[akira doesn't miss the look that francel slants in the figure's direction, but tactfully, he makes no comment on it.
it feels strange, having so little information to go on. back in tokyo, nearly every target the phantoms had hit was a major figure in some way. akira knows nothing about this aymeric, and from the eeriness of the town's atmosphere, he probably can't casually duck into a cafe to ask around.
there's...a story behind how they used to live together, clearly.]
Nice meeting you, Francel. I go by Joker. [he offers a half-smile, well-aware that he sounds a little ridiculous right now.] Where's your—
[belatedly, he catches himself. he looks suspicious enough in his full phantom thief getup; the average person would probably not want him anywhere near their house. still, the smartest thing to do right now is get francel out of potential harm's way. from there, akira could tail that aymeric projection. or something. god, if only makoto were here to help with a more definitive plan.]
Where's a good place for me to see you off to? It's pretty late to be out. [alarmingly, the a light nearby flickers, then dies. when it flickers back to life after another few seconds, the color is slightly off—a colder hue compared to its original yellow. every few seconds, even the ground and the walls of the buildings seem to shift, as if they're television images with static interference.]
[strangely, this question seems to send francel into a panic, though why he should be so perturbed is hard to say. he brings a clawed hand to his mouth as though he might be sick.]
I don't... I don't know. I don't want to go back home. I — I can't —
[francel's eyes look almost sky blue in the odd light, though their natural color hews closer to navy, deep and dark as the night sky; they gleam, suddenly, wet with tears. the long-eared man blinks, taking a deep breath in what seems to be an effort to calm himself. as discreetly as he can manage, the elezen wipes his eyes on the back of his hand.]
...I'm sorry. [he breathes, after a moment, the edges of panic lost from his voice.] I don't know where to go. Not anymore.
[he shakes his head.]
...Many of the homes here are empty. Might I... that is, if you would not be troubled, might I ask you to help me find a new home? The hour grows late, and I fear some might feel stirred by the light of the moon. It wouldn't do to run into a burglar of some sort...
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storibook
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it feels strange, having so little information to go on. back in tokyo, nearly every target the phantoms had hit was a major figure in some way. akira knows nothing about this aymeric, and from the eeriness of the town's atmosphere, he probably can't casually duck into a cafe to ask around.
there's...a story behind how they used to live together, clearly.]
Nice meeting you, Francel. I go by Joker. [he offers a half-smile, well-aware that he sounds a little ridiculous right now.] Where's your—
[belatedly, he catches himself. he looks suspicious enough in his full phantom thief getup; the average person would probably not want him anywhere near their house. still, the smartest thing to do right now is get francel out of potential harm's way. from there, akira could tail that aymeric projection. or something. god, if only makoto were here to help with a more definitive plan.]
Where's a good place for me to see you off to? It's pretty late to be out. [alarmingly, the a light nearby flickers, then dies. when it flickers back to life after another few seconds, the color is slightly off—a colder hue compared to its original yellow. every few seconds, even the ground and the walls of the buildings seem to shift, as if they're television images with static interference.]
no subject
I don't... I don't know. I don't want to go back home. I — I can't —
[francel's eyes look almost sky blue in the odd light, though their natural color hews closer to navy, deep and dark as the night sky; they gleam, suddenly, wet with tears. the long-eared man blinks, taking a deep breath in what seems to be an effort to calm himself. as discreetly as he can manage, the elezen wipes his eyes on the back of his hand.]
...I'm sorry. [he breathes, after a moment, the edges of panic lost from his voice.] I don't know where to go. Not anymore.
[he shakes his head.]
...Many of the homes here are empty. Might I... that is, if you would not be troubled, might I ask you to help me find a new home? The hour grows late, and I fear some might feel stirred by the light of the moon. It wouldn't do to run into a burglar of some sort...