The fox seated like a small, attentive sentinel fixes eyes the colour of pale saffron on Palamedes at his approach, her ears swivelling forward. She emits a soft not-quite-bark and backs up a pace or two, her puff of a tail flicking low near the dusted silver and black fur covering her paws. Jin Guangyao turns his head sharply towards Palamedes, alarm in his very wide eyes. Fear, the reactions of both omen and man transparently and unconsciously communicate.
But then: "Good morning. Do you need a hand?"
The tension goes out of his shoulders at the greeting, and the explanation that follows, and something that might even be called a smile settles at the corners of his mouth. The fox's ears also relax, though she stays put by his feet. Jin Guangyao dips his head once in acknowledgement of what he has heard and turns over one of the warding talismans in his grasp, examining the careful calligraphy he has placed upon it with cinnabar. "This one still has much to learn about the resentful energies of this place, and what will or will not work to deter them," he says--'this one,' evidently, referring to himself.
He rounds his arms and performs a precise bow; not so low as to be obsequious or mocking, but enough to acknowledge the generosity of such an offer from a stranger. It would be pitch perfect in Lanling City when coupled with self-deprecating courtesy language--but he has already miscalculated once in his initial meeting with another newcomer. He adjusts. "Your offer is very kind, xiansheng. I would not wish to impose." But the top of that gate is very high, and he's super short, so he's not going to say no outright.
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But then: "Good morning. Do you need a hand?"
The tension goes out of his shoulders at the greeting, and the explanation that follows, and something that might even be called a smile settles at the corners of his mouth. The fox's ears also relax, though she stays put by his feet. Jin Guangyao dips his head once in acknowledgement of what he has heard and turns over one of the warding talismans in his grasp, examining the careful calligraphy he has placed upon it with cinnabar. "This one still has much to learn about the resentful energies of this place, and what will or will not work to deter them," he says--'this one,' evidently, referring to himself.
He rounds his arms and performs a precise bow; not so low as to be obsequious or mocking, but enough to acknowledge the generosity of such an offer from a stranger. It would be pitch perfect in Lanling City when coupled with self-deprecating courtesy language--but he has already miscalculated once in his initial meeting with another newcomer. He adjusts. "Your offer is very kind, xiansheng. I would not wish to impose." But the top of that gate is very high, and he's super short, so he's not going to say no outright.