[ Albedo notes the cracks, the subtle shifts in expression, the failure to meet his eyes, and the way Lutha withdraws. He cannot say he understands the depth of what the gestures are telling him, but he does recognize a sense of hurt and an effort to distance, to isolate.
There is a certain indescribable feeling in his chest as he sees this and hears Lutha's words - a sadness for which he doesn't quite know the right words or what to do about it. But there is no time to mull over that feeling, because at the forefront, the words still don't quite make sense. ]
People like me...?
[ He echoes softly, uncertain what Lutha means; the sentiment is too undefined. And what follows after - it was Lutha who approached him to begin with, and he fails to see what's stupid about the question or why anyone hearing would matter save perhaps as a point of pride, maybe. It is, after all, the City of Freedom and the people here tend to embrace that, welcoming any and all, asking only that they do not do harm to others. Not that all subjects are suitable for open discussion with just anyone, of course, but simply asking questions is no crime here.
But before he can quite articulate a response, Lutha is already walking away, and Albedo is left staring after him, puzzling over if he has indeed truly done something wrong or if the strife simply lies within this stray stranger.
He does not call after Lutha, nor does he chase him. He just watches him leave and contemplates. After a while, once Lutha has passed beyond view around a corner, he looks down at his notebook and the sketches he drew in silence for a time before smoothing out a crinkle in the paper and turning to a new page whereupon he begins a new drawing. Further documentation of Lutha and the shifts in his posture and demeanor.
With enough study, surely anything can be understood.]
no subject
There is a certain indescribable feeling in his chest as he sees this and hears Lutha's words - a sadness for which he doesn't quite know the right words or what to do about it. But there is no time to mull over that feeling, because at the forefront, the words still don't quite make sense. ]
People like me...?
[ He echoes softly, uncertain what Lutha means; the sentiment is too undefined. And what follows after - it was Lutha who approached him to begin with, and he fails to see what's stupid about the question or why anyone hearing would matter save perhaps as a point of pride, maybe. It is, after all, the City of Freedom and the people here tend to embrace that, welcoming any and all, asking only that they do not do harm to others. Not that all subjects are suitable for open discussion with just anyone, of course, but simply asking questions is no crime here.
But before he can quite articulate a response, Lutha is already walking away, and Albedo is left staring after him, puzzling over if he has indeed truly done something wrong or if the strife simply lies within this stray stranger.
He does not call after Lutha, nor does he chase him. He just watches him leave and contemplates. After a while, once Lutha has passed beyond view around a corner, he looks down at his notebook and the sketches he drew in silence for a time before smoothing out a crinkle in the paper and turning to a new page whereupon he begins a new drawing. Further documentation of Lutha and the shifts in his posture and demeanor.
With enough study, surely anything can be understood.]