Welcome to Gaia! ::

When he asked her the question, she shook her head, as if rattling something out of her mind. Zeal could see that there was an argument to be had within her head. He watched her almost without expression, except a slight nod of his head that could taken as understanding. She wanted to be free. But what was 'free' in this world? Zeal was still trying to understand. He thought he was free from his own Order, an order than he misunderstood, an Order that he was too naive to ever call wrong. He was free now to do what he wanted. But in this world, he believed there were other rules at play which he must abide by. At first, he thought she appeared happy to be selling her goods at her stall. But apparently that was not enough to make her happy. What else was there? Zeal had trouble trying to understand.

Zeal stood, watching her slight movements as she attempted a smile. He wondered about her next comment, wondering if there was more emphasis on 'this' as opposed to 'that' world. Their old world, did she have no place there? It was like the opposite of his own life, in 'that' world he had a home, in 'this' world he has nothing. He had no idea what her story was, whether it was near it's end, or if it had just began. But he raised another question, "you can be grateful for what you have... but it doesn't mean it makes you happy." For the first time it would seem that Zeal's expressions were a little more... expressive? By showing less, by letting a sliver of emptiness within him show itself did he reveal some discontent? He wasn't sure if he felt it, or let it out as he looked down to the ground for a moment, examining his boots that had got him here. Just last week he was looking down at his boots in a difference place entirely.

When he looked up he noticed that he might have gone too far. The seller, she looked sad. It took him longer than it should to realise, but he noticed it eventually. "I... am sorry if I have shaken you. I have trouble saying things... nicely. Apparently tears are meant for grief. I have seen people like you before." He meant of coarse how emotional she looked, and that he had seen people very close to crying before on his excursions with the Order. Even as he attempted to apologise though, he felt like he might have stepped too far again. Quela on the other hand might take that last comment in another way.

He wondered now if he has slipped and broken any hope of her becoming his partner. He knew it was sudden, but why not choose now? She appeared to be on the move regularly anyway. Did she have a small place, she might have mentioned it before, the last time that they met. It could be their base... was that how Magi and Knight pairs worked? He was unsure.

As Quela quickly wiped away a single tear from her cheek, it made Zeal wonder what the feeling was like. He's felt... loneliness before. He thought he had felt it at least, but he just accepted it.Then suddenly Quela seemed to reset, her posture back to what it was before, her hands clasped over each other like before as well. He stared for what seemed an eternity before she raised her question. He stared more, his pink eyes staring into hers until he fidgeted on the spot. "Right..." he said, almost startled. He slung her arm up, putting the collapsed scythe over his shoulder where it hooked onto something behind his hair and feathers, "thank you for your service. I will hope, by Adrestia, that we meet each other again." He then turned on his heel and paused briefly to look out onto the passing people. Zeal lifted his hand, looking over his new glove one more time before beginning to take a step. But then he stopped and turned to look over his shoulder, not quite making eye contact when he parted his lips. He felt compelled to say something more, but found himself realising it was pointless talk. A waste of breath. So instead he looked ahead again and stepped out into the masses, quickly disappearing.

As he passed the other people, he found himself still thinking about that merchant. Where did she come from? He shook his head, what good would that information be. She was obviously conflicted, but he was unsure with how to feel about it. If she wasn't happy, then why didn't she act to change that? Was it fear? He knew that sometimes fear is what stopped people from moving. It petrified them and turned them into statues sometimes too. It is fruitless to wonder he reminded himself in thought, passing a corner that brought him somewhere closer to where he thought the train station was. Even still, never knowing if... he looked down at his new gloves, the craftsmanship was too uncanny, no matter... but, where next?

((So I'm wondering if we should skip to something else now?))