While they waited, Avery sat himself beside their youngest traveling partner on the steps leading to the door.
Relm was her name, a painter of sorts. Avery's ingrained instinct was to study her sharply, seeking any twitch or mannerism that might betray her true nature. But then he noticed the glimmer in her eyes, the gentle, genuine smile spread across her dimpled face. In that moment, his cynicism suddenly left him, and as he turned his gaze away he felt the tension in his shoulders ease considerably.
Avery: "... That's really somethin'."
Their conversation would continue once they'd watched a ghost waft lazily down the crowded square, passing through patrons and vendor stalls as if they weren't even there.
Avery: "We didn't get many painters in my homeland. As it happened, there were many with the talent, but the republic's aristocracy instead made them till the fields or work the mills, all day long."
Avery glanced back at the door. No response. Another lull. Then, with a sigh, Avery unbuttoned the top of his jacket and produced a small bolt of cloth from within.
It was a curious specimen, a crimson armband stained with dirt and a few flecks of dried blood. The golden sigil was particularly peculiar - A stalk of grain within a gear, crowned with a radiant star.
Avery: "I fought against that for nearly a year, sought to mend man's injustice to man. Then one thing led to another and, welp, here I am."
Only now would he glance back over to his travel partner. She might've been interested, but the confusion was plain on her face. Avery just laughed.
Avery: "Bah, listen to me ramble on. You kids don't hafta worry about that stuff; at the very least, I'd hope not."
As he said this, he took off his scarf before offering it to her.
Avery: "... On another note, aren't you cold? I don't mind."
