Chachanji glanced between the two of them as they conversed - Virara's normal terseness a bit at odds with the warm, accented verbosity of the Hyur. The latter was not unlike Chachan's own affected manner of speech, and his overall friendliness tended to result in being a bit on the talkative side as well. It was a similarity that Virara might've noticed, but was ultimately lost on the little smith. He just seemed content that things were seemingly going pretty well thus far, and his eyes thus turned to roaming over the terraced yard as they wound their way through it. Taking in all the various sights with a silent curiosity.
"'m sorry fer yer apples," he offered earnestly at the Hyur's chattered complaint, giving the man a brief apologetic glance before resuming his sightseeing. The boy was fond of his fruit, especially in juice form. And several of the best juices he'd had partaken of had apparently been made from La Noscean stock. Not that the groundskeeper's apples had been destined for the juicer, but it was a lamentable loss nonetheless.
Those violet eyes returned to the man a second time when the question was posed at the little Doman.
"Huh? Oh, um... yeah, 'm a smith. Armor, mostly," he admitted, scratching at his cheek idly. "Though I ain't lookin' fer hirin' - 'course I'd offer ta help if'n ya needed somethin' made, a'course. 'm here wit Virara since she's me friend, y'know? Travellin' buddy."
Which was more or less the truth, since Chachanji was both somewhat adverse to - and bad at - lying. He truly did not have the various reasons to seek out the Kuze Group that Virara did. The only noteworthy bit of information that the Dunesfolk Lalafell might want out of them being the possible location of the Tsuchigumo. And perhaps to further dissuade the apparently plan to hunt the dirt spider down and kill it, if possible. And even if he had no such stake in the matter, Chachanji likely still would have offered his - and, by extension, his family's - help in procuring this meeting. Because, as he had openly stated, Virara was a friend - one of his closest, in fact, despite a few situations that sought to pull them apart.
"Chachanji, Chachanji Gegenji. Nice ta meetcha," he added as introductions were bantered about in the frigid air. Then, as if mirroring Virara's own internal confusion, he canted his head and continued: "So, um... if'n yer in charge'a th' Thanalan branch, why're ya over 'ere? 's a bit of a way's 'way, y'know? Didja jus' make th' trade 'r somethin'?"
He likely had further possibilities or questions to add to the list, but they died on his chapped lips as they neared the manor proper. Most of the larger homes like this that he had visited in his stay in Eorzea were far more... alive than this. All, or at least a large number, of the windows aglow with lantern and candlelight in the later bells rather than the darkened look of this place. His sharp Lalafellin hearing would also oft pick up the faint sounds of life from within those other abodes - movement and conversation - but there was little that his red-tipped ears picked up here beyond the quiet, incessant moan of the frigid winds and the rustling of the frostbitten plant-life.
"... Did we come at a bad time?" The words tumbled out of Chachanji's lips before they had time to cross his brain, and he found himself leaning this way and that - seeking to peer in through what few lit windows there were. Perhaps to reassure himself that the owner, or at least more of the staff beyond just the groundskeeper, of the place was actually home. Though, the vast difference of scale between him and the manor itself made such glances difficult at best.
"'m sorry fer yer apples," he offered earnestly at the Hyur's chattered complaint, giving the man a brief apologetic glance before resuming his sightseeing. The boy was fond of his fruit, especially in juice form. And several of the best juices he'd had partaken of had apparently been made from La Noscean stock. Not that the groundskeeper's apples had been destined for the juicer, but it was a lamentable loss nonetheless.
Those violet eyes returned to the man a second time when the question was posed at the little Doman.
"Huh? Oh, um... yeah, 'm a smith. Armor, mostly," he admitted, scratching at his cheek idly. "Though I ain't lookin' fer hirin' - 'course I'd offer ta help if'n ya needed somethin' made, a'course. 'm here wit Virara since she's me friend, y'know? Travellin' buddy."
Which was more or less the truth, since Chachanji was both somewhat adverse to - and bad at - lying. He truly did not have the various reasons to seek out the Kuze Group that Virara did. The only noteworthy bit of information that the Dunesfolk Lalafell might want out of them being the possible location of the Tsuchigumo. And perhaps to further dissuade the apparently plan to hunt the dirt spider down and kill it, if possible. And even if he had no such stake in the matter, Chachanji likely still would have offered his - and, by extension, his family's - help in procuring this meeting. Because, as he had openly stated, Virara was a friend - one of his closest, in fact, despite a few situations that sought to pull them apart.
"Chachanji, Chachanji Gegenji. Nice ta meetcha," he added as introductions were bantered about in the frigid air. Then, as if mirroring Virara's own internal confusion, he canted his head and continued: "So, um... if'n yer in charge'a th' Thanalan branch, why're ya over 'ere? 's a bit of a way's 'way, y'know? Didja jus' make th' trade 'r somethin'?"
He likely had further possibilities or questions to add to the list, but they died on his chapped lips as they neared the manor proper. Most of the larger homes like this that he had visited in his stay in Eorzea were far more... alive than this. All, or at least a large number, of the windows aglow with lantern and candlelight in the later bells rather than the darkened look of this place. His sharp Lalafellin hearing would also oft pick up the faint sounds of life from within those other abodes - movement and conversation - but there was little that his red-tipped ears picked up here beyond the quiet, incessant moan of the frigid winds and the rustling of the frostbitten plant-life.
"... Did we come at a bad time?" The words tumbled out of Chachanji's lips before they had time to cross his brain, and he found himself leaning this way and that - seeking to peer in through what few lit windows there were. Perhaps to reassure himself that the owner, or at least more of the staff beyond just the groundskeeper, of the place was actually home. Though, the vast difference of scale between him and the manor itself made such glances difficult at best.
~