He'd zoned out again. It was almost valid to feel sorry for him, but leave it to Cledwynn to think it was unnecessary to feel anything close to that for him. Granted, he wasn't the depressed and self-deprecating type- he just felt that there was no real, tangible, valid reason for one to feel that way. But then, how could he talk about anything tangible when he was what he was?
Still, one could feel maybe a small semblance of disappointment if they were to find that Cledwynn was, now, slightly downtrodden that it seemed, at least to him, that his attempts at social interaction were quickly failing. Of course, maybe he shouldn't just stare at people, which brought his train of thought to the attention of the pamphlet he'd just been given by a gaudy, burly guardsman. It read "WONDERS OF PERFECTISM: THE RELIGION OF TOMORROW!".
Religion.
Ew.
If there was one thing that came as a sour topic to Cledwynn, it was religion. And it made sense that this was the case, given the situation he'd been in for many a year. Such a god-awful trial.. it almost made him want to do what everyone does with religious pamphlets, right?
Almost. Maybe he'd keep it as a sort of souvenir, a commemoration to something internally comical. To him, religion was mythodical, yet a satirical phenomenon as cynical as emo-screamo nihilism freakshows. Then again, something like that could be dimension-exclusive.
But maybe he wasn't thinking of the right words to describe that. Nihilistic? Cynical? Even the concept of cynicism itself was odd, wasn't it? Many things were, but that was a subject skimming far from the topic at hand. So, moving back to it, he considered this: given the pamphlet, maybe it wouldn't be very pleasing to converse with the small girl- or at least the two bigger men associated with her. After all, they seemed like people that felt no shame in staking up a sign that read "NO FUN ALLOWED".
But at the least, he had to be courteous, so maybe he'd read the pamphlet sometime later.
Speaking of courteous, his attention was turned to Sandra's words.
And upon hearing them, his eyes widened. She wasn't a Sandra at all.
"Authoress, hm..? That serves to be somewhat interesting. Though I have to address this- and no offense to you, or at least none intended- you seem.. lacking in emotion now."
Granted, she'd only just started talking again, but it did feel that way. At least somewhat.
"Still... I knew it! I knew you weren't just a Sandra, and with a name like Authoress, I know you must have some strange, abnormal quirk that separates you from regular people. Just.. like the rest of us."
He hadn't noticed it, but he'd gotten really talkative. Maybe it was the drink, which he calmly proceeded to take another sip of. Or maybe it was the need to keep a conversation going.
Then, as if on cue to the thought of conversation, his attention was drawn to the bartender who had just inquired on his... state of health? He had asked if Cledwynn was doing fine, but what exactly did that mean? Though, no matter what kind, his answer would be the same- as he turned to the bartender, he internally noted that whether mental, physical, or emotional, his answer had no reason to be anything but-
"Yes. I'm alright- why do you ask?"
It did warm his heart a little bit that this man came to ask if he were okay, but he was sure that the bartender didn't intend to make him feel any better.
Still, the devil's tails on his neck stretched themselves out as a sign of gratitude (since the bartender DID just make Cledwynn feel a little less like the odd one out here) before slumping on his shoulders, revealing themselves as they laid like locks of purplish hair. Perhaps it was a symbolic way of saying he felt a little less threatened by the current situation, like a turtle coming out of his shell even though he's in a public place and the poor turtle's a little antisocial- anyways, the point was there in spades, and it was as present as the neck-tails now were.
Even still, though, the newfound presence of them forced a slight, soft blush on Cledwynn's cheeks. How embarrassing...
Still, one could feel maybe a small semblance of disappointment if they were to find that Cledwynn was, now, slightly downtrodden that it seemed, at least to him, that his attempts at social interaction were quickly failing. Of course, maybe he shouldn't just stare at people, which brought his train of thought to the attention of the pamphlet he'd just been given by a gaudy, burly guardsman. It read "WONDERS OF PERFECTISM: THE RELIGION OF TOMORROW!".
Religion.
Ew.
If there was one thing that came as a sour topic to Cledwynn, it was religion. And it made sense that this was the case, given the situation he'd been in for many a year. Such a god-awful trial.. it almost made him want to do what everyone does with religious pamphlets, right?
Almost. Maybe he'd keep it as a sort of souvenir, a commemoration to something internally comical. To him, religion was mythodical, yet a satirical phenomenon as cynical as emo-screamo nihilism freakshows. Then again, something like that could be dimension-exclusive.
But maybe he wasn't thinking of the right words to describe that. Nihilistic? Cynical? Even the concept of cynicism itself was odd, wasn't it? Many things were, but that was a subject skimming far from the topic at hand. So, moving back to it, he considered this: given the pamphlet, maybe it wouldn't be very pleasing to converse with the small girl- or at least the two bigger men associated with her. After all, they seemed like people that felt no shame in staking up a sign that read "NO FUN ALLOWED".
But at the least, he had to be courteous, so maybe he'd read the pamphlet sometime later.
Speaking of courteous, his attention was turned to Sandra's words.
And upon hearing them, his eyes widened. She wasn't a Sandra at all.
"Authoress, hm..? That serves to be somewhat interesting. Though I have to address this- and no offense to you, or at least none intended- you seem.. lacking in emotion now."
Granted, she'd only just started talking again, but it did feel that way. At least somewhat.
"Still... I knew it! I knew you weren't just a Sandra, and with a name like Authoress, I know you must have some strange, abnormal quirk that separates you from regular people. Just.. like the rest of us."
He hadn't noticed it, but he'd gotten really talkative. Maybe it was the drink, which he calmly proceeded to take another sip of. Or maybe it was the need to keep a conversation going.
Then, as if on cue to the thought of conversation, his attention was drawn to the bartender who had just inquired on his... state of health? He had asked if Cledwynn was doing fine, but what exactly did that mean? Though, no matter what kind, his answer would be the same- as he turned to the bartender, he internally noted that whether mental, physical, or emotional, his answer had no reason to be anything but-
"Yes. I'm alright- why do you ask?"
It did warm his heart a little bit that this man came to ask if he were okay, but he was sure that the bartender didn't intend to make him feel any better.
Still, the devil's tails on his neck stretched themselves out as a sign of gratitude (since the bartender DID just make Cledwynn feel a little less like the odd one out here) before slumping on his shoulders, revealing themselves as they laid like locks of purplish hair. Perhaps it was a symbolic way of saying he felt a little less threatened by the current situation, like a turtle coming out of his shell even though he's in a public place and the poor turtle's a little antisocial- anyways, the point was there in spades, and it was as present as the neck-tails now were.
Even still, though, the newfound presence of them forced a slight, soft blush on Cledwynn's cheeks. How embarrassing...