Nero clapped his hands together, letting out an overly dramatic exhalation at Roen's acquiescence. "Ah, the obstacles that can be overcome by working together. Brings a tear to my eye, it does." He sniffed and pantomimed rubbing his eyes, before plastering his trademark smirk all over his face and winking at the paladin.
"Are you...pouting?" The smuggler teased as he detected a frown attempting to clumsily crease its way on to Roen's face. Nero recalled that the paladin had never had to deal with this side of him before--the smuggler had cracked some small jokes in her presence before, but for the most part every occasion in which they've spoken to each other had been serious conversations that came uncomfortably close to revealing aspects of his true personality. Now that the melodrama had been mostly resolved--at least for now--Roen would have to contend with the flashy, arrogant mask that the pirate wore everywhere else he went.
Nero raised an eyebrow and a chuckle, making a few steps toward her, his gaudy earrings chiming with every other step. It was with endless amusement that he peered at the Midlander's slender face; the smuggler noted that this was the first time he had really taken time to pay attention to Roen's face. His smirk widened. "You can be rather cute when you're annoyed. You should keep that look. It'll be useful for when you're looking for a suitor," Nero remarked, his tone taking on a flirtatious edge. "'But before that..."
In two long strides that could almost be classified as leaps, the Hyur reached the trees behind Roen; the shrubbery that marked the border of the copse rumbled with panic as Nero's arm shot out like lightning and seemed to pull something from the brush, which he casually tossed into the middle of the thicket like a sack of potatoes.
It was a child, an Ala Mhigan boy. He was a thin thing; he didn't look as terribly malnourished as many other refugee children, but the child was far too spindly to be considered of decent health, his dark skin seemingly stretched just slightly too far across his frame. The burlap tunic and trousers he wore sagged around him like drapes. He couldn't have been older than eleven or twelve, though it was difficult to tell with the rags.
The child scrambled to stand up and make a run for it, but Nero pounced on him like a coeurl, pinning the boy's back to the ground by pressing a forearm firmly across his chest. The boy flailed his arms and legs, but the smuggler's grip was unrelenting. He had noticed the boy creeping on the outside of the copse for only a few minutes, but it was enough.Â
Shrubbery can't rustle when there's no wind around, after all.
"Eavesdropping is--agh--eavesdropping is impolite, you know!" Nero said, grunting as a wayward kneecap made contact with his back. He couldn't help but let out a small laugh as the boy gradually ceased his struggling, a look of terror in his eyes. What was so humorous about the situation Nero couldn't say...or perhaps he simply didn't want to say. Vail would have been very amused to see this sight, to say the least.
"We're not going to hurt you, kid. Just stick around and let us talk for a bit and you can go home with a bit of gil, yeah?" Nero's smirk had subtly morphed from the smug expression he wore to Roen, to a genuine and warm grin. He turned his head to glance at the paladin. Let me do the talking, he mouthed silently to her, before refocusing his attention on the boy.
The boy's terrified gaze, like that of a rabbit caught in a snare, didn't cease. "I'm going to let you sit up, alright?" Nero said slowly, almost in a coo, as if he were calming a wild animal--a metaphor which was not entirely inaccurate. "Stick around and talk with me. My name's Nero." Gradually he began to loosen his forearm from the boy's chest, careful to sense whether or not the boy was getting ready to bolt. The boy seemed to stop resisting for the moment, so Nero pulled the boy into a sitting position with his other hand, kneeling in front of him.
The boy's face was rather gaunt; hazel eyes tried to hide themselves beneath a mop of sand-coloured hair. Nero's smile never left his face as he patted the boy's shoulder. "I'm Nero. Do you have a name?" the smuggler asked, his tone as warm as the sun that had just passed its zenith in the sky. Despite his friendliness, Nero's left arm was positioned in such a way that he could grab the boy if the latter tried to run. Even with children, complacency wasn't an option.
"L-Lancel," the boy managed to stutter out with some effort. The characteristic jingle of earrings tinkled softly as Nero nodded. "Lancel. A good name. What were you doing around here, Lancel? If there's something you need, maybe we can help." There was a long silence before the boy glanced towards Roen and pointed weakly at her.
"She...Sayer said she healed 'im. I-I wanted..wanted to get 'er to see my pa." Lancel's voice gradually begin to smooth the stutters out of his sentences. "He broke his leg...a Hammerbeak while he was out huntin'..." The Ala Mhigan boy gulped, as if expecting a refusal. Nero's smile grew softer, as he patted the boy's head.
"Of course Miss Deneith will help your father. I will too. Come on, up you go." The smuggler stood and pulled the boy up; Lancel was light, far too light for a child of his age. It was a subtle but grim reminder of the conditions he had been forced to live in.
Nero pointed at the shanty town and patted the boy's back. "Go to your father; we'll be right with you." Hesitantly, Lancel began to trot back to to the collection of huts and tents that made up the refugee camp as Nero shot a glance in Roen's direction. "You and I will go into the city...there are some things we'll need. After we take care of Lancel," the smuggler added, before staring at the retreating back of the thin boy. "And...um, maybe...well..," Nero seemed to struggle to say something, his usual confidence having evaporated at the worst time as he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.
"Nevermind, we'll talk later," he said quickly, cutting off his own inquiry. Nero shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped past the paladin to make his way towards the refugee camps.
"Are you...pouting?" The smuggler teased as he detected a frown attempting to clumsily crease its way on to Roen's face. Nero recalled that the paladin had never had to deal with this side of him before--the smuggler had cracked some small jokes in her presence before, but for the most part every occasion in which they've spoken to each other had been serious conversations that came uncomfortably close to revealing aspects of his true personality. Now that the melodrama had been mostly resolved--at least for now--Roen would have to contend with the flashy, arrogant mask that the pirate wore everywhere else he went.
Nero raised an eyebrow and a chuckle, making a few steps toward her, his gaudy earrings chiming with every other step. It was with endless amusement that he peered at the Midlander's slender face; the smuggler noted that this was the first time he had really taken time to pay attention to Roen's face. His smirk widened. "You can be rather cute when you're annoyed. You should keep that look. It'll be useful for when you're looking for a suitor," Nero remarked, his tone taking on a flirtatious edge. "'But before that..."
In two long strides that could almost be classified as leaps, the Hyur reached the trees behind Roen; the shrubbery that marked the border of the copse rumbled with panic as Nero's arm shot out like lightning and seemed to pull something from the brush, which he casually tossed into the middle of the thicket like a sack of potatoes.
It was a child, an Ala Mhigan boy. He was a thin thing; he didn't look as terribly malnourished as many other refugee children, but the child was far too spindly to be considered of decent health, his dark skin seemingly stretched just slightly too far across his frame. The burlap tunic and trousers he wore sagged around him like drapes. He couldn't have been older than eleven or twelve, though it was difficult to tell with the rags.
The child scrambled to stand up and make a run for it, but Nero pounced on him like a coeurl, pinning the boy's back to the ground by pressing a forearm firmly across his chest. The boy flailed his arms and legs, but the smuggler's grip was unrelenting. He had noticed the boy creeping on the outside of the copse for only a few minutes, but it was enough.Â
Shrubbery can't rustle when there's no wind around, after all.
"Eavesdropping is--agh--eavesdropping is impolite, you know!" Nero said, grunting as a wayward kneecap made contact with his back. He couldn't help but let out a small laugh as the boy gradually ceased his struggling, a look of terror in his eyes. What was so humorous about the situation Nero couldn't say...or perhaps he simply didn't want to say. Vail would have been very amused to see this sight, to say the least.
"We're not going to hurt you, kid. Just stick around and let us talk for a bit and you can go home with a bit of gil, yeah?" Nero's smirk had subtly morphed from the smug expression he wore to Roen, to a genuine and warm grin. He turned his head to glance at the paladin. Let me do the talking, he mouthed silently to her, before refocusing his attention on the boy.
The boy's terrified gaze, like that of a rabbit caught in a snare, didn't cease. "I'm going to let you sit up, alright?" Nero said slowly, almost in a coo, as if he were calming a wild animal--a metaphor which was not entirely inaccurate. "Stick around and talk with me. My name's Nero." Gradually he began to loosen his forearm from the boy's chest, careful to sense whether or not the boy was getting ready to bolt. The boy seemed to stop resisting for the moment, so Nero pulled the boy into a sitting position with his other hand, kneeling in front of him.
The boy's face was rather gaunt; hazel eyes tried to hide themselves beneath a mop of sand-coloured hair. Nero's smile never left his face as he patted the boy's shoulder. "I'm Nero. Do you have a name?" the smuggler asked, his tone as warm as the sun that had just passed its zenith in the sky. Despite his friendliness, Nero's left arm was positioned in such a way that he could grab the boy if the latter tried to run. Even with children, complacency wasn't an option.
"L-Lancel," the boy managed to stutter out with some effort. The characteristic jingle of earrings tinkled softly as Nero nodded. "Lancel. A good name. What were you doing around here, Lancel? If there's something you need, maybe we can help." There was a long silence before the boy glanced towards Roen and pointed weakly at her.
"She...Sayer said she healed 'im. I-I wanted..wanted to get 'er to see my pa." Lancel's voice gradually begin to smooth the stutters out of his sentences. "He broke his leg...a Hammerbeak while he was out huntin'..." The Ala Mhigan boy gulped, as if expecting a refusal. Nero's smile grew softer, as he patted the boy's head.
"Of course Miss Deneith will help your father. I will too. Come on, up you go." The smuggler stood and pulled the boy up; Lancel was light, far too light for a child of his age. It was a subtle but grim reminder of the conditions he had been forced to live in.
Nero pointed at the shanty town and patted the boy's back. "Go to your father; we'll be right with you." Hesitantly, Lancel began to trot back to to the collection of huts and tents that made up the refugee camp as Nero shot a glance in Roen's direction. "You and I will go into the city...there are some things we'll need. After we take care of Lancel," the smuggler added, before staring at the retreating back of the thin boy. "And...um, maybe...well..," Nero seemed to struggle to say something, his usual confidence having evaporated at the worst time as he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.
"Nevermind, we'll talk later," he said quickly, cutting off his own inquiry. Nero shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped past the paladin to make his way towards the refugee camps.
