He's pretty sure he's literally never been spoken to like this in his life. If he was younger he would have taken great offence to it, but now...?
He turned his head to look at the crowd, where not a one of them dressed anything like him. Where they all wore foreign garb, and none of them cared a sword. It was utterly alien to him.
And besides, in the end, hadn't he been the one to claim it was impossible to know what was black and what was white? That the common held beliefs of who was good and who was evil were so often wrong? He relied on his reputation only because it was a reflection of all the actions he took. The man who was "where the chaos is" - regardless of who was in trouble or what they faced, he helped them. This is how he was known.
Here, he was no one.
He wasn't sure what to feel about that. He glanced down at his sword, the white and silver sheath, inlaid with jade, gripped tightly in his left hand. He had no interest in defending himself to her with words, but he could take her point. His sword was of less use, here. Carefully, and without saying anything, he pulled a small pouch from within his robes, and opened it. He raised the sheathed sword and slid it into the opening, and a second later, the blade was gone. Disappeared into the pouch.
He returned it to his robes, and returned his gaze to her, not a word leaving his lips, but the slightest uptick of his eyebrow marking his meaning. Better?
no subject
He turned his head to look at the crowd, where not a one of them dressed anything like him. Where they all wore foreign garb, and none of them cared a sword. It was utterly alien to him.
And besides, in the end, hadn't he been the one to claim it was impossible to know what was black and what was white? That the common held beliefs of who was good and who was evil were so often wrong? He relied on his reputation only because it was a reflection of all the actions he took. The man who was "where the chaos is" - regardless of who was in trouble or what they faced, he helped them. This is how he was known.
Here, he was no one.
He wasn't sure what to feel about that. He glanced down at his sword, the white and silver sheath, inlaid with jade, gripped tightly in his left hand. He had no interest in defending himself to her with words, but he could take her point. His sword was of less use, here. Carefully, and without saying anything, he pulled a small pouch from within his robes, and opened it. He raised the sheathed sword and slid it into the opening, and a second later, the blade was gone. Disappeared into the pouch.
He returned it to his robes, and returned his gaze to her, not a word leaving his lips, but the slightest uptick of his eyebrow marking his meaning. Better?