Renaud was a patient listener, but Cera could not help but gnaw on his bottom lip nervously at the pervasive stillness of the man before him. Beyond the reality of the fact that he didn't need to breathe anymore, there was a look of impending shock about him for a moment. Cera couldn't imagine the inner strength it took, the trust in him that it took, for Renaud not to scream in his face that he was a liar and take off into the unknown lands. It was certainly a lot of information to say the least. He was just grateful that he had been in the right place at the right time, to comfort and guide with his own gentle hands instead of the double-edged cruelty and humor of the previous man.
When he finally speaks, Cera's shoulders droop in relief, and his smile turns shy. He has found that the long curtain of his hair is a wonderful wall to hide behind, and ducks his head to let it conceal him once more. You are very kind. It's not the first time he has heard it, and he supposes that's something to be proud of. Still, it strikes him to the core every time. How harsh had the world been to Renaud, that bandaging him and giving him vital information was a kindness to be commentated upon?
"It would be no bother to me at all to help you find another Ascended," he assures confidently, lifting his gaze and feeling more settled in his skin at the prospect of a direction, a purpose. More than just empty words and a spare strip of bandages. It all felt so small in the momentousness of Renaud's arrival, the weight and burden placed on the soldier's mantle. This at least was a path to tread. A way to do more than fill the man's ears with fanciful words and send him on his meandering way.
Cera is too startled to stand, though he rises on his knees, hands out in concern as Renaud rises. He's not sure he can catch the man comfortably if he falls but he will certainly try. Luckily there is no need for it, so eventually he drops his hands and rises as well, uncertain what the man hopes to do next. "You don't owe me anything," Cera insists in the space between sentences, adamant that what he had done was not worth such grandiose responses. He only wanted to put good into the world, and perhaps it would find its way back to him. Debt was too much of a power imbalance to the blond man.
Failing his brief interlude, Cera has no room to speak or answer any of the multitude of questions Renaud spouts. Instead of growing exasperated he merely smiles, amusement dancing like firesparks in his eyes. It gave him hope and peace to see Renaud's fire returning, the pallor of his face fading into a healthier gleam, his eyes bright at having a goal in sight. This was the man beneath the shock, the defensiveness, the wandering. It was heartening to see him bloom. And when at last he realized he had been speaking too swiftly and apologized, Cera only laughs and pushes his hair back, enjoying the cool breeze upon his face as the stress and anxiety of their meeting faded away.
"I've only met one, her name is Wessex. She is rather short at times, but not unkind when I met her. We can find her together," he pledges, already trying to scrounge up bits of street information he'd garnered after their run-in with the dirt monster in the outskirts. Then he begins to answer the deluge of questions he had been drowned with, as patient here as he had been when they had first met moments ago.
"There are no libraries, and I don't think the land is old enough to host a museum. However there is a guild, a group of knowledge and lore seekers, and they would likely be more than happy to answer any historical or geographical questions you have." Jigano at least would be an asset to the man, and Cera trusted in his quality of character. If he was patient enough to walk Cera from the shadow of the Spire to the Settlement while hopping from branch to branch as a raven, he likely wouldn't mind sitting and weaving information around Renaud's busy questions.
"There's not much by way of currency here, it's more of a bartering system. Don't worry, I can hunt very well in my other uh...shape. I don't mind exchanging some meat to get you some clothes," he assures, already doing the mental math and eyes skirting up Renaud's body to visually measure how much fabric would be needed. He was certainly no seamstress, but his ability to visualize and measure in a three-dimensional space as a crafter at least let him know how much he'd have to offer to get Renaud more than basics. "You'll likely need long sleeves, a coat, some new boots, perhaps a wide-brimmed hat..." he murmurs to himself, stepping forward to peer closer at Renaud, thumb rising against his lips in his habitual manner as he mumbles. Only to jerk and remember himself when his gaze finds Renaud's wheatfield hazel eyes, glancing away immediately.
"I'm not certain about an army..." is admitted cautiously, or perhaps thoughtfully. Cera had spent his entire life raised by a General, then a commander. Such machinations were well-understood, though he couldn't help but despair at the idea of Renaud going right back into a dangerous situation. "But I'll have to stock up on medical supplies if you're intent on getting yourself into more trouble," Cera decides to say instead, smile finally returning. It was what he'd always been good at - being the one to come home to.
When he finally speaks, Cera's shoulders droop in relief, and his smile turns shy. He has found that the long curtain of his hair is a wonderful wall to hide behind, and ducks his head to let it conceal him once more. You are very kind. It's not the first time he has heard it, and he supposes that's something to be proud of. Still, it strikes him to the core every time. How harsh had the world been to Renaud, that bandaging him and giving him vital information was a kindness to be commentated upon?
"It would be no bother to me at all to help you find another Ascended," he assures confidently, lifting his gaze and feeling more settled in his skin at the prospect of a direction, a purpose. More than just empty words and a spare strip of bandages. It all felt so small in the momentousness of Renaud's arrival, the weight and burden placed on the soldier's mantle. This at least was a path to tread. A way to do more than fill the man's ears with fanciful words and send him on his meandering way.
Cera is too startled to stand, though he rises on his knees, hands out in concern as Renaud rises. He's not sure he can catch the man comfortably if he falls but he will certainly try. Luckily there is no need for it, so eventually he drops his hands and rises as well, uncertain what the man hopes to do next. "You don't owe me anything," Cera insists in the space between sentences, adamant that what he had done was not worth such grandiose responses. He only wanted to put good into the world, and perhaps it would find its way back to him. Debt was too much of a power imbalance to the blond man.
Failing his brief interlude, Cera has no room to speak or answer any of the multitude of questions Renaud spouts. Instead of growing exasperated he merely smiles, amusement dancing like firesparks in his eyes. It gave him hope and peace to see Renaud's fire returning, the pallor of his face fading into a healthier gleam, his eyes bright at having a goal in sight. This was the man beneath the shock, the defensiveness, the wandering. It was heartening to see him bloom. And when at last he realized he had been speaking too swiftly and apologized, Cera only laughs and pushes his hair back, enjoying the cool breeze upon his face as the stress and anxiety of their meeting faded away.
"I've only met one, her name is Wessex. She is rather short at times, but not unkind when I met her. We can find her together," he pledges, already trying to scrounge up bits of street information he'd garnered after their run-in with the dirt monster in the outskirts. Then he begins to answer the deluge of questions he had been drowned with, as patient here as he had been when they had first met moments ago.
"There are no libraries, and I don't think the land is old enough to host a museum. However there is a guild, a group of knowledge and lore seekers, and they would likely be more than happy to answer any historical or geographical questions you have." Jigano at least would be an asset to the man, and Cera trusted in his quality of character. If he was patient enough to walk Cera from the shadow of the Spire to the Settlement while hopping from branch to branch as a raven, he likely wouldn't mind sitting and weaving information around Renaud's busy questions.
"There's not much by way of currency here, it's more of a bartering system. Don't worry, I can hunt very well in my other uh...shape. I don't mind exchanging some meat to get you some clothes," he assures, already doing the mental math and eyes skirting up Renaud's body to visually measure how much fabric would be needed. He was certainly no seamstress, but his ability to visualize and measure in a three-dimensional space as a crafter at least let him know how much he'd have to offer to get Renaud more than basics. "You'll likely need long sleeves, a coat, some new boots, perhaps a wide-brimmed hat..." he murmurs to himself, stepping forward to peer closer at Renaud, thumb rising against his lips in his habitual manner as he mumbles. Only to jerk and remember himself when his gaze finds Renaud's wheatfield hazel eyes, glancing away immediately.
"I'm not certain about an army..." is admitted cautiously, or perhaps thoughtfully. Cera had spent his entire life raised by a General, then a commander. Such machinations were well-understood, though he couldn't help but despair at the idea of Renaud going right back into a dangerous situation. "But I'll have to stock up on medical supplies if you're intent on getting yourself into more trouble," Cera decides to say instead, smile finally returning. It was what he'd always been good at - being the one to come home to.
Cera
The worst in me could bring out the best in you
