OPEN

[diadermic]

Who: diadermic AND OPEN
When: Noon, before the sirens go off.
Where: Sector 4 in the streets unless taken somewhere else.
Summary: "My name is Altaïr, and this is my favorite bench in the whole Siren’s Port." MAKE HIS LIFE HELL
Warning: NOPE or not yet anyway OPEN FOR ANYTHING???? oh and possible philosophical stuff lolol.

Comments

[deceptive_lulz]

Upon his affirmation, she relaxed a little, but not completely (one could never really be at ease around a stranger, after all). However, in spite of her perpetual nervousness, his laconic response didn't seem to deter her away at all. Honestly, with the people she tended to spend her time around, she was pretty used to that kind of interaction.

"Thanks," she murmured out, sparing a quick glance over to him as he inched over.

She then went quiet for a little while, staring at the ground surrounding her feet. As her mind became more and more idle, she felt the laughter rising through her system. In an attempt to try to control it -- for the stranger's sake -- she tightened her lips and sharply turned her head in the opposite direction of the man.

However, Sarina was never able to control her laughter. It first escaped through her nose in a breathy sound, before it eventually became more audible through her lips.

In response to her own anxiety-driven display, she quickly clenched a hand over her mouth, ducking her head down as she let the chuckling die down. Once she was silent again, she cast a hesitant gaze toward the man. Figuring it would be better to try to engage him in conversation, rather than subjecting the stranger to her odd quirk, she glanced up to his partially obscured face.

"Are you new around here?" she asked, as it was the first thing that came to her mind. It was about now that she was actually glad the man's eyes were hidden, as it would have only added to her trepidation over the whole situation.

[diadermic]

A nod in confirmation of his agreement in this odd company, and Altaïr allowed himself to lower his head once again. His fingertips grazing over the material of his robe, and when he heard that soft laughter again, that sound that was a potential threat of distraction, he found himself flexing his fingers. The rest of the noise of people shuffling, their words that were barely audible over the laughter was nothing but background noise.

When that noise had risen again, and Altaïr quirked his head in her direction.

The way she clamped her hand over her mouth was endearing. To keep herself from unwillingly display her quirk had the assassin turn his direction back to the ground, the corner of his lips sliding into a half-smirk at her behaviour. There was almost some normality in this situation, almost, and that was something he was not use too.

"A 'newcomer', so as I am told." Sounding in complete disagreement to the way prisoners such as themselves were called by a welcoming status when their existence in Siren's Pull was anything but just amongst the other citizens.

He did not miss the natives glaring at them.

[deceptive_lulz]

"Ah, then that--" she started, but was abruptly cut off by another giggle. However, since she was mostly distracting herself with conversation, she was able to control it better. "--that makes two of us."

It was a curious situation, really. Pausing again, without the accompaniment of laughter this time, she briefly mused to herself on the topic. Just how long was one referred to as a 'newcomer' anyway? Or was it a permanent term? It seemed like kind of an oxymoron if one was to stay for - say twenty years. Regardless, Sarina doubted that this stranger would know much about it, so she moved on.

"Have you been faring well here so far?" she asked. But without giving him the chance to respond, she continued with a short giggle. "I know it's a little hard, at first, but you get used to it."

Sadly, the girl still had much to learn, when it came to the finer aspects of conversation.