Sun took a moment to study her face, which to him, looked a bit flustered. Unsettled even. She was seriously contemplating his proposition, uncertain as to whether she should take him up on his offer. He frowned slightly, but understood her feelings. She had every right to be leery about his fortune. Because as Sun knew it, his fortunes were unbiased, unconvoluted with ones own personal desires or aspirations or hopes. It was a the epitome of the perfect journalist, unbiased and unopinionated in their reports. Just telling it how it was...or rather...how it is to be. But even Sun somtimes doubted his own possible visions of the future. Thats just what they were....possibilities....always open to change and reformation. They would have to believe.....believe in the willpower and strength of the others. Like Tobias, but in a much lesser sense, we adapt to the world as it changes around us. We have to. No other choice really.
It seemed like a lifetime though that he was holding his peacock and journal to her. He understood that she needed a moment to think....but his fragile arms and wrist were beginning to ache as small jolt of pain his wrist made him squint. Unlike many of the other Blessed Ones, Sun was probably the weakest physically. If it wasn't for his Blessed ability, he probably wouldn't be able to defend himself or others. He admired their strength and hated his own incompetence. Nevertheless, he made certain that wasn't a burden.
Caught in the middle of tapping his right foot against the ground behind him, he found that finally....at last...Ramera had taken his pen and journal. He sighed in relief, shaking his tiny wrist in an attempt to wring out the pain. He watched her like a hawk as she began to write. He followed her gaze and her pen strokes, taking note of how sloppy it seemed. No coherence at all. Her pen movements were awkward and he could see frustration plastered on her face. When she finally handed back the journal to him, he chuckled slightly. It was like written dissonance, but readable...and that was all that mattered. He bowed to her deeply as he pulled the pen and notebook close to his chest as if he were wrapping his arms around a teddy bear. He raised his head up and let out a low "Thanks".
Taking a moment to look around, he smirked. Sun strolled up and around Ramera's frame and planted his back up against the cold metal of the Paradise Lands walls...allowing his body to slowly slink down until he came into a crouching position, balancing his torso on his ankles and legs.
Pen in the left. Journal in the right. Deep Sigh.
He looked to Ramera, his usually playful eyes, all of a sudden serious and steadied..."Here it goes...", he whispered. Deep Sigh.
In seconds, his face went....numb. His pupils began to dilate, as any emotion that seemed to reign across his face ceased to exsist. His pupils became glossy, doll like, as an eerie ring of a violet hue began emanating around it. It was as though he was in a trance, unaware of what he was doing. A soulless, uninhabited body it "seemed". His left hand that held the pen, raised up slightly, as something amazing began to materialize. It was in fact...."The Lovely Ghostwriter". Those who were human could not see the entity, but for harpies and blessed ones, its small frame began to slowly appear above Sun's left wrist. It was a small, ethereal like semi-transparent creature with a body that looked like it was made of gas. It was the head of a baby, its eyes closed as if it were sleeping and its mouth wide open, revealing two rows of fully grown sharp teeth. Small, dainty, and seemingly underdeveloped angel wings fluttered on either side of the top of its head, as two baby arms and hands protruded from either side of the head, as if attached to some kind of underdeveloped shoulders. Its small hands were gripped around Sun's much larger (in comparison) left hand, taking its time to get the best hand placement for itself.
When it liked where it was, it began to manipulate Sun's hand, causing him to write relentlessly against the page that Ramera wrote down her stats on. His writing was immaculate, better than calligraphy, crafted by the hands of the Gods. His eyes were glazed upon the paper as he seemingly lifeless hand continued to stroke in on the lines, not missing a beat. It was as if everything in the world seemed to fade around him. But It had only been 30 seconds and the entity disappeared from over his hand. His face got back its feel, his eyes went back to normal, and Sun looked up to Ramera, quickly ripping out the paper and holding it up for her to grasp, making sure not to accidentally read it himself.
"Please read it...but not aloud. Just...give me a thumbs up or down...", he said softly. What he had written, since Sun doesn't actually know what he has written, just the format of it, was a fortune in the form of a poem...a poem with four quatrains of four lines each. Each verse represented a week of the current month and the events in the poem are presented as metaphors. So whether Ramera was able to understand the meaning of the poetic fortune,...well...only she herself could decipher. Only the person who the fortune is written for...and Sun of course(despite his refusal to read the fortunes), are the only people who can read it.