Welcome to Gaia! ::

Sinter continued at his leisurely pace as Ganyma charged ahead to scope out the seating situation. The interior of the building was small and well-worn, but also carefully maintained. The wood furnishings and smell of a warm stove reminded Sinter of home. He took the employees' distraction as an opportunity to admire the decor.

When it came time to order, Sinter almost refused Ganyma's generosity on reflex, but thought better of himself. Nodding in thanks, he turned his attention back towards the menu to double-check the name of his order.

While the inside was cozy, Sinter was happy to enjoy the open space provided by the patio. The breeze was lovely and it was always nice to have room to move one's horns around. Sinter had made sure to pick the table closest to the water while the two of them waited for their orders to be called.

"Hard to believe so much of this was on fire not that long ago," Sinter commented. "The soil here must be something else for the forest to recover so fast. Not to mention the carpenter drones." The last part was a joke, but Sinter couldn't help but be curious as to if highbloods actually got access to better drones or not.

Sinter leaned on his elbow in order to get a better look at the water. He grimaced despite the lovely view at the mention of the WACKY and the following hardships.

"I was still pretty young when the WACKY nonsense happened. It makes it hard to remember a time when Chittentown wasn't in need of repairs." Sinter's expressioned turned bittersweet. "I suppose I can't complain too much, though. I wouldn't have met my moirail or my pet gerbils if I hadn't gone wandering around in a desert maelstrom."

"Nothing like a freak snowstorm to make you appreciate living in the desert, though."

Sinter leaned back in his chair. He certainly had been through a lot in the past couple sweeps. Even now he wasn't entirely sure what had gone down in the tunnels beneath Chittentown during that infamous drought. Part of him was glad he hadn't been involved enough to know the full story.

"Have you visited Chittentown before? I promise it's not as bad as the news stories make it out to be."

Ganyma spoke fondly of his childhood. Knowing what Sinter did about the hardship that was wandering around the desert beneath freak weather patterns, it was plain to see Ganyma was being humble. He actually appeared quite fond of the memories. Sinter felt a sense of ease drift over the table, like the fresh forest breeze. Ganyma was clearly an optimist at heart. Life must have dealt him a heavy hand to put someone like that in a mental health facility.

The call of the kitchen staff snapped Sinter to attention, but Ganyma had already beaten him to standing. Sinter acquiesced with a wave and leaned back in his seat while Ganyma left to retrieve their food.

This brief interruption allowed Sinter time to process Ganyma's situation from a more mission-based standpoint. He was in a mentorship position after all. (Sinter tried not to feel too giddy at the idea of a redblood like him being any kind of "mentor" to a tealblood.) Being pals was all well and good, but anyone off the street could do that. Sinter was obligated to go the extra mile.

"Obligated" was a strong word, too. Sinter also just wanted to help Ganyma for the sake of helping.

Sinter was in the process of mulling over potential wellness exercises when Ganyma returned with their orders. His "welcome back," smile soured quickly at the mention of the Hunting Grounds. Everything they'd discussed so far pointed towards Ganyma being a long-time fighter even outside of the ring. This however was a dark detail to mention so casually. Sinter knew that much of the "behavioral issues" the Rehabilitation Center dealt with were tied to trolls at risk of rebel affiliation. Ganyma wasn't an exception.

"...So what, may I ask, are you looking for out of this program?" Sinter was trying to probe as delicately as he could, despite Ganyma's clear willingness to be open with his entire history. "I mean... The Hunting Grounds seem to have made some kind of impression considering you're doing so well for yourself now--physically and financially at least." Most surprising was that Ganyma didn't have the appearance of someone who'd been "scared straight" by his punishment, or even resentful of the experience. He actually seemed quite normal. Pleasant, even. Whatever social issues the Rehabilitation Center thought Ganyma had, they must have been more effort-based than because of a personality defect.

Sinter's mind whirled as he attempted to formulate a plan while still listening to Ganyma.

Sinter chuckled as gracefully as he could behind his panini. He made sure to swallow before talking. "I'm not sure if deference to redbloods is what the center was trying to cultivate, but we'll work with what we've got." He smiled wryly.

Ganyma, as Sinter learned, was probably the only troll alive optimistic enough to put a positive spin on being hunted alive. On one hand, Sinter, being ever the cynic himself, admired the determination to see the good in everything. On the other, Sinter seriously questioned Ganyma's sense of self-awareness.

Still, the overall effect was charming. "You sound like a comic book hero," he mentioned without thinking. It was hard to believe this literal mess in front of him actually was capable of beating the s**t out of whoever opposed him--and he'd actually seen it first-hand that very night. It was almost inspirational.

"It's not a bad goal, though," Sinter amended after his brief moment of thought. "Helping people, that is. It's just a matter of finding a proper outlet."

Sinter paused both speaking and eating.

"I do empathize with the rebel movement, you know. When all is said and done I don't hate them. I don't think I really can, considering I know what it's like to be at the bottom rung as well as anyone. Still, two wrongs don't make a right. As corrupt as the government is, trying to solve the problem with violence is only going to result in just that: violence. I've seen it time and again, even in my short life."

Sinter looked back up at Ganyma, appearing more energetic than before.

"To that end, we've got to start small and address the root of the problem. In your case, I believe it's trying to do what you, individually, can do to improve the circumstances around you. Getting swept up in political movements hasn't appeared to have done you any favors--if you'll excuse my casual wording."

"Why not do some community service projects? It doesn't have to be anything big, especially to start with, but I imagine your status may be able to attract a few volunteers to help out with whatever we decide to do. It'll give you a chance to do something positive. Make some social ties with the locals. Messiahs know with everything that's been going on there's plenty to be fixed or cleaned or planted or whatnot."

Sinter wasn't used to being allowed to talk for so long--especially in matters where he was basically telling someone else what to do. He gave Ganyma a small smile and poked around at his side salad. "Would that be something that would appeal to you? I mean you don't have to decide on anything right now..."

No longer caught up in the task of arranging his thoughts into words, Sinter had time to properly listen to Ganyma's thoughts.

Was he... He wasn't trying to lick mustard out of his shirt, was he?

Sinter whipped his head away to watch a pigeon pick at the crumbs from a neighboring table. Staring at his charge's stained shirt was rude enough, staring at his charge's totally shredded torso was something entirely different. Sinter took an uncharacteristically large bite of his sandwich to prevent himself from chewing off his own lip.

To Sinter's relief, Ganyma's shirt had returned to its rightful place. Even better, he seemed receptive to Sinter's ideas. He managed to mask a choking sound at the mention of "good arms" as the clearing of his throat.

"Of course! I am your sponsor, aren't I? Just sitting in my hive while making you run around Four Fronds seems a bit disingenuous considering this is an exercise in becoming better people." Sinter mentally reviewed his calendar. "I can meet this same time next week if that works for you. You still have my contact information from the Rehab Center, correct? I'll get back to you once I've researched some community service opportunities in the area, and you can pick whichever one sounds the most appealing."

Sinter was fully within his element now. His outlook on the situation had only improved as the night had gone on.

"I'm looking forward to doing business with you," Sinter said.

And he meant it.