Snippet #2824923

Basalah's ears drooped and eyes shifted uneasily as the commotion seems to have drowned her out. She gripped her scarf tightly and began to breathe uneasily. But then the sound of footsteps approaching shook her from the dangers of her own inner mind. A man emerged, draped in dark. She raised her eyes to watch him, ears still drawn back warily, her large eyes scanning for anything to pick up on. She found him to be... a hard read, and in that mystery, a familiarity. Seeing that red cloth wrapped around his face she gripped her own as she stared up at his eyes. Gray and cold they were, lifeless, and while for many who would call them off-putting... for Basa, they just looked... tired. He's a survivor too.

"Also looking for work?"

Her ears shook and she quickly looked back up to Lancelot. She was talking to..? She noticed her? Someone who is everything I am not... noticed me..? As she thought how to respond, the commanding figure took attention towards them. Off-worlders? That is a way to put it... but bonus pay?

"Shes with me."

Her ears stood up, she once again snapped her gaze to Lancelot with a shocked hiccup, her eyes wide now. Did she..? She was taken aback, she was certain, especially one of such glamour would not even give her a passing glance, let alone represent her. When Lancelot motioned her to take a seat she looked back and forth before hopping into it. Her eyes narrowed as she thought on how to respond... let alone utter even a first complete word. It wasn't common there being those to listen to her speak, so she often chose to remain silent.

"Work? Yes, though... maybe a purpose," she said, trailing off a bit at the end as she fidgeted with her scarf, her eyes unfocused and wandering as she thinks through her words. "I'm... Basalah, th—though anything works."

The stranger began to write, and Basalah perked up to watch, looking up and down from the stranger to the paper. It was an unfortunate shortcoming for the small one, as she was... quite illiterate. She no more knew to write or read common as she was able to read or write her own native tongue. Why had her mentor omitted this bit of her education? Perhaps the Saraph was also illiterate, or maybe it was an oversight? Or simply he thought it wasn't necessary? Or perhaps his gift her could allow her to learn it, as long as she can connect meaning with the writing. Unfortunately... what she finds in the stranger is... weariness? Worry? It is hard, somewhat similar to when she tried to read the Saraph.

"What is he saying?" she asked, looking to Lancelot.