Never did Jiro think he was going to come here again.

Shula's feasting hall was as large and grand as ever. Tall ceilings arched above his head and the whole room seemed like it was miles long. Several wooded tables, each about the length of an Onix, lined the room. Upon said tables were endless types of foods: roasted meats, fishes, vegetables, and even fruits, which were diced and glazed with sugars or placed upon the roasts. It seemed like a festival paraded down and up every table. But nothing really peaked his appetite. Jiro was used to the raw fish and rice dishes of Yine. Everything Sher served to their guests seemed too... heavy. Greasy, at that. Yet, the soldiers and knights and even the countrymen of Atlas devoured every bite as if it'd be the last meal they would ever have. He caught sight of multiple faces, flushed under the influence of liquor.

It wasn't just the people that were enjoying their time drinking and eating. Pokemon darted to and fro, scampering after scraps or hiding to ambush servants that brought out more food. What caught Jiro's attention the most, however, was what occurred above.

Countless winged Pokemon flitted above them. They lined the wooden beams, chittering and squawking as they fought over space and food alike. Jiro saw the white, steely hide of Kaneki swoop up from a table, a dried morsel in his sharp beak. A pair of Pidgey followed after him, screeching in protest as he weaved his way through the airborne crowd of Pokemon. Eventually, he settled on a beam, quickly scarfing down the food as the Pidgey bickered around him. The three engaged in a heated debate before a large Fearow, clad in light armor, flew down to perch on the beam next to them and made them scatter in surprise.

Jiro shook his head, sighing as he made his way down the hall. Shuhei prowled beside him, a silver shadow at his side. The northern Ninetales held grace in his step, much like he did. But the Pokemon did not mind the crowd. Jiro did. That's why he bore his light armor, shielding his face from the curious glances of the rulers that sat at the front of the hall and ate among themselves. Of course-- why would they dare mingle with the lesser peoples? His eyes narrowed at the sight of Emperor Yataro, an aging man with a gaunt face and gray in his long, dark hair. He was as he always remembered; cold, calculating, and uncaring.

His already soured appetite soured even more. Shuhei tipped his narrow muzzle up to look at him, and Jiro stroked his frosty mane. "Come, Shuhei. Let us try to eat." he mumbled, deciding that he should at least submit himself to the celebrations at least for a little while. He settled down, not caring who or what kind of person he sat next to. There was a large, stuffed Piloswine in front of him. Its small jaws were open, an apple placed between its teeth. Jiro pulled a face. Ugh. How could people eat this? Sure, he had settled for dried meats when he traveled, but the sight of preparing a corpse in such a way disgusted him.

The people across from him stared for a second. He realized that he was sitting with Neridans, which were the allies of his home country. Yet, the looks they gave him were far from friendly. Their blue eyes bore holes into him, and Jiro ducked his head as he reached for a plate and served himself from a plate that bore a smaller, lesser creature-- probably a roasted bird. Quietly, he tucked into his food, trying to seem like he was enjoying its taste. Shuhei gnawed on a bone he had found on the ground, quietly sucking on the marrow that was exposed from the shaft.

If there was one thing she felt, it was how overwhelming this whole scenario was. Zella watched what seemed like countless people, and all of them were stuffing their faces with food. Alongside many were pokemon, who were also very busy with eating whatever they could get their hands on. And that was before even thinking about how long each table appeared to be, how impressive the hall entirely was, and how crowded the beams near the ceiling were with flying pokemon.

Zella just placed her hand on Mist's back, who gave a small grunt, clearly sharing in Zella's feeling of being overwhelmed. Or maybe it was an overall feeling of discomfort for the pokemon, as it was never one for large crowds. Wrapping an arm around Mist's neck, she started to walk forward, slowly and carefully. With how crowded the whole place felt, she had quite some doubt she would even find a spot to seat at. She also hoped no one would give her too much attention, even if she knew that Mist was a cause of attention. Not every day people saw the pokemon of disaster, or wanted him to be around.

Eventually, she found herself a spot next to a man, who had long black hair and a Northern Ninetails by his side. It was a somewhat comforting sight for her. Even if Zella's memories from her time in Nerida were slowly getting foggy, she did still enjoy the sight of pokemon that were associated with the north, or the cold. Settling down on the spot, she motioned to Mist to stay close, which the Absol was more than happen to comply to. Looking up at the table, she noticed many around had blue eyes. Perhaps they were Neridans? She wasn't sure. She first took a bit of the bird, and handed it to Mist to eat, before turning to grab some greens to herself and then beginning to eat quietly.

“And that is why you should never trust a woman’s word on whether she is married or not; it is much better to ask her husband.”

That got a chuckle. Eon finished his story and lounged into an easy smile, well-worn, skin-deep. A small crowd hugged close to him; their banal smatterings added to din that flared about them, their eyes searched hungrily for any scrap of approval. Even here he could not escape that oily ambition that shrouded men’s hearts and twisted deep beneath them like gnarled roots. Contempt hid itself behind the goblet he drained for too long. The drink touched his lips, or even swelled into his mouth, between his teeth, across his tongue, but he never swallowed a drop. When he lowered it, once more the smile hung over his face.

Sweat, smoke and sin wove into smells of food to create a thick carpet of odour. The decision to sit with those beneath his station was borne of vain attempt to escape the political games and careful discussion. At least amongst the rabble there was some slight freedom, and they were entertaining in their ignorance. Of course, not all were witless peons.

Another conversation began to brew, and Eon made to look as though he was interested. The man immediately to Eon’s left stepped up in the lull. There then came a thought from outside his mind. A slight, gentle thing, that flowed smoothly into his mind, a feather floating along the swell of the sea, heedless of depths beneath.

Must we linger? All here are crass and the beasts are no better; they foul the air. I will surely catch a disease. The thought that was not his own sounded young inside his mind, feminine and clear as a crystal chime, tempered by a sense of maturity that exceeded the youth. Ira.

Without letting any of this touch his facade, Eon split his mind in two, focussing one half on the people, and one on his companion.

Of course. The blue-bloods shield their words. Here, people will give what they can, if they think I am important. And they do. It is prudent to feel out the tensions in this hall. It makes travelling easier if we know where treachery lies, and where foul weather broods, and where war shall soon carve into the peace.

His mind was still, a mirror-pond. Outside, he laughed with the crowd, and made a facetious remark that brought more titters.

And if we get to know which fighters are favoured, we stand to gain more from our gambled coin, if our paintings do not sell so well.

I know. The voice conceded. Her form shifted by his leg. He did not look down.

Not to mention I like the attention.

You are always too fond of it. Rue tinged the thought, like the wilt of a flower, as Ira’s mind retracted across the border, resting just outside Eon’s consciousness, rain on the other side of glass.

With his whole mind returning to his audience, Eon could tell they were beginning to tire of the sweaty man who led them now, so he snatched their attention with both hands and had them wrapped around his little finger before he had even begun his next sentence.

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