Zavien
Happiness is a choice that requires effort at times
He nodded his head, doing his best to smile and fan at the tiny ember of hope in his chest, hope that this was temporary. "I could probably find some work as a mercenary or do whatever manual labor they have around here." The idea of returning to what he'd been doing a few years ago - training and working and meaningless menial labor - tasted sour on his tongue, reminding him that the Dragoons' entire purpose had just been ripped from their fingertips. It had all come tumbling down around them.
Swallowing, he let Lena's hand ground him, fully aware that she was suffering just as much, if not more from the loss of the Celestine. He walked the three distracted steps into the kitchen (if it could really be called that), his eyes scanning for potential and means of comfort. There wasn't much in the space, no dishes or food or light. He did his best to see it as a blank canvas, open to every opportunity, rather than a desolate wasteland, devoid of life or happiness. Zavien rapped his hand on the wooden table, finding it surprisingly sturdy. A positive.
Sol wandered the space, his nose sniffing at the new scents while he chirped excitedly when he found a giant dust bunny in the corner. The Dragoon's smile was a little stronger this time, determined as he repeated the words like a mantra. "We'll make it work." Simultaneously, the analytical soldier of his brain began piecing together rations and supplies. "We've got a few days of clothes, and I'm sure we can spread our money thin enough to get some decent food..." He suddenly regretted leaving their uneaten plates at the restaurant the other night, the spoiling remnants of their anniversary trip; but regret wouldn't help them now, and he turned his eyes to the front of the house. "Maybe we'll have enough to get some gardening supplies." A form of self-sustainment as well as a way to grow beneficial herbs for the coming fights and trade for other necessities. It would take time, but Zavien thought it might be worthwhile to give Lena something to care for again - no matter how small.
Swallowing, he let Lena's hand ground him, fully aware that she was suffering just as much, if not more from the loss of the Celestine. He walked the three distracted steps into the kitchen (if it could really be called that), his eyes scanning for potential and means of comfort. There wasn't much in the space, no dishes or food or light. He did his best to see it as a blank canvas, open to every opportunity, rather than a desolate wasteland, devoid of life or happiness. Zavien rapped his hand on the wooden table, finding it surprisingly sturdy. A positive.
Sol wandered the space, his nose sniffing at the new scents while he chirped excitedly when he found a giant dust bunny in the corner. The Dragoon's smile was a little stronger this time, determined as he repeated the words like a mantra. "We'll make it work." Simultaneously, the analytical soldier of his brain began piecing together rations and supplies. "We've got a few days of clothes, and I'm sure we can spread our money thin enough to get some decent food..." He suddenly regretted leaving their uneaten plates at the restaurant the other night, the spoiling remnants of their anniversary trip; but regret wouldn't help them now, and he turned his eyes to the front of the house. "Maybe we'll have enough to get some gardening supplies." A form of self-sustainment as well as a way to grow beneficial herbs for the coming fights and trade for other necessities. It would take time, but Zavien thought it might be worthwhile to give Lena something to care for again - no matter how small.
