even after they have been stepped on
It’s easy enough to return the other man’s smile, so he does - along with an amiable nod of his head and a subtle shift of his shoulders so that he’s leaning towards the other man, rather than away. It’s tempting enough to block out the rest of the noise of the tavern and the cold of the winter outside, but still Ipomoea keeps one ear back to listen, head tilted towards the din. An envious flower is blooming in his chest, a quiet discomfort in knowing that he will never be exactly like his citizens, like the patrons in the bar; nor would they accept him if he was, he thinks.
”Well enough. I’m Po.” He slips on his nickname like he had never abandoned it, like there wasn’t a dozen documents to sign each day with Ipomoea. It’s an old habit, the same one he picked up when he went to Denocte; and it comforts him now, to let go of his title for a while.
He has to hide his smile - his automatic response to the question, a nervous quirk of his lips as he glances quickly around them - with a quick sip of his water. ”No, I mean - I’ve never been here before, either.”
He shrugs, setting the glass back down on the counter, avoiding the bartender’s eyes. ”But it looked warm enough, and friendly.”
@Sol Bestiam
