[ The antics, he finds, are somehow chillingly expected--like his shoulders know to deflate with a sigh, with the first little spring of the stranger past him, perfect flips that turn and turn and he considers, vaguely, jerking an arm out, or maybe a leg, to see how well this guy can deal with sudden obstacles; there's even some humor in that, in some strange image in his head of the megawatt smile and the dark tousled hair and some sheepish scrapes and bruises, but he can't tell whether it's wishful thinking or some kind of distorted memory.
His hand ghosts up over the handle of the sword again, like he's reassuring himself that it's there; for some reason, in the stranger's presence, he feels like he's not supposed to be the one to have it.
Frowning, he rolls his eyes off to the side like he's admiring the scenery. In reality, there's not much for them to see; once the bodies start to lessen, there's just blood and dirt and rock and greenery, spanned out along the path that will inevitably take him to the city. Is he really going to have to endure this for hours?
When he looks back, he scoffs. Why does it feel so natural to want to smile?]
Watch out for that rock. [ He says, dryly, though there's really nothing behind the man for him to trip on; still, Cloud makes it a point to angle his gaze down and then up again, like he's expecting the guy to go tumbling, head over heels.]
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His hand ghosts up over the handle of the sword again, like he's reassuring himself that it's there; for some reason, in the stranger's presence, he feels like he's not supposed to be the one to have it.
Frowning, he rolls his eyes off to the side like he's admiring the scenery. In reality, there's not much for them to see; once the bodies start to lessen, there's just blood and dirt and rock and greenery, spanned out along the path that will inevitably take him to the city. Is he really going to have to endure this for hours?
When he looks back, he scoffs. Why does it feel so natural to want to smile?]
Watch out for that rock. [ He says, dryly, though there's really nothing behind the man for him to trip on; still, Cloud makes it a point to angle his gaze down and then up again, like he's expecting the guy to go tumbling, head over heels.]
You haven't told me your name, you know.