Elisabeth regarding the other elves, and with her characteristic tactfulness did nothing to hide her sneer. Whether anyone chose to accompany them or not, she marched off, leaving Simon only a moment to be gracious for their company before struggling to keep pace.
"This land is loud, Simon." Elisabeth's eyes were narrow and her face troubled: The expression that preceded her most violent phases. "It has no stars. These spires tower like insults to the sky. Nothing should be so tall but trees, and I don't even like those."
The lattice of alleys was navigated haphazardly, with Elisabeth electing seemingly random turns. Simon knew better than to question her judgement, or her sense of direction, and trusted she'd be able to return them to Martellus when they were done investigating, so he remained silent and thoughtful. He at once wanted to study objectively and throw himself into this new land, to whatever experience that may bring, with the same passion. It was loud, almost unpleasantly so, but the sounds were new and strange and foreign. Instruments he had never met before playing genres out of his knowledge. Elisabeth thought the honking and yelling lacked uniformity and any musical qualities whatsoever; Simon asked her to be open-minded, and observe a foreign culture with the same acceptance she would want her own studied with. She told him to pick whichever plane of Hell he preferred and to find his way there.
They escaped from the labyrinth, but wavered at the mouth. Elisabeth stood in the alley's shadow, watching, up and down the street. She looked for weapons, guards, traps, monsters, magic. Simon waited, impatiently, for her approval. "What are these things, on the street?"
"Lamps. Tall, metal lamps. I can't imagine how many townsfolk must be employed to light so many."
"Not the lamps, Simon. Those." A car passed them, the light changed to red, and another car slammed into it. It startled Elisabeth so much that a moment later Simon was pinned between the alley wall and her chest piece, asking for her to stow her swords. After a tense moment, she did. "They aren't lamps," she decided. "Don't walk under the red ones. They'll kill you."
"...they seem to change between red and green when... the propulsion boxes approach them. Maybe that one did it wrong. Or was a criminal?"
They advanced, sticking to the side of the sidewalk far from the road, stopping dead-still every time they saw a light change and waited for the green to signal again. "So many candles. Every window of such tall buildings. The owners of this land are kings."
"And they have lamps smash metal boxes. They aren't that impressive."
It was very fortunate for the man that approached them that Simon managed to edge in front of Elisabeth, who was ready to come to blows at the slightest provocation. He made sounds, smiled, gestured, and appeared unarmed. Simon smiled back and tried to copy his posture and gestures. "Yes, milad, I do apologize," he spoke very slowly, like it might help, "But we are strangers to this kingdom. We are Sen-trauhl-ee-ans. From far away." He gesticulated uselessly, then thought to present a ring with the crest of his king, hoping it would be recognized, and received positively.