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Accustomed as he was to that vacant exhaustion, he wasn’t quite so used to it being focused on him— Santos looked at him as though he was a ghost [and perhaps, to him, he was]. Something in that hard countenance softened, defences lowering just enough for Link to see vulnerability — and then it was gone, dashed upon the rocks Santos glanced to. He swallowed, throat clicking, dismissing the confusion as easily as he’d dismiss any pointless, passing thought. If there was one thing he’d learned in his short stay in this town, it was that the people had more stories than it was worth considering, and wasting too much time dwelling on what each and every glare meant would only grey you prematurely. It didn’t quite shake the concern, but it stamped enough of it out for it not to show. These people didn’t need to see him sweat — his panic was carefully compartmentalised, expression on the warm side of neutral. He stayed silent while the others spoke, turning briefly to shrug at Mike by way of greeting. The worm— he loathed that word already, but that was what Mike was, somehow less than human for a crime Link knew nothing about— was a curious fellow. He didn’t understand why humiliation seemed to be a preferred punishment over jail time here, but perhaps the rule-breaking was never so bad that it warranted cells. Perhaps it’d simply be hypocritical of Cat, leading a band of murderers and thieves, to imprison somebody as if he had the moral conduct of a judge.
Interest lit up his face as his attention returned to Santos, lingering on the snake. "It’s beautiful. He? She?" Snake gender was something of a mystery to Link — snakes in general, actually. He was from a cold enough country that they weren’t especially common; most people liked their pets with a little more fur, capable of withstanding biting blizzards and playing with them out in the snow. Still, he could understand the allure of a snake: Kyros was beautiful, dappled and painted like an old movie. "— this seems to be an every day thing," Link elaborated — but as far as he was aware, attacks were also increasingly common. He didn’t know much, but he’d heard snippets of conversation about war. Of all the times for him to pick to join, he... could have done better. He hoped that Santos’ bat wasn’t just for show. On another note, though— "Mierda? You’re Spanish?" The name was sort of a giveaway.
Accustomed as he was to that vacant exhaustion, he wasn’t quite so used to it being focused on him— Santos looked at him as though he was a ghost [and perhaps, to him, he was]. Something in that hard countenance softened, defences lowering just enough for Link to see vulnerability — and then it was gone, dashed upon the rocks Santos glanced to. He swallowed, throat clicking, dismissing the confusion as easily as he’d dismiss any pointless, passing thought. If there was one thing he’d learned in his short stay in this town, it was that the people had more stories than it was worth considering, and wasting too much time dwelling on what each and every glare meant would only grey you prematurely. It didn’t quite shake the concern, but it stamped enough of it out for it not to show. These people didn’t need to see him sweat — his panic was carefully compartmentalised, expression on the warm side of neutral. He stayed silent while the others spoke, turning briefly to shrug at Mike by way of greeting. The worm— he loathed that word already, but that was what Mike was, somehow less than human for a crime Link knew nothing about— was a curious fellow. He didn’t understand why humiliation seemed to be a preferred punishment over jail time here, but perhaps the rule-breaking was never so bad that it warranted cells. Perhaps it’d simply be hypocritical of Cat, leading a band of murderers and thieves, to imprison somebody as if he had the moral conduct of a judge.
Interest lit up his face as his attention returned to Santos, lingering on the snake. "It’s beautiful. He? She?" Snake gender was something of a mystery to Link — snakes in general, actually. He was from a cold enough country that they weren’t especially common; most people liked their pets with a little more fur, capable of withstanding biting blizzards and playing with them out in the snow. Still, he could understand the allure of a snake: Kyros was beautiful, dappled and painted like an old movie. "— this seems to be an every day thing," Link elaborated — but as far as he was aware, attacks were also increasingly common. He didn’t know much, but he’d heard snippets of conversation about war. Of all the times for him to pick to join, he... could have done better. He hoped that Santos’ bat wasn’t just for show. On another note, though— "Mierda? You’re Spanish?" The name was sort of a giveaway.