#santcryu

● “Oh look, it’s the man who doesn’t bathe!” Or something. She couldn’t really remember what she’d teased him for before. 

Oh--! She’s not sure if she should wake the person up or leave them as is. She could always find another place to practice her target shooting. Though if she leaves him here...Well, there’s a chance he’ll burn or something. It’s pretty hot out no matter if you’re under a shade. 

Just be careful. 

They stood on the bridge spanning the Yela Alora Swamp, Mashu gazing over the passage’s edge toward the murky beneath. “If we’re going to be searching for these rumoured relics, we’ll have to find a way to cross the water, but there’s no clear means of doing so”.

Sanzo’s survived as long as he has because he’s constantly vigilant. Even in a room by himself, he can rarely relax as any change in sound or smell catches his attention immediately. After all, often that’s all the warning he gets.

He’s always been easily annoyed by people, and hyper-vigilance certainly hasn’t helped that.

And so this green-haired idiot, who has started to leave this area only to stop and turn back around no less than five times, and then stand there griping about how the paths keep changing on him, is really annoying.

“Oh, wonderful. Excuse me, I overheard someone saying that plants grow better if you communicate with it, could you explain that further to me?”

Byron was partial to quiet house parties with wine over bars, though he understood that from a salesman’s view, a bar was a treasure trove. Inhibitions low, plying money was easy. 

There were drawbacks to the environment. Higher chance of brawls and having to get his clothes dry cleaned to name a few. 

And one such drawback reared its ugly head; walking too close to the bar stools, a man sloshed his beer out across Byron’s chest. One hand flew out to steady his position while he turned on his heel and gave the man a talking to. 

The man in question was mousey in demeanor (at least when inebriated) and gave in easily, handing Byron a sticky wad of cash. It was more than he needed for the dry cleaning, but he didn’t know that. 

The affair done he shook off his hand, now also sticky. He glowered at it. Then...he remembered his other hand. Now out of his rage he realized he wasn’t holding onto the bar counter, but rather....someone’s arm. 

He let go and spun on his heel. 

a gaze, sharper than he intended, takes in an injury. not of his own, he'd never run and roughhouse by the pool —— not even a BIT! —— but that of a child, and one who seems half frightened, half annoyed by all of this. ❝sir?❞ he says politely and with a bow to the nearest adult he could find. ❝do you know where the nearest lifeguard is? or a nurse, even? he injured his knee, by ROUGHHOUSING! in the pool!❞ he punctuates that final word with a heavy breath exhaled through his nose.

Something does remind her at home world but he’s not carrying six swords. Maybe he reminds her of Kojuro but carries two. Knowing the way he wears, he might be a pirate in general but then again, can’t help remembering Date Masamune. 

Yet she can’t just help herself looking at him.