Rassilon taps a foot against the steaming grate underneath him, his nearly vacant eyes straying again to the rumpled bundle in his arms.
Finally the doors slide apart, allowing him entry into the Jade Pagoda.
His eyes are no longer devoid; instead, they glance about the area, taking in the true shape of the little artifice’s control room now that the need for subterfuge has ceased temporarily.
The central control, a blackish column most incongruous and grim, sits darkened. There are thick silvery wires flowing across the shadowed floor like roots... but these too are sleeping; there is no heat, sound or light spilling through their polished metal.
The crèches, too, are...
Three are empty- one bears the indent of a young child. The other two are imbued with the taller dents of two much bigger people, a man with large hips and a woman with the same.
He shifts his snuffling carry-on luggage to the other arm, settles her in, then carefully picks his way over to the other two crèches.
One is partially open and draining a white liquid. The liquid has been dripping and steaming itself onto the incandescent blue panels beneath. River’s. So she was using a double-routed as well.
The other occupied creche shifts open, and Lord Borusa steps out, her entire young body catching at the back-sliding door like a reanimated corpse.
He should leave her alone.
But he can’t, regardless of what she’s discovered.
Her fingers are white on her joints as she breathes from the knees, curtaining the crisp black of the floor with golden hair.
He has to ask.