Harper
I thank whatever gods may be
for my unconquerable soul
"Aww can't I be rewarded just for being my fantastic self? I'll perish before we ever make it to the food." It's grumbled playfully, but he gamely throws himself into looking at the available cloth and premade garments on display. His current gear is admittedly intimidating with the Kevlar, built in armor, kneepads... but luckily Oliver is correct and the merchants are friendly and willing to barter with what they have on hand. A few even welcome his physical help, though he's careful not to overexert or display the fact that his shoulder is fucked up. Pain is an old friend of his, and he doesn't want to worry Oliver or ruin their time together. More than a good guide, Oliver is more than adept at helping Harper find things he likes. "So long as I can do backflips and cartwheels," he allows, not wanting to bring up the fact that he needed the range of movement for battle as well. Most people didn't react well to that particular part of his life. He points out a few garments that he likes, tells Oliver his favorite colors, and trusts that the younger man will keep an eye out for anything he'd like to suggest to Harper.
"Oh, I'm not too worried. They can judge all they like, it's not like we asked to be here huh?" Still he smiles, because truly it doesn't bother him. Harper has seen hell itself, has lost so much, suffered incredible pains. The narrow stares of a few small-minded locals can't touch him anymore.
