May 21, 2017
==== Onida, Sanso

Renegade Camp - Shanty Row
This dock is nothing near as imposing than the Pier being far smaller, at the very least, it's rather humble. Lined upon this little boardwalk is a row of shanty homes made from any available wood or crates gathered from a hard day's work. Most are simple and modest little homes, white washed to at least have some civilized class to them, making them more appealing to the eye. There is one or two, though, that could use a little more skill in their creation, yet they still offer some level of comfort to the occupants inside.

After dropping Azrahl off at his place, Sanso spent the rest of the day doing their combined laundry, because the blonde was simply not capable of taking care of himself. Oh, his hair was brushed and little braids reapplied, and he'd wake up with freshly washed clothing. As night begins to falls, the swordsman was busying himself with packing up and storing away the supplies he'd used on his trip earlier that morning, having completely forgotten about it. Someone was starting to build the cook fires for the evening meal, which made the air outside his little hut smell smokey. Stepping outside, Sanso hangs his wet clothing on lines that connect to the building next door, wearing only a dark crimson robe tied off on one side to keep things decent while his everyday attire dries.

Onida had managed to make himself scarce around the camp for the majority of the day after his bath this morning, maybe his scarcity had something to do with the mysterious figure that stopped him in the hot spring. Whatever the case, he's back now, with what appears to be an escort, and heading towards the shack that he calls home.."Just remember, Z doesn't like to share his playthings." Comes a single warning from the bulky figure before it's slipping away into the shadows. Instead of going into his home, Oni seeks out one of the barrels nearby, tugging a hand through tousled hair once before lifting a red fruit to his mouth for a bite. Strange little runt, doesn't speak and has never been seen eating anything other than fruits and vegetables, combine these with his bright colored clothes and no wonder he's bullied. The teen seems distracted by his thoughts for the moment, pale orbs gazing into a nearby fire.

Pants, three robes in varying shades of charcoal gray to somber black, socks, towels oh so fluffy, all held in place with wooden pins. Sure, everything was pretty pricey and could be sold for some good marks, but would anyone in their right mind touch Sanso's things? Maybe, if they had a death wish. The woven basket he'd used to carry the clean clothes back is brought inside, having missed the bully esort and the return of Onida in the meantime. He really doesn't have eyes in the back of his head, but what he does have is eyes in front of his head, and those home in rather quickly for the brightly colored boy now seated on a barrel, eating an apple. It would be impossible to miss and it was still light out enough to see without the torches and lanterns lit. Sanso tilts his head to the side, pulling his door shut behind him as he walks that direction, sheathed sword in hand as he currently had no sash around his waist to tuck it into.

Onida sure wouldn't mess with Sanso's stuff that's for sure, at least not without being invited to anyway. It's probably a good thing that Sanso missed the teen's escort, otherwise that escort might not be making it back to his boss to report that the runt has been returned to his home, well, close to his home anyway. Apple is finished and the core is tossed into the fire before pale orbs finally shift from the flames to send a glance around briefly, spotting the approaching robed swordsman and lingering just a moment. Bad Oni, no staring, there's bound to be spies around the place. The teen really should just go inside and avoid people right now but it's lonely in there. If Sanso gets close enough quick enough he'd be able to spy red marks upon pale skin, but if not then a black jacket will be pulled on, covering sleeveless arms that cross over teen's chest lightly. Gaze returns to the fire eventually, maybe the lad is trying out the ice prince act, it really doesn't suit him though and he'll most likely get tired of it eventually.

Sanso continues on his approach vector, maybe not noticing the lingering eyes, but certainly catching those red marks on the teenager's pale wrists before he has a chance to hide them. That stops the man short and if anyone can pull off ice prince, it's him. He stares long and hard at Onida, a sudden chill certainly in the air between them, but that could easily be written off as a combination of spring and dusk. With the hilt of his sword he points at that which was now tucked away in sleeves and wrapped tightly around himself. "Who?" he asks, just one word, but icicles were dripping off every syllable.

Onida should really take ice prince lessons, cause he's terrible at it and gives it up relatively quickly. A shiver finds its way through slim body and jacket is pulled tighter against frame in response. Pale orbs take in the sword's hilt as it points at black-draped wrists. It really shouldn't be a surprise that the young man doesn't offer an answer, he probably wouldn't even utter a word if he wasn't mute. Instead the answer is a stiff shrug of shoulder, the movement slight but there nonetheless. Turning back towards the fire, his gaze finds the flames once again, look how interesting they are.

Certainly there could be schematics or some sort of chart, perhaps a map with an angry face over the bully's house. Sanso doesn't even blink at this standoffish behavior, this he knew, and no it was not going to make him go away. Teenage angst he could handle, awkward flirting that was more confusion than anything else, eh, not so much. There is a sigh even if the stone face doesn't much change other than the very edges seeming a bit softer. With that very same sort hilt he points back the way he came, over where his clothing hung even though night was falling. "Come." Gesture. Gesture. Yes, this way. Onida can choose to stay by the fire all by his lonesome, or he can follow the swordsman across the way. The choice was up to him, either way the boy chooses, Sanso was walking back to the line of shacks across the way.

Stay our here by his lonesome as night falls or follow Sanso to the shack over yonder, a decision must be made, Onida knows this. The teen is going to be in trouble after this, but he chooses the latter, scuffling booted feet after the man. Pale orbs shoot a glance around to see who may be watching, but it appears that most that actually present in the general area aren't interested in the teenager's issues at the moment. Steps slow as he approaches the line of shacks, as if debating whether to change his mind at the last minute. It's like he's being tugged in opposite directions, deciding finally on the one that includes the dark-haired Sanso.

Decisions, decisions, which was the right one. Life was full of them, and what choices you make throughout define who you are. Whether this was Sanso's belief is left unsaid, but really with these two, a lot of things were. The swordsman doesn't seem to care who sees him leading Onida across the rows of shacks to his own, or who sees him open his door, or duck inside. Yes, inside. Alone, but together. Maybe the bullies would find out and leave the boy alone, or maybe they would find out and increase their harassment, or maybe they wouldn't find out at all. Everything was up in the air right now, including the scent of burning wood, it was stronger here because the larger cook fires not too far behind.

Onida has already followed the other man this far, he might as well follow through, and so the distance is closed with a few more steps. Wait, no one said anything about going inside of Sanso's shack, it must've been one of those things that was left unsaid. There's always hope that mister purple hair's bully will hear rumors of who he's been hanging around and back off, but then there's the possibility that he will become more protective of the teen that he thinks he owns. Who really knows with crazy people right? Even as Oni ducks into the shack, the thoughts make him flinch inwardly. Well, he's here now, in the shack of the man he's been trying to flirt with the past couple days and suddenly he's feeling more than a little awkward and self conscious, eyes darting about uncertainly. Arms once again fold lightly against black clad chest as he, well, he's not sure what he's going to do just yet.

It was a simple room with white washed walls, woven grass mat floor, and only a few narrow privacy windows. On the floor was a double-wide futon mattress folded up in one of the corner with two short squat rectangle pillows and a quilt on top. There was also a low table with two square cushions to sit on. Storage was all in built, save one one ornately carved dark wood chest, allowing for maximum use of minimum space. Otherwise, a wide array of beautifully smithed weapons decorate the wall, most of them ornamental, but tastefully done rather than seeming like he was some psychopath planning on killing visitors and hiding their bodies under the floor boards. See, no floorboards. Onida will have to close the door or leave it open for a quick escape, either way, Sanso gestures to the table, setting his sword down beside him before he lowers himself down to sit on his legs on one of the cushions. At least they are comfortable, even if sitting like that didn't look like it was. "Drink?" he offers, pouring a clear liquid into some very tiny cups from a small ceramic vase looking thing.

Onida considers the door, debating over the choice, finally he decides on slipping it closed before following after the other man. Pale orbs peer around the room, taking in the various blades he swallows. Okay, well, that's a lot of weapons, quite a nice collection really, hmm. But then, well, he's being asked a question and padding towards the table to consider his answer which winds up being a half-shrug while he tries to copy the sitting position. The size of the cups and the clear liquid pouring into them, even going so far as to sniff at it lightly. Hmm, what is this?

Now comes the surprise as Onida closes the door, makes his way towards the small low table, and tries to sit exactly like Sanso does. A soft low chuckle emits as the darkness of his lashes lower, exposing the straight line of brilliantly white teeth as his lips are drawn tightly over them and finally separate into a smile. It wasn't cruel, mocking, or the least bit threatening. No, this smile was gentle and genuinely amused. As if this wasn't enough of a shock, "If you sit like that, your legs will fall asleep." Sanso adjusts his position then, folding his legs beneath him. Not that the swordsman knew the term, but it was much more comfortable. "I do it out of habit." Did the man switch places with another entirely different person who looked exactly like him? If Onida was still breathing at this point and had moved on to sniffing at the liquid it's found to have a moderate alcoholic odor and if he dares to try it? A very potent and strong alcoholic taste, going down warm and smoothly without the gut punching after effects of the liquors more readily available around camp. "Rice wine." Sanso has no qualms with lifting the small almost delicate looking cup to his lips, tipping it back and draining its contents.

Wait, who are you and what did you do with Sanso? Onida's turn to be surprised, that's different, hmm. So surprised that.. even before he can shift to the more cross-legged less-uncomfortable position he's started losing his balance, and he chooses to stay in the position he landed in.. flat on his cute little rear end. Oof, well, that was smooth, yup. Nose wrinkles at the scent of the clear liquid, rice wine huh? Slender fingers lift the small cup to his lips, taking an experimental sip. Well, it's definitely not something the young man is used to, at least it doesn't taste like that horrible tavern ale. Course, he's not really sure about the draining it in one drink thing, is that what he's supposed to do?

Setting the empty cup back down almost gracefully, Sanso's gaze lifts, and while lips have sealed his teeth behind them once more - a gentle smile remains for the surprise he finds on Onida's face. In those eyes and in his voice, the chill remains, lacking the warmth his expression mimics but something about the combination still appeared to indicate every part as a genuine whole. The fumbling attempt to change position due to his obvious success at throwing the lad off-kilter, he chuckles again after a single blink that temporarily erases his smile, soon refilling his own cup. His deep browned gaze lifts though as an experimental taste is taken, "Sip it slowly, too fast, and you will find its effects quickly potent." Yes, it would get the mute quite, quite drunk. "At least until you are used to it." His head inclined, he half-turns towards the ornately carved box, almost tenderly lifting the lid, and pulling out a simple leather-bound book held closed with a tie of leather sewn into it's binding, a brand new and sharped pencil stuck through a loop of matching material. "I noticed you use scraps of paper to communicate but do not speak, and so because I wish to talk to you about many things and hope you will talk to others as well, I want you to have this journal." Sanso did talk like a man that was highly educated even though his way of doing so might strike Onida as odd, just as odd perhaps as this change in his manner. He places the gift on the boy's side of the table soundlessly and without hurry, and he will find that the contents of the journal are only countless blank pages upon which he could express himself freely.

Onida won't drink the liquid too fast, he doesn't need to be drunk off his ass just yet, even though that might be amusing. Free hand tugs through unruly locks, a movement that seems to be involuntarily more often than not when the young man isn't quite sure what else to do with fidgety hands. Another sip, this stuff is pretty good. Sanso is watched, eyes traveling over facial features, still uncertain what exactly is going on but figuring it can't be too bad. Movement is followed as the carved box is opened and the book is drawn forth. A bit of a nibble to lower lip as pale orbs look over the book curiously as more words are uttered by his companion. Book is placed before him. Wait, what? Fidgety fingers pause in their movements, hovering before reaching for the book. Gaze travels up from the book to the man across from him. Wait, this means.. he won't be able to use his muteness as a crutch anymore if he accepts the gift.

Rice wine wasn't for everyone, you either liked it or you didn't, but Sanso seems pleased that Onida is the former rather than the latter. He seems to recognize the lad's wariness now that he was speaking much more freely than he ever had in his presence before, his mouth very nearly returning to the evenness that Onida was used to, but the fine upward curl at each corner remains if slight. After several moments of silence, the man inclines his head and lowers his lashes in apology, his gaze soon lifting to meet his. "I find that not speaking and not allowing oneself the distraction of friendly conversation, heightens the senses and allows for closer observation," he explains, the smile widening a few degrees as he picks the cup he'd refilled up off the table and poises it before his lips. "But I am also amused by reactions such as yours when growing familiarity bears the first fruits of trust and understanding." He replaces the cup, briefly, with the upper most portion and side of the finger closest to his thumb. "It is my secret that you must keep." Soon he's downing another cupful of rice wine, gently returning it to the table top. He returns to silence as he observes Onida's reaction to the journal, his expression betraying nothing of opinion of it. Instead, there is only more of his soft cool voice as he slightly tilts his head to one side upon the pivot of his neck. "If you do not want to, I will not force you."

Onida is trying to comprehend all this, all the changes in the other man are interesting. This turn of events seems like a good thing, no one has bothered to tolerate the teen as long as this man has, except maybe one particular person. Oni's cup is sipped from again, and fingers uncurl from it to set it down on the surface before him before that same hand slides to the book, drawing it closer to himself and opening it up to one of the pages and slipping the pencil into his fingers. He doesn't write anything at first, just turning the writing implement about in his fingers idly. This motion continues for a few moments until he finally decides to place pencil to paper, leaving the book's first marks. 'Secrets is safe' It's only three simple words, in nearly illegible print and likely terrible spelling and grammar, this one isn't a learned young man, likely he can barely write well enough to get simple points across. And just in case the words aren't enough, a finger is brought up to thin lips in a shh sign. Book is turned so that the words don't have to be read upside down. Well, apparently he's willing to give up his 'crutch', at least for the moment anyway.

As Onida sets about making a big decision, Sanso busies himself with pouring another cupful of rice wine, not pushing the boy to do anything other than make choices for himself. Stay or leave, drink or not, accept or decline, slow or fast. This third cup is sipped at lightly, the second having put a slight rosy glow to the swordsman's pale cheeks, displaying that the man certainly knew is limits. His attention is only returned when the boy reaches for the journal, gaze lifting from the table and watching him scrawl out his first words to him. If Sanso were a different man, he might have appeared touched by the gesture, but since walking through the doorway of his home the man had been nothing but graciously acceptance of anything that Onida was willing to do. As the journal is turned so that he can read what was written there properly, he rewards them and the imitated gesture of finger to lips, with another smile. Still soft, still lacking teeth, but a smile nonetheless. "Thank you," he says, lashes lowered and head slightly inclined. Then the sooty fringe framing his brown eyes is lifting, "If you would like, I can teach you that which will make your life much less hard than it currently is." It may seem that the man means improving Onida's literary skills and his words may very well include that in the offer, but presently he was looking at the lad's wrists as his gaze had dropped there. However, soon he's matching that gaze with his again. He shifts the distribution of his weight slightly and it has the added effect of pulling the robe he wears off one of his pale yet scarred shoulders. "In truth, I find great pleasure in your company. You are an intelligent and brave young man and even if our understanding never blossoms in full, I hope that you will still come and talk with me from time to time."

Onida is actually storing his brain full of observations and emotions, even the pink tint of cheeks is added to the growing number of mental notes in his mind. Even still the young man has no idea what to expect, but then maybe that's what keeps him seated there, fingers sliding over to curl about the cup and drawing it upwards to his lips. The offer gets a slight raise of brow, though the movement is brief and the glance at his wrists has him shifting just a bit. Or maybe the shift is caused by the revealing of scarred flesh as robe slips down. Pale orbs focus on that shoulder but for a moment before lowering back towards the journal page. 'Why?' is the single word scrawled upon the paper before cup is sipped from again, this time perhaps a bit more liquid is taken in, though still he doesn't drain the cup. No explanation is given to the meaning of the latest writing, Sanso is welcome to interpret it how he wishes, for the teen himself isn't even certain.

Whatever conclusions that Sanso forms from his own observation of Onida are not shared, but neither has he once reached for that sword ever present at his side or any of the other beautifully crafted weapons that adorn his walls. His posture and manner never once swaying from how it had shifted once they were seated and drinking together. What Onida was experiencing might every well be what remained hidden from most if not all of those that gathered together here. The good praised him, the bad ran in fear, and the afflicted did not shy from his touch. By all appearances, Sanso was simply a good man who raised his blade only when he sensed danger or in defense of the weak. His bow, only used to fill empty bellies who may have otherwise starved. However, this was a renegade camp, not a weyr…and so it would not be a stretch to imagine that there was likely more to him than what he chose to show others. Onida had seen that, firsthand. Ever watchful, never missing a single detail, those cold eyes devour the boy's every movement. Everything is noted. Everything interpreted. When the boy puts pencil to paper again, it is only when the journal is turned that he drops his gaze down to read and remains there for some time. "Why would I teach you? Because there is nothing more in this world that I dislike more than someone who would use their strengths against another for sport. There should be no pleasure in violating another in such a way." His tongue passes over his lips, wetting them, but he does not lift his head. "Why do I wish you to visit with me? Why do I enjoy your company?" Now he raises his gaze up, affixing them to their paler cousins. "You intrigue me. You shy away from those that you know can and will inflict pain upon you and yet you have never once lashed out in retaliation. You have not sought help from anyone, you weather your own storms. Some might interpret that as weakness and cowardliness, but it is your strength. If cultivated the right way, you could be so much more then the boy who stares so with such longing at what he wants, but does not know how to take."

There's always something more, especially around these parts. Men that take a lost boy in with the promise of safety turn out to be the ones that inflict the most damage. Onida has been around the renegade camp long enough to realize this. The teen just met this stranger mere days ago, and yet something intrigues him, makes him wonder. Perhaps the only reason the teen is here at this moment is because this Sansompuzzle is as yet unsolved. Or maybe it's the old woman's words that have stuck with him, the suggestion that he make an ally or this man. It may well be something more, they are alike in ways, but complete opposites in others. Cup is taken up, its contents finished before its abandoned on the table before him, pencil spinning in fingers, pale eyes distant and thoughtful. The young man is like this for a long moment, but seems to come out of whatever revelry he had been lost in. He starts to scribble something, but thinks better of it and lifts pencil from paper and absently nibbles on the end as he contemplates the words, coming up short. 'I don't want to be like him, taking without giving.' It's the most words he's put together yet, and they find pale orbs cast downwards. 'better me than someone else.'

Sanso knows something about those that take and inflict the sort of damage that scars far deeper than that of physical flesh, the type of wounds that are more difficult to heal, that one can not see with eyes or touch with hands, but his cool gaze reflects none of that. It could be that the man saw something of his younger self in Onida, but no one in camp would ever be able to tell the violet eyed teen anything about the swordsman's past that he had not given freely and most was shrouded completely in a dense fog through which little was revealed. In time, perhaps he would unravel the mystery for himself in its entirety. As the first cup of rice wine is drained completely, Sanso is there to fill it once more, saying nothing nor encouraging him in anyway to imbibe other than to provide such means should he desire it. He sips then at his own drink, never taking more than is necessary to keep him at the same level of intoxication he had already reached. Whatever Onida is contemplating, Sanso does not hurry, still encouraging independent thought and action rather than manipulating the results. Oh, he might gently nudge or suggest, but ultimately the lad was just as human as he was if not more, and with that came the right to choose. When words are decided and the journal turned once more for him to read, he does and when he is finished he returns his full attention to him and he smiles in approval. "If I thought that you did, you would not be sitting across from me at my table or beneath my roof." Drawing in a deeper breath, it is silently exhaled in the quietest of sighs. Yet, not yet was there a sign of discontent. "As I said, brave. It takes more courage than you realize to offer yourself as a shield for those that can not raise their own. However, there is a very fine line between service and sacrifice." Drink tipped back, he swallows his cup's entire contents, setting it down but not refilling. "You are far too young to be a martyr, Onida." How does he know his name? Here's another finger pointed towards good ol' Falcon and his big mouth and loud voice. "I hope that you will take me up on my offer to teach you…someday."

Onida has 'talked' more in the past few moments than he has his entire life, it's strange, but maybe not so bad. As cup is refilled, pale orbs study it for a minute, distracted once more by something or other. When attention is returned, fingers curl around the cup and it is brought to his lips once more. It's another long silence, or maybe not so long, it's hard to judge sometimes, before the cup is set down once again, half-drained of its concoction. The young man doesn't move to write anything more just yet, instead he traces a finger over the words on the page, pencil returned once more upwards to be nibbled upon. Likely the teen is starting to feel the effects of the alcohol as cheeks are starting to pink with warmth. Moments pass by with nothing but quiet fidgeting. Eventually the teen decides to move, shrugging out of the jacket so that warmth may escape from skin. Only once the jacket is settled across his lap do hands returns to cup and pencil respectively, leaning forward to add more marks upon paper. 'What do you want to teach me?' Though still a bit uncertain, the young man's curiosity has always managed to get the better of him, well, when he's not distracted by things of course.

The rice wine was good at its job. The initial sting upon the tongue of the first sip flawlessly fading off into a creeping warmth down to the belly and from them outwards to every distal point of the body. The inital effects tapering to nothing, but compounding on the latter until the world was just as rosy as one's cheeks. As Onida disappears for a time into deep thought, Sanso also falls into an almost comfortable silence. That comfort came in the utter lack of expectation or demand, the swordsman patiently waiting for what may or may not come from the pale eyed boy's next decision. His hands were now neatly resting on each of his knees, head bowed and gaze lowered. He could chosen to disappear for a while in the corridors of his mind, not that the stillness of his expression betrayed any indication that more was going on than was readily visible. This persists through most of what happens between when Onida half-drains his cup until the journal is finally turned so that it may be read. Only then, does Sanso look up and allow his eyes to move over the words scrawled across the page before him. A wordless pause and the man lifts his gaze once more until it is leveled with silver flecked periwinkle. "Everything." There was an infinite amount of possibility in that single softly spoken word, and perhaps the swordsman enjoys watching the play of emotion so easily read upon is face. The seriousness of his own expression is softened by the return of a smile to his lips, as if finally realizing how overwhelming his response could be to someone with such a shallow grasp on his sense of self. "But that could take a lifetime. Is there any one particular skill that you wish to hone? Sword skills? Hunting? Stealth? These are only a few of the skills that I can teach you as long as you are willing and eager."

Onida is definitely feeling, well what he assumes is the effects of the rice wine, realizing cheeks and skin continue their warming. Of course, rather than do what would cure this warming sensation, he does the opposite, lifting the cup to his lips to drink until there's but a drop left. It's only when mind returns that his eyes find their own glance being matched. Gaze lingers only for a moment before Onida feels, well, something that makes the room feel much warmer than it is, or maybe that's the rest of the rice wine making itself known. Whatever it is, it has him turning slightly, any eye-contact broken as a hand finds itself tugging on a lock of purple. The next words spoken save his mind from reeling at the initial response, thoughts and doubts and all that whirr through fogging mind. At least when offered choices it makes it a little easier, all of the suggestions would probably be good for the teen. 'Swords' is the single word scratched out, the thought of hunting doesn't sit well with him and so that one is brushed off, and, well, stealth would probably clash with the bright colors he likes to wear. Once journal is turned for reading, the young man retreats back into his own mind for the moment, trying to make sense of the mess of thoughts milling about.

If Sanso sees the pinking of cheeks and wavering of thought, he makes no comment on it with either reaction or words. Instead, when Onida drains his cup, the swordsman simply remains the benevolent host and refills it with the last of the little vase's contents. Now empty, it's set aside, and he returns his hand to his knee. He keeps the eye contact only as long as the purple-haired lad allows, dropping his gaze to the beautiful lacquered surface of the table between them. There it remains until the journal is turned, as if he suspected that the persistence of his attention would be more distraction than help. The single worded response to his question earn Onida a single nod in return, once again seeking out his eyes with his own if possible. "Very well. I will warn you, I expect discipline and dedication from my students." He rises then from his seat and pulls down a simple wooden training sword from its spot on the wall. It's old and worn, but no less sturdy even from turns and turns of diligent use. Turning back, he approaches and comes to kneel beside Onida, holding the training sword out to him by balancing it on his fingertips. The chill of his gaze is suddenly intense, "Your first lesson is only this," Any indication of warmth in the least vanishes, "You are never to raise your sword to another who has not earned it. Cruelty should have no place in your heart, body, or mind. As long as you hold to this truth, I will teach you everything I know."

Onida doesn't reach for the third cup of the rice wine, at least not at the moment, he really doesn't need anymore or he won't be able to concentrate on anything anymore, not that that would be much of a change from what it is now. But anyways, he turns attention back just in time to catch the warnings bobbing his head in acknowledgement. When the training sword is retrieved, he lets his eyes trail over it, and maybe just a little bit of trailing over robed figure that retrieves it. Wait, does this mean they're already starting? When training sword is offered to him, a hand reaches for it and hovers there. Looking up into its owner's face, for once pale orbs hold the look as more words are given. Perhaps the first time that Oni has ever held a gaze longer than mere seconds. Head is nodded, agreeing to these terms easily enough. He really shouldn't have a problem with that part at least, it's probably the easiest part of the agreement for the teen. Hand hasn't clasped around the sword yet, perhaps he's considering having second thoughts, but those thoughts are soon shaken off and fingers curl about the implement of training. No turning back now.

Sanso was much more interested in getting his point across than encouraging Onida's further inebriation. Having the teen relaxed was one thing, unconscious was another. All other intentions, hidden or no, are brushed aside in favor of making sure that his warning is given with the seriousness that it requires. He does not threaten the lad, though it shouldn't be dismissed that despite his fondness for him, the swordsman would not hesitate in cutting him down if he traveled along the wrong path to its bitter end. A great deal of trust was being offered and perhaps someday Onida would recognize its significance. There is no wavering in the way he meets his gaze, doing so freely and openly, even as the teenager's hand reaches for and hovers over the offered training sword. When Onida's hand finally accepts by wrapping around that smooth wooden shaft, the man drops his hands away from it to let them fold in his lap. "Your…friends…won't be bothering you as long as you keep that with you at all times. Protect and treasure it, Onida." With that, Sanso also nods once and he begins to to rise in order to return to his place on the other side of the table.

Onida most likely has at least that much figured out, not that he'd ever have to worry about being turned into some sort of.. Zarek. No, there are no intentions of needing to suffer the wrath of Sanso. Sword is grasped then and examined a moment before being settled nearby its new owner. A wince at the mention of his friends and a shiver manages to seep into his body despite the warmth of skin. He can only hope that statement holds true. Pencil is taken up and journal's page is marred again with a simple 'Thank you' Only two words but they hold deep meaning at least to the young man as he bows his head to emphasize the words. It's been nice, this whole being social-ish thing, even if a bit uncomfortable at times for both men. Suddenly, though, Oni isn't sure what else to do or say, so he sits for another moment, looking about the room uncertainly. Should he leave his companion now to tend to whatever it was he was doing before? Or should he stay and try to be more social? Decisions, decisions, and then he looks at the door questioningly, does the man want him to leave and stop pestering him? After all, the purple-haired one wouldn't want to overstay his welcome.

"Onida," Sanso breathes, enticed to remain close due to the reaction that his mention of friends elicits, pausing as the lad writes out his gratitude, to which he can only smile softly and incline his head gently. As the purple-haired one's attention wavers, one slim fingered hand finally bridges the gap, taking a very light hold of his youthful chin and gently he turns his head to that he can once more delve into silvered periwinkle depths. "Zarek's punishment for abusing the weakness he finds in others is a long time in coming, I have been away, otherwise judgement would have been much more swift," he says quietly, his thumb sliding up towards the thinness of the boy's lower lip but no actual contact with it is made. Yet somehow, this was still a deeply intimate gesture for the swordsman. "Do not dwell, do not waver, and find confidence in yourself. No one will dare touch you for as long as I breathe and I will teach you everything that you need to know in order to no longer require that protection." Silence descends once more over the pair, dark to pale gaze held, as if Sanso were haunting the seemingly endless and twisting pathways of the teenager's mind until his lashes lower and his touch ends with a feather light caress down the length of Onida's neck to the dip between his clavicles with put one single fingertip. Hesitating there, this too falls away, reaching up wordlessly to pull the silver pin that binds his hair, letting it fall and flow with a flutter against his back. "Stay." he says, almost too quiet to hear.

Onida isn't sure what to think of the touch to his chin, breath cut short in surprise, but movement isn't resisted and he allows contrasting shades of orbs meet. The immediate response is to pull away, but deep inside the teen doesn't want to. Whatever is going through his mind is not shared, some thoughts are better left to disappear into the abyss of his mind. Intimacy of gesture is not lost on the young man, if Sanso is feeling anything like what he's feeling right now, then Onida completely understand this. Hand is raised, to gently brush over his companion's own before returning once more to settle on the table before him. One of the pair were bound to give up the gaze, and Oni was just about ready to look away from that dark-eyed gaze when lashes are lowered and the look broken. It is only then that he remembers that his body needs oxygen, and that he had been holding his breath ever since it hitched in his throat. Of course, he only manages one quick breath when his neck is caressed by the unexpected touch. He swallows, body tensing unconsciously only to relax once more when contact is broken. The young man suddenly feels as if its gotten ten times hotter in here and a hand pushes upwards through his hair as breathing is concentrated on. Normal ears may not hear that single word, but heightened senses do, picking it up as quiet as it is. Pale gaze is lifted again taking in the long dark hair and the robed figure it belongs to. The only answer he can manage is a quick nod, he really didn't want to go back to his lousy lonely shack right now anyway.

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