[ Ain stands to one side of the White Mage and his chosen playmate, ice-blue hair glimmering a little in the patchwork light. His gaze is trained on the geezard - cold but not filled with outright hostility, merely watchful. Slender fingers rest on the hilt of the katana sheathed at his waist, ready to draw should it come too close.
The question is considered, silence hanging in the air for a few moments, before: ]
I
The question is considered, silence hanging in the air for a few moments, before: ]
'it's too inelegant to befit you, Sion.