[Kratos nods, very faintly, something on the level of ducking under a non-existent branch. It's both confirmation and acknowledgement. He follows Yuan back out to the street, gaze fixed on Yuan's heels and nothing around them. He's already seen. He can't bear it again.
[The street is empty still, and downhill does nothing for his leg; but Kratos persists, still holding the orchids. They reach the boulevard again, and Kratos quietly directs Yuan to turn down the opposite way they'd come, to continue the loop around the city. Would he even be let into the castle ...?
[Doubtful. And perhaps just as well. He restarts his quiet explanation of city landmarks as they pass, hoarser than before, but with dry eyes hidden behind his bangs.
[The boulevard has a crowd, still; but word seems to have spread of an Aurion in the city. Bystanders are more liable to turn and look, and then look away, very quickly. Flowers appear in his path, like they're manifesting from nothing in the crowd; a young girl on her father's shoulders plonks a wilted crown of daisies on his head as they hurry past. People brushing by press flowers into his hands -- often sad and ragged, but always orchids.
[Some stare. These are the ones with flat anger and betrayal in their faces. Yet no one stops them; no one cheers. And still the flowers appear, on an electric undercurrent of defiance which Kratos doesn't know whether the Sylvaranti can tell is there.]
no subject
[The street is empty still, and downhill does nothing for his leg; but Kratos persists, still holding the orchids. They reach the boulevard again, and Kratos quietly directs Yuan to turn down the opposite way they'd come, to continue the loop around the city. Would he even be let into the castle ...?
[Doubtful. And perhaps just as well. He restarts his quiet explanation of city landmarks as they pass, hoarser than before, but with dry eyes hidden behind his bangs.
[The boulevard has a crowd, still; but word seems to have spread of an Aurion in the city. Bystanders are more liable to turn and look, and then look away, very quickly. Flowers appear in his path, like they're manifesting from nothing in the crowd; a young girl on her father's shoulders plonks a wilted crown of daisies on his head as they hurry past. People brushing by press flowers into his hands -- often sad and ragged, but always orchids.
[Some stare. These are the ones with flat anger and betrayal in their faces. Yet no one stops them; no one cheers. And still the flowers appear, on an electric undercurrent of defiance which Kratos doesn't know whether the Sylvaranti can tell is there.]