The Hall ought to be one of the older buildings here; it certainly held the importance of one with such history. It was a behemoth of a thing for such a town, and even entering the threshold made the boy think he should first have asked permission, though such a thought is a silly thing. If one works in the damned city, then one has all the rights to its places that belong to all and none in particular. He'd set about his evening to look not the part of some tourist--

There are records kept here, old dates and happenings, and he was being pulled to find them and know them, if they were ever worth the while.

Somewhere along the line, he'd encountered the man with the mark on his face. First time, Neji was certain feigning ignorance of the man was the right call. Second time they bumped into each other's space, and the stairs mocked them as they winded down, down... made Neji want to pull a face. A ringing in his ears sing-songs something about Fate, and it's incredibly difficult to

not act as if he's just taken those two words sourly, really. "How generous of you, sir," he says, and wonders: why this, why now? "Seeing as you have been here before, then I shall assume you will know our way back out. What may we find there that will be worth the dark, sir?"