[ he feels like an exposed nerve under the glaring light of a probing eye. phainon moves to retract his arm — as if the reciprocation of touch is where he decides to draw the line. ]

That is the digestible, truncated version of the story. [ and he ought to leave it at that.

with anyone else, it's a route he would have strongly considered, making it clear it wasn't really up for discussion beyond a certain point. it makes him want to recoil further into himself, refusing an audience for something that needn't be addressed, the way the ghost of a simple gesture lingers against his skin — yet it unlocks a novel curiosity, something vague and uncharted. phainon doesn't dare give that a name, either. mydeimos is different nonetheless — ]

The citizens' assembly, you're aware of it, aren't you? It all began there, and the rest is history, especially after he unveiled his findings, the method he utilized in order to discover, confirm, and deliver his truth.

[ his tone is steady, less emotive than when he confided in mydeimos about a nightmare, unraveling, during his trial with strife — like there's a deliberate attempt to mask something, keep it from bursting through the surface to be known for what it really is. what he relays lacks in detail, but — phainon figures it's apt enough for the time being. ]

... Anyway, what were you up to prior to this encounter? Aside from being pursued relentlessly by our little friends.