@ginkgosweb

     Two hundred years-- how remarkable. Perhaps such words would evoke a sense of shock in others, however, for the blonde, it is not the first time such a long period of time has been tossed her way, no. Between others like him, with the air of the dead, and the stories from AZ and his Floette, why it almost seems like an occurrence shifting into something a little more common. Posture straightens, hands collecting in front of the young woman’s form, as though for so many years, Serena has drilled it into her mind that she ought show those who are not living the utmost respect when they speak with her-- no matter who they might be, or if they have met before.

          “I do, yes. But it’s... not unique to me-- my family has been able to do so for genera--”

     Wait. That shrug of his shoulders. A wave of silence crashes over the heroine’s form, brows lifting to form that of an expression so questioning and uncertain. He does not move like the deceased-- it is fluid and natural; not rigid or like a mimicry of the gesture. And this stranger’s words, how could that be possible? On both sides of life? Does he mean in the past, when he was alive? Had this person the ability to communicate with the dead, then, too?

          “...I’m sorry-- I think I misheard you,”

     The confidence once in her voice vanishes, giving way to something softer, barely rising above the breeze.

@ginkgosweb

     She should be used to it by now-- the sudden burst of noise from merchants of the Ginkgo Guild, aided by silent footsteps, when red eyes flit between items; when her expression grows a little too thoughtful or troubled. Posture straightens, hands hiding beneath a white cloak draped cover crossed arms momentarily balling into fists, if only to hide any shock his presence might have shaken into the medium. Strange-- Sarana has not need this individual before. Could be he new? Or perhaps, no-- it is far likelier that they have simply never been in the same place at the same time.

          “No, it’s quite all right,”

     She insists, although little is done to alter the expression on pale features. Well, at least help appears to be here now, the blonde tells herself. If anyone would know the whereabouts of an item, or if it happens to be in stock, someone like this stranger would know best. And so, the woman turns to face him in a proper manner, folded arms moving closer to her form, eyes travelling up until they meet his features.      This stranger is quite tall-- even for someone of a towering stature like Sarana.

          “A traveller would be one way to describe it, yes. I am looking for a reaper cloth.”

     Not for herself, of course-- for a ghost-type the woman had encountered on her way to the village. What a poor soul it had been, searching for one to no avail.