Welcome to Gaia! ::

Long gone are the days of the endless bazaars and ceaseless bartering. Business these days is conducted indoors, and only a few street vendors are to be seen. Because of this increased expense, store owners are no longer the aristocratic noble class they once were. They are instead the middle class that bridges the gap between factory worker and factory owner.

Endless mazes of streets and alleyways are characteristic of this area, all dimly lit even with the help of street lamps. Tightly packed buildings house everything from speciality shops to taverns. Glass storefronts display shining goods, inciting the passer-by to come into the warmth of the store. Rooms and offices for rent are often common, making sure the second or third floors of these buildings are all producing capital.

He looked quite disgruntled, as he walked in. And who could really blame him? From the look of things, he was wet, cold, hungry, and tired. His eyes were sagging, his hair was dripping, his clothes clinging to his body, and a loud rumble echoing from his stomach.

He was rubbing his arms, working warmth into his hands as he came inside. He was dressed simply in cotten clothes. A short sleeved shirt, simple woven pants, both dyed a deep, rich shade of brown, well made, tanned leather boots, and around his waist, the almost ubiquitous swordsman's belt, with one long, straight edged blade sheathed, showing a crossguard and pommel made of a dark metal.

Walking up to the counter, he exchanged a few quiet words with the employee, getting himself a hot cup of raspberry tea, and some baken muffin type thing he did not recognize. With a few coins on the counter he retired with the much needed warm food.

Hunched over his food, he took a seat across from a silent woman, taking hte first chair he saw. Setting the cup and baked good before him, he horded the tea like a miser his last copper.

"Been days since I've had a cup of tea," he explained weakly to Kelsa, his voice accented just enough to recognize he was not from within Holdine, and perhaps not from the Barton area either.

His fingers worked quickly and smoothly, tearing off small bits of the bread, rolling it inot a ball, and stuffing it in his mouth.

The man shook his head, taking a sip from his tea, and letting out a long, pleased groan as he settled in his chair, relaxing every muscle in his body. It was now apparent that this was an older man, perhaps in his 40s, maybe 50s, though his hair was still thick enough and dark, showing only a few grey hairs.

"The road is fine," he strange said, taking another long sip fro his tea, "It's the destination that takes it out of you."

He let out another groan, going back to his roll now, "Hardly a way to threat people," he muttered, then looked up across the table at the woman.

"Ah, where's my manners. Gone in the depravity of the situation. Let me introduce myself," he reached out with his hand, though it wasn't clear if it was perhaps to shake hers like a business partner, or perhaps to take her hand in his, as was the manner of the gentiles.

"Cedric is the name. Emissary from the lands of Lumina."

The man gave her a gentle smile, nodding his head slowly, "Tis to the west, across the Dry Sea and the Bones of the World," he explained. Not that he expected the foreigner to understand where those were. it was quite the trip for most people, and few ever saw the reason to cross the vast Dry Sea.

"Perhaps you would return the favor, and speak of your own homeland?" his voice was measured and calm, revealing not that he noticed the strange slip of the language.

"Umm..." He stammered a bit and looked down at the table. "She refuses to march outside because its too packed." All of that came out as one big long jumble. Truth was - he really just did not want to ask anything of the coat. After riding packed in with her for over three hours his level of terror had abated.

Asking her for anything was out of the question. Three hours of sleep had certainly been all he could get for the day. It would be impossible to nap further on the way.

His head - which had fallen bcak onto the back of his hand - slid forward lazily at the second question. What to do...what to do...

"Well...I guess we could leave if you want..." There was a noticable lack of joy on his part - though also a distinct lack of anything you would normally order in a cafe.

There was a quick burst of yelling outside that quickly killed that idea. The answer of 'Hell no' was given easy - Albino stabbed a finger towards another of the free three chairs in the ultimate message of 'Sit'.

Was his attention span so short that he could not look at one place for long? Apparently so as his eyes skimmed the entire place over and over. Not that he seemed to show much intereast in his guards anyway. Long as they did not look like roaches he did not really care.

"Father decided I would do better with a foriegn education." That rolled off with only the slighest trace of bitterness. A trace that would be somewhat explained as his attention finally fell back onto Galen. "Guess it could be depressing...I just think that it stinks. Dont you?" Voice was pretty low when he said that. Apparently he had enough tact to not anger an entire room.

Oh how he had smelled this dreadful place as the carriage moved into town. The 'delightful odor' of the buisness district had probably been what woke him up. With all the noise and unwashed masses and all. As well as his guardian in the carriage polishing a revolver. That had certainly made him nervous...

"Whats your name anyway?" He figured it would be nice to ask. His attentions finally stuck to Galen. Natural curiosity even though it did not much matter.

Inside that very same cafe sat a well dressed gentlemen. His hair was perfectly coiffed and he pushed the borders of looking like a dandy but managed to pull off the look very well. He was ever so closely listening to the various conversations at the cafe but it wasn't obvious. Another bite of scone and he looked around, as if completely bored. A small sliver of chesnut brown hair fell into his face and with his pinkie he smoothed it back into place.

Loose nod at the name. Figured he would answer. Nothing new at all there...

And then Galen asked his own question and the Albino looked at him. Not just a glance but looked at him as if he were crazy. First time one of his servants had actually asked something in return. Not that he thought of them as slaves but...they were hired slaves after-all.

Short pause as the idea worked itself through his head. The idea seemed to dismiss as he gave a shrug. "Satarel Eitan Tepesch," Short pause before glancing off to the side - face falling lower into his high collar so that his mouth kind of vanished. ",the Fifth." He hated the numerical thing.

It was basically by habit to add in; "Satty for short."