hell is asking to be loved

She knows that it’s best not to let her gaze linger on anything for too long-- it’s rude. Getting into trouble while she’s by herself probably isn’t the best idea, either, but this is a case by case scenario. Whoever this is definitely has a... creative side, though that might not be the best choice of words. 

It’s all coming together, after what seems like hours (twenty minutes, tops). The scene is set: pale shades of blue are paired with vibrant greens and muted tan. Hive City looks nothing like Destiny Islands -- and her stomach twists, homesick. Palm trees scatter on both sides, and she fills in white space to the best of her ability. It isn’t until Naminé gets distracted, and starts on the shape and detail of a passerby that the artist realizes she’s been staring in an attempt to blend fantasy and reality.

→ Which makes the sudden outburst of words below him all the more startling. The amount of kids he’s encountered alone in this city is already more than he’d like (he’d prefer none, thank you very much), and makes him wish that whatever way the people in charge of the city chose to bring people to Citta Alveare (as he learned from the many signs littered across Zeta’s many abandoned labs) wouldn’t choose kids. The young girl seems to be waiting for an answer, and as he rummages around in his pack for a few scraps of paper and a pen to write a response, he wonders how long she’s been here. 

→ I’m sorry, I have not. He crouches down to show her the paper, hesitating slightly before adding another sentence. May I ask who you are? I am Corazon.

It’s important to remind herself that she’s seen stranger -- on several occasions. Turning her attention to the offered sheet of tattered paper, Naminé parts her lips. If she’s consumed by worry now, more time she could spend looking for Kairi could go to waste. Not wanting to deliberate, she lets go of the thought that her somebody is anywhere close. She would be able to feel that, wouldn’t she?

She settles on the fact that she may as well appreciate the lack of hostility from this stranger. As always, it could be going much worse. Shifting her weight and easing up some, she takes a moment before responding. “You don’t have to apologize. Things will sort themselves out.” Odd, that she has more trouble convincing herself than anyone else and speaks the notion nonetheless. “But thank you for your help... My name is Naminé.

“I saw an art supplies store in Sector 1. Would you like me to accompany you?” 

Following a swift nod, Naminé’s lower lip is tucked behind teeth. Would it be rude to say yes, or worse to decline? Unsurprising that indecision finds her and has both shoulders tense, hiking up just a notch. “Right! Colored pencils, crayons, anything would do.” An art supplies store? Shouldn’t she have already spotted something like that, out of sheer intuition?

It’s somewhat uncomfortable to wear a gas mask, but Naminé’s not entirely sure if the toxic waste could physically harm half of a person. That said, she knows that she’s better safe than sorry. At least being away from the puddles of sludge and other unnamed messes eases her shoulders to some degree. When her path is cut short by a stranger, however, she can’t really help but blurt out the question ringing in her head.

“I don't mean to be a bother... Um, did you have to wear any protective masks where you live, too?” Curiosity makes her hands itchy to draw, to put something, anything on paper -- but there aren't exactly any opportunities for that as of now. “Strange - isn’t it?”

After what feels like an eternity of inhaling smog and who knows what else, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Or... clear skies at the edge of this sector, at least. The sun is warm on her bare shoulders, and she’s almost tempted to stretch both arms until something... oh -- someone blocks it out? Unintentionally, but still.

And she thought members of the Organization were tall.

Her words tangle before she even thinks of what they might be. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen someone... that looks a little like me? About this tall --” she holds a hand up to the top of her head. “With red hair and a pink dress, would you?” Even if she can't find Kairi, at least this place is pleasant. Maybe this exceptionally tall man will have some answers, too. It wouldn't be wrong to hope, would it?

Oddly enough, Naminé can’t tell if it’s for better or worse that she’s well enough adjusted to being tossed in unfamiliar environments. Being held hostage in a castle with white walls and floors all nearly identical might be the only thing worse than so many sectors with such different frameworks.

But... she’s not at all expecting the first stop. 

The area isn’t a far cry from intimidating, and there’s a loud thrumming in both ears -- a frantic tattoo that tells her to pick up the pace. As fast as her legs can go without breaking into a run, Naminé takes one too many nervous strides when what sounds like a gun fires in the distance. This really wasn’t the right place to step off of the train. It just so happens that she turns at exactly the wrong time, and her forehead falls into the space between shoulder blades. “I’m so sorry!” 

After a little reflection, Naminé decides it's probably for the best that she gets at least some gist of her surroundings. Remaining in the district she’s to live in at all times? She has trouble just thinking of the headache that would follow suit. Hopefully it won’t be too terrible a bother if she taps on the shoulder of someone out here -- and she does, breath stuck in her throat -- for the name of this location. Spending a bit too long on a train is disorienting, even if it does remind her of home. Wherever that was.