolent; but wasn't Lukia proof of otherwise? That woman had tried to kill her when she was a child... Not like she'd ever told Christopher that part, or a great deal of other parts of her life, but the point of fact was that she didn't like the laughing woman. But now was not the time to say it. Maybe in a few more days. She found his hand and squeezed it gently. "You're pardoned," she said, completely serious, and then she let out a tiny breathless squeak when he dropped backwards.

She took a deep breath and let it out through her nose, looking rather comically aggravated as she said, "Do please stop trying to give me a heart attack, are you all right?"