[ The soft, thoughtful mumbling is probably something he should ignore, as the short and slim older man walked by, puffing away at a vile cigar that clouds the area with a sort of smoke that seems at odds with the otherwise nice, clean air of Highstorm. It isn't orderly, but there's a certain controlled chaos to the courtyard, nobody other than newcomers speak out of turn, but there's a thrumming energy to the old city, a life that seems to seep from the cracks, even as the Lady Yima and her attendants seem to promise the death (and rebirth) of everything else.
Then there are creatures like this foul smokecloud of a man, walking by, probably on his way out, but he stops, and tipped his head toward him curiously. ]
What's wrong with it?
[ He asks, tipping a mismatched gaze to the man β half unblinking β his eyes flicked to the stone beneath their feet momentarily, and then back to Royce curiously. ]
Did you trip on a crack? I hear those are bad luck.
2a!
Then there are creatures like this foul smokecloud of a man, walking by, probably on his way out, but he stops, and tipped his head toward him curiously. ]
What's wrong with it?
[ He asks, tipping a mismatched gaze to the man β half unblinking β his eyes flicked to the stone beneath their feet momentarily, and then back to Royce curiously. ]
Did you trip on a crack? I hear those are bad luck.