“It's not bad, to think we do good. We do good; we've saved some lives, even.” Norris sat with Thomas on a table on a stone balcony, overlooking the forest of towers. The ground wasn't visible through the cloud of lightly glowing multicolored fog, which, here, smelled of a kind of ambiguous spiciness, to Thomas. “Anne just can't think of it that way. When we first came here, we didn't much feel like we had any choice. All the people we met in Anchor then were people angry that we had come, and we left.”

“I guess … I guess I feel kind of the same way. I did odd jobs in Piketown, but I just wanted to stop owing people things.” Thomas looked out into the fog.

There was a comfortable kind of silence for a moment, in which Norris took a sip from his cup; they called the beverage tea, but it wasn't quite tea the way Thomas thought tea should be. Thomas moved to refill his own cup from the delicate glass pot, watching the leaves swirl as the tea poured out. Norris spoke after a few seconds, his gaze distant, as he looked out into the towers.

“I don't know the name of the plane I left, or the name of this plane. Naming planes is what people who live in places like Confluence do. For most people, it doesn't matter; most people are born, work, grow old, and die, all in the same place, never having left. Those who go about naming places are people who don't live in them, who have a need to distinguish between 'this' and 'that'.

“Anne might know; I think maybe she had done some traveling. I remember trees, mostly. They've been planting them here, but it takes decades for them to grow, and this plane is yet young. I hope to see a forest here someday. Arias was born here; she never knew the place those around her remember as home.”

Thomas took another slow drink of the tea, watching Norris, who was looking out over the landscape of vertical shafts with a glazed expression; seeing something else, perhaps. Maybe seeing trees. Thomas could remember trees; could see the resemblance here.

“My home had trees.” Thomas tried to remember it; he could almost see a line of trees, separated from water by … human-made structures. “They grew so thick you couldn't see the sky. I remember the emerald light of sunlight passing through so many leaves that no other color remained.” They both looked up, at the canopy of city above them. “I wish I could remember more of it. I'm glad I don't remember more of it. Does that make sense?”

“It does.” Norris' voice was quiet. “I treasure my memories of home, but they are painful, too. Memories are such bittersweet things. A shadow of things and people we no longer have.”

“I wish I remembered my parents.”

“I understand that. Mine … did not make it in the evacuation.” Norris breathed out a slow sigh, and emptied his tea, before relaxing backwards. “The memories are painful, now, but it is a good pain. I am truly sorry for your loss.” Thomas nodded, uncertain how to respond to that, and instead bringing the tea to his face, inhaling the floral scents.

The mist blew in the wind, slightly stronger here, higher up; colors drifted in and out, barely visible clouds of countless hues which never quite mixed together. Green gave way to a sickly yellow, gave way to a burnt orange, in the dominant color of the landscape of mostly-vertical lines. Scents passed them by, similarly varied, mostly pleasant.

“I feel like I've just kind of been stumbling along, these last few – no, it's only been a few weeks, hasn't it? I got here, and then Anne pointed me towards Grimhaven, and that was – that was nice for a little while, but, I, uh … ” Thomas trailed off. Norris looked to him, eyebrows lifting.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I … no. I don't. Should I talk about it?”

“I can't really answer that. I think for some people, talking helps. Others do better just setting things aside and moving on.”

“I'm not sure I'm doing a good job of moving on.”

“I'll listen, then.” Norris offered Thomas a smile, leaning over to pat his shoulder lightly. “Can't promise it will help.”

“I … alright. So, I. Hum. I have Lust, as one of my … traits.” Norris nodded, watching him, but remained silent; Thomas expected a smile or smirk at that, but if the man remembered their first meeting, he held it in check well. Thomas breathed out, then started talking. “C- … a girl there was trying to help me; was helping me understand what … how things like dedications, and traits, and such, worked.” The words started to flow on their own. “She wanted to help me get the ascensions from my traits.

“I tried to dissuade her, a little bit, but she had an idea that I was just being shy, I think, and kept pushing about it. And an evening came when she kept pushing, and I just kind of … I froze, and things kept happening, and I didn't know how to make them stop happening. It stopped feeling like I was there, it just felt like something happening to somebody else, like I was just watching.

“And then it was over. And, afterwards, I told her how I felt.” Thomas hesitated, not looking at Norris, looking up at the canopy. It was a little blurry. “And I can't even be angry about it, because she had no idea. She started crying when she realized that … when I explained how I felt. I was afraid of her, I was afraid to tell her. And I kind of knew it would hurt her, when I told her. And I feel bad about that, but also, she didn't have any right to do that to me.” Thomas blinked at the tear that had dripped into his tea. When had he looked down? “But also, she didn't know. And I'm angry about it, but not angry with her, exactly.”

There were a few seconds of silence, and then a slow sip of tea. Thomas didn't look up. A few more seconds, before Norris finally replied.

“I think … the situation is complicated. I think you were right to tell her that … ah. No, you were right. Boundaries are healthy things to have, and it sounds like she crossed a boundary you established as well as you could.” Norris hesitated a moment, then continued. “It also sounds like maybe you didn't establish it as well as you should have, or at least, you don't feel like you did.”

“I don't know. I … enjoyed it. I think I might have participated a little.”

“I don't think that really matters. Are you making excuses for her, or do you think the situation was actually as ambiguous as you describe?” Thomas had to stop to consider that question. Was he making excuses for the behavior? He considered it a moment more.

“I … I'm not really sure. I … I had a crush on her.” His eyes watered with a sudden intensity, an unexpected pain flaring in his chest at that admission. It took his breath away, and several seconds passed before he could speak again. “I think maybe I did want it. Just not … just not then. So I … I probably am making excuses for her. But also, she was beautiful, and strong, and helpful, and she wanted to … she wanted to have sex with me, and …” Thomas trailed off, as the pain started up in his chest again. “I kind of … I kind of miss her. And I never … I never want to see her again.”

The hand rested on his shoulder again. Norris didn't say anything. He didn't have to, really. Thomas let himself cry, let himself feel a pain he'd shut out and ignored; he missed Cenpre, desperately. And he would never go back to see her.

“Are you and Anne … together?” Thomas let the question fall free some time later, the silence only interrupted when Norris had gone back into the shop for another pot of tea. Norris chuckled, at that, and looked up.

“She thinks she is too old for me. Maybe she's right, maybe it doesn't really matter. We've slept together a few times, over the years, but it's never really turned into anything more. Maybe there isn't anything more it could turn into, really. I love her in my way, she loves me in hers.” Thomas nodded slowly, as he processed that. Norris continued a moment later, voice growing wistful.

“I think her heart is still with her husband, and I won't begrudge her that.” Thomas blinked, then.

“Anne is married?”

“Was. They had children, two little girls. I regret I didn't meet them.” That … took a moment to process. Oh.

“Norris was married too.” Anne's voice; Norris jumped, slightly, and turned, pinched cheeks flushing furiously. Thomas looked up; she was scowling at Norris, halfway through stepping out onto the balcony, a folding chair held in one hand. “While we are telling stories about other people.”

“Anne, I'm sorry, I … uh …” Norris looked down at his tea.

“You don't have to answer every question anybody puts to you.” Thomas looked between the two as Anne glared, and Norris tried resolutely not to look at her. Then her attention turned to him, and Thomas found himself wanting to look away. “They didn't make it. Most people didn't make it.” The door shut behind her, loudly. He winced at the sound.

The silence returned.