❝  lost?  oh,  nothing  of  the  sort ...  i'm  exactly  where  i  want  to  be.  ❞  in  a  sense,  they  are  parallels  —  for  the  merchant's  voice  also  never  falters,  even  if  his  tone  is  quite  jovial  by  comparison.  it's  always  to  one's  benefit  to  present  an  affable  exterior  to  potential  customers.  (  and  what  are  relationships,  if  not  a  series  of  transactions?  )  ❝  i  believe  my  presence  here  would  serve  as  its  own  explanation.  you  said  it  yourself,  did  you  not?  few  do  know  of  these  ruins'  existence  —  and  one  who  would  endeavor  to  hunt  them  down  in  spite  of  the  obscurity  must  be  no  common enthusiast.  ❞   he  turns  back  to  the  mural,  head  tipping  back  as  his  gaze  traces  every  stroke  with  something  akin  to  worship.  from  where  he  stands,  the  tendrils  sprawling  from  the  damaged  portion  almost  appear  curled  around  the  merchant's  lean  frame  —  though  it's  difficult  to  tell  whether  they  emanate  from  volo  or  if  they  mean  to  skewer  him.   ❝  naturally,  i  assume  the  same  likely  holds  true  for  you  as  well.  tell  me,  my  mysterious  new  friend ...  are  you  familiar  with  the  legend  of  the  creator's  banished  child?  ❞

volo  turns,  lips  curved  in  a  smile  that  feels  almost  inappropriate  for  the  conversation  at  hand.  it  doesn't  meet  his  eye  —  rather,  his  gaze  burns  bright  with  something  else  entirely.  ❝  unfortunately,  most  depictions  of  giratina  have  long  been  mangled  beyond  all  recognition.  ❞  he  clicks  his  tongue.   ❝  even  these  ruins  aren't  exempt  from  vandalism,  it  seems ...  although,  that doesn't mean they're  without  merit.  ❞

the way the mural frames this lilt-voiced stranger is of note,  though symbolism and metaphor thoroughly disinterest cyrus.  he has an eye for art only in the form of machinery and practical application,  of mathematical theory.  rather than seeing in pictures,  he sees in vectors and measurements and tangents and trajectories.  physical form is only attributed to multiple quadrillions of serendipitous alignments of quantum particles.  it's all very simple.  he's more interested in the context of the mural itself,  and what reason would drive someone to deface it only in parts.  though, he thinks he already knows that answer.  spirit.  emotion.  hate and fear,  the echoes of which  —  manifested in ignorance  —  he has witnessed while scouring the region’s historical contents.  

❝  i know of this shadowy figure.  i have never heard it spoken of,  however,  save for poorly-preserved texts.  until now.   you must have some affinity for the being,  ❞  he observes painly.  even those poorly-preserved texts speak unkindly and cryptically of the thing,  so cyrus’s scope of understanding is admittedly limited.  whatever it is,  it’s an enigma,  and that fascinates him.  what could possibly be so troublesome that all known records of it,  from multiple eras of history,  are veritably mutilated? distorted?  stone-faced & driven,  cyrus continues,  ❝  you will tell me more about this entity  —  giratina.  i seek to know all of sinnoh,  including the parts of it no one speaks of.  nothing will escape my scrutiny.  ❞

I've got my own stakes in my own game

I've got my own name and it's my way.