The solace of silence withered as a familiar voice approached him from behind. Not bothering to greet the researcher, Felix kept his body bent over the railing, one hand coiled around the cool metal. He pulled out the cigarette from between his lips and let out a long, noxious plume of smoke.

"Naomi Sato."

It'd been a while since they last met. Frankly, if it hadn't been for the upcoming three-part expedition approaching the following month, he would've already come to forget the name, much less the face attached to it.

Letting go of the bar, the admin reached into his pocket and fished out the crumpled white box from his back pocket. No words were necessary as he flicked the top open and held out the box for the other woman -- an open invitation to this end-of-the-world breather.

"Need something?"

Naomi Sato

It's funny how much a single experience can shape someone. Before, when told a personal tale of one's own loss, Felix wouldn't even bat an eye. During his line of work, especially in the earlier years, death had shifted into this position where it was synonymous with life itself. It became a comforting notion to think that, despite all else, we all are equally tied to our motality.

But like the dipping of the sun across the horizon, those ideals laid to sleep, as he finally grew to understood what it felt to mourn one's death.

Ash drooled out the other end of the cigarette as Felix took another long drag from it, letting it's cancerous fumes fill his lungs before blowing it out, just as had Naomi Sato did before.

"Sounds like a nice woman," he mused, "How did she pass?"

Naomi Sato