[ She's in no position to start questioning people yet — there's so much she doesn't know. The whole city is full of people who have led wildly different lives, from the circumstances they were born into to the technology they had at their fingertips. She would be a fool if she were to disagree on the principle that things didn't make sense to her.
No better way to learn than listen, after all. And listen she does. Marc may not be the most straightforward, but the gist of it is there for her to follow once she's knit her brows together. Take a sip of her coffee. Thinks of the crescent moon spray painted on the door, the debt that caused him to take up a mantle. The reputation and the mission he's trying to build, in order to continue to act as an extension of a higher being's will ( or ... at least that's what she thinks is the answer to her question; it makes sense, anyway ).
Suddenly, viscerally, she's aware of the weight at her hip.
( The people of Panorama are not Naga's to watch over. Her mantle is not a debt, but an exchange; an agreement between two parties passed on from generation to generation. One — if she were to be particularly harsh about it — she failed to uphold in its original terms, only barely managing to scrape by with a second chance that costed her home. Where does that leave her now? Ylisse is safe, but she's not in Ylisse. The mark on her eye is still here and the sword has not suddenly become dull in her hands. What will is there for her to carry, here? )
She releases a breath she didn't realize she was holding. He's looking at her expectantly, and that's enough for her to set all of it aside. ] ... Right. [ A beat to clear her throat, then— ] Some of the nearby shops may be familiar with Billy Yrix as well. [ They don't know who did it, but they do know who died. She walks over to the front door to pull it open, holding it for Marc. ]
We can still begin at the bowling alley — if they cannot tell us about the weapon, then perhaps they'll be speak on who he was.
no subject
No better way to learn than listen, after all. And listen she does. Marc may not be the most straightforward, but the gist of it is there for her to follow once she's knit her brows together. Take a sip of her coffee. Thinks of the crescent moon spray painted on the door, the debt that caused him to take up a mantle. The reputation and the mission he's trying to build, in order to continue to act as an extension of a higher being's will ( or ... at least that's what she thinks is the answer to her question; it makes sense, anyway ).
Suddenly, viscerally, she's aware of the weight at her hip.
( The people of Panorama are not Naga's to watch over. Her mantle is not a debt, but an exchange; an agreement between two parties passed on from generation to generation. One — if she were to be particularly harsh about it — she failed to uphold in its original terms, only barely managing to scrape by with a second chance that costed her home. Where does that leave her now? Ylisse is safe, but she's not in Ylisse. The mark on her eye is still here and the sword has not suddenly become dull in her hands. What will is there for her to carry, here? )
She releases a breath she didn't realize she was holding. He's looking at her expectantly, and that's enough for her to set all of it aside. ] ... Right. [ A beat to clear her throat, then— ] Some of the nearby shops may be familiar with Billy Yrix as well. [ They don't know who did it, but they do know who died. She walks over to the front door to pull it open, holding it for Marc. ]
We can still begin at the bowling alley — if they cannot tell us about the weapon, then perhaps they'll be speak on who he was.