"You are a friend—unlikely but true—and I do not—well, in case you have not noticed, I do not keep many friends. It is not a talent of mine, I fear. Therefore, my answers to the typical parental question of how are things going in Brunnhold contain limited subject matter. Such as yourself." The young student looked away, down into his kofi, dark eyes probing its rich depths for the bottom of the mug while he spoke with his typical quiet honesty, even if there was the faintest hint of chagrin in his near-whispered admission.
It didn't matter.
He was Hoxian.
His needs were few, were they not?
Shifting in his seat, not quite blushing—but not quite not blushing—under the perceived intensity of Tom's concern, under the pale-eyed gaze on a tired, older face while some much younger, frustrated soul stared through them like a window, too thick, the Hexxos Guide laid out their options carefully, obviously unaware that the once-human with his knowledge of knives and curious hints of nostalgic romance had no concept of earthquakes, no frame of reference for volcanoes, and no clue just how thin the high altitude air really could be. It wasn't as though Ezre knew how to swim properly, had any concept of a sea-faring vessel, or could feel comfortable in the company of Tek-speaking wicks, either. There were so many differences—that much he knew—but he could only explain with what was familiar to him.
He did note the various expressions that played over the raen's face, glancing up while the other man's eyes were closed, while steam wafted between them in some reminder of the distance their lives had been spent in opposite.
His first answer was muffled by pastry, unintelligible Deftung before he swallowed, smirked, and waved half a baked whale in emphasis, "Y'nko. One of the very few conjunctions in Deftung, the words put together are a now lost but I believe quite disappointingly general reference to grilled pastry with a filling. There are several regional styles that are baked in different shapes and filled with various sweet flavors. These are from Frecks, and so they are filled with a type of candied yam. I—uh—"
He glanced out the window, attempting to translate the memories that rose fragrantly into his mind of an isolated childhood he now knew was unlike any typical galdori upbringing, perhaps a typical upbringing in general,
"—there is a very austere legend about where the aurora glow in the sky of northernmost Hox comes from, and I do believe it centers around a flying whale."
Brief intermission though it was, Ezre smiled faintly. He'd enjoyed those stories as a child, bundled in furs, watching the ribbons of light as they danced across the sky. He opened his mouth to speak of those lights one more time, dark eyes widening for a moment, only to realize it was much better when seen in person. He simply inserted the last warm vestiges of his second y'nko into his mouth instead, falling quiet and washing it all down with slow sips of still-hot kofi before finishing his explanation of their options.
This. Tom said, meaning his accidental vessel, meaning the clearly bizarre life of an Anaxi politician that he had to at least pretend at sometimes.
"I have only been in Old Rose Harbor twice—three times—for a transfer of flights and a layover for a few hours of foul weather, but I possess an enthusiasm for new experiences that perhaps we do not share in the same way." The Hoxian was teasing, tone so obviously self-deprecating that it was almost stripped bare of any hint of his usual inexpressive rhakor. There was a mischief in the dark pools of his eyes before he broke any possibility of a grin with a yawn, shaking his head, wishing he could assuage the kind of fear of the unknown that clung to the deeper voice of the not-galdor across from him,
"We have a saying about my homeland, Tom," He offered by means of comfort, setting his mug down and leaning a little, narrow shoulders slumping beneath the thick wool of his coat. He said it first in Deftung, quieter than the kind of pride it stirred in him really wanted to allow, before repeating it in Estuan:
"Hox is a harsh Kingdom, but we live there."
For a brief moment, the chatter behind them, two booths over, might have paused, might have held their collective breaths, but then it began again, a little less loud than before. There might have been a few pointed comments, muttered under the assumption they were out of earshot, and Ezre arched a delicate eyebrow sluggishly, unwilling to care, looking down at his inked fingers wrapped around the glazed ceramic mug, letting the sentiments about whether Hexxos lived at all drift past his ears and away with the steam,
"These things may sound worrisome, but we will all be together. If I felt as though travel would be impossible for you, I would not have extended the invitation so—"
He paused, watching another y'nko slip from the wicker, towel-lined basket with a nod, only to glance up again and meet the disapproving frown of the raen. There was something in the other man's tone that felt more like a parental warning than the doubts of a friend and Ezre's jaw clenched. He swallowed the assumption that he would somehow end up in danger, leaving his friends to deal with the aftermath—again, he heard tacked onto the end, only that last word was left unspoken out of some thinly veiled politeness, out of some gift of kindness between himself and Tom Cooke.
The dark-haired student heard it anyway. He frowned also.
"—I have made the journey myself several times. I have, at least once, traveled all of the routes I have given as options, and here I am. I am responsible for Lilanee. For you, also. In Hox. During the travel, especially. You are my guests, and I—"
His expression deepened, tattooed bottom lip pressed beneath white teeth in a familiar referential expression to the redheaded Hessean, and the Hoxian understood—suddenly? finally? uncomfortably?—that he had left a bruise in their trust in Vortas.
"—I am not going to—I would not—"
Some flare of teenaged displeasure played across his usually calm face, but he did not say anything else. There were more whales, after all, and they were getting cold.
So soon would his kofi.