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Whoever had told Rasalas that there was a haunted gas station that someone needed to check out probably made a huge mistake, but at this point it was too late. They knew, and their curiosity had been immensely piqued.
For the better part of the morning, the black and white hunter had been flashing bashful little smiles to any even semi-unocuppied stranger and had given them the start of a spiel to politely ask them if they would want to go off on a journey to explore a very possibly haunted gas station surrounded by a spooky fog instead of doing their daily routine. Shockingly, so far everyone had decline, clearly having no sense of adventure, curiosity, or duty -- but Rasalas was very persistent. He was very sure eventually someone would show some interest, and so they kept an eye out, their amber gaze searching from where they stood in one of the far corners of the manor's main rooms, looking for someone who looked like they didn't have anything to do, or at least someone who didn't look like they had a good excuse to back out of going with them.
Since Sinclair had stumbled upon the League, he hadn't actively sought out any sort of companionship. The conversation was usually brought to him, and while he did engage with polite or impolite small talk simply out of basic respect, he never made any efforts to know anybody. It wasn't as bad as he though it would be, being out of self-imposed isolation and around others for the first time in a while, but still there was something distant, alone, about him. He didn't hate it here, he was utterly indifferent, reeling from the suddenness of it all. He spent a lot of time wandering around the Mansion, getting a feel for the place, admiring the dark and dusty rooms or the sunlit ones, entranced with the old furniture and general vibe of the place.
Exiting the hall he had chosen to wander down, he stopped in the wide doorless-doorway of a larger room, staring around curiously, taking in the tall ceilings and wide space. His eyes drifted around, passing the tuxedo cat as if he hadn't noticed them there at all, before finally landing on them again, actually seeing them this time. It took an awkward amount of time for Sinclair to say anything at all.
"Oh, my. Hello there." The edged of his mouth lifted in something that was almost a smile, but not quite. "Have I walked in on something?" It didn't appear to be so, but he thought he might ask regardless.
It was funny how similar the pair were, both new to this place, tossed into it all so suddenly. How they were both getting used to everything, how they were finding their way through the winding manor halls and the different rooms; they were so alike in that. Even, in some ways, how the two were handeling the newness was similar, getting to know the atmosphere and staying polite but slightly disengaged. The only difference was there was a more social, friendly, agreeable warmth to how Rasalas manuevered the halls of the league's camp, always existing in the a middleground between looking for a pleasant interaction and being perfectly fine existing by themselves; there was an approachableness in their reserve.
But today was different, if only because today they couldn't be reserved; not if they wanted to solved a mystery, not if they wanted to prove themselves useful. And that was enough of a reason to put themselves slight more "out there" than they had before. They were, however, pleasantly surprised when Sinclair himself did most of the work, the tom's gaze landing on theirs and drawing their attention. Rasalas hadn't bothered to break the silence, he had merely flashed a small, friendly grin that seemed to beackon a conversation, and almost seemed -- in the most soft, innocent sort of way -- to threaten that if Sinclair didn't eventually say something, they would. But then the other Hunter spoke, and their smile widdened, brightened into something almost lavishing, fawning, as if the other hunter had made their day and all their attention had fallen on them.
With a easy, warm stride, they closed the small distance between the two of them, before giving a slightly embaressed little laugh, as if Sinclair had uncovered some small, awkward little secret, and the cheerful look on their face seemed to fade to a sort of warm but slightly more reserved expression, the kind that was the perfect visual definition of a very sweet, "I'm sorry to bother you, but..."
"Something like that." Rasalas said, giving another small, soft chuckle. "I'm actually looking for someone to come with me to check something out. Apparently there's a situation involving a building in the old abandoned two-leg town that needs to be checked out, and I'm trying my best to avoid going alone." He explained, trying to sound as absolutely inviting as possible, before giving a small pause, eyes slightly widening, as if he were just struck by a realization out of nowhere. "Oh! By the way, sorry to not introduce myself a bit sooner, I'm Rasalas." There were still getting used to that, constantly introducing themselves; and it was worse because everyone here seemed like they knew everyone else. Introducing himself always seemed like the first way of making himself a stranger, but it always felt so necessary as well. A painful duality, but there wasn't much that could be done about it.
He eyed Rasalas as they came closer, taking a step backwards, unaware he had even done so until he was out in the hallway once more. "Sinclair." There was a hint of wariness in his voice, a suspicion of sorts, as he didn't entirely trust the cat before him. "What a peculiar request. . ." he trailed off, the better half of his mind telling him to decline, to go on with his day, but his words were immediately picked up again, "it'd be a pleasure to help. As much as the Mansion walls intrigue me, sometimes it does get rather boring."
"Lead the way, then. I don't know my way around." It was like he only said the words to fill empty space, because mere moments afterwards he had taken to walking down the hall. There was still a very slight, very numbed twinge of pain when he moved too freely, too quickly — it hadn't been long since Verne had brought him back after his fall from the hill, and the bruising from it, along with the scrapes from the briar bush, were still very apparent. His appearance was almost disheveled, hardly befitting of the way he presented himself.
He stopped suddenly, looking back, "oh, right, of course — lead the way." He stepped aside, allowing room for them to finally step in front of him. "What kind of situation are we talking, exactly? Do forgive me for being so curious, but I do appreciate being told what's happening when I'm dragged along somewhere."
The smile on Rasalas' face fell a bit as Sinclair stepped back, fading into a soft, hesitant confusion; keeping an air that was still overall warm, but now laced with a slightly more polite and formal reserve. While he didn't take a step back himself, he also didn't try and move any closer, instead softly leaning back a bit to afford the tom his own space.
Their smile returned a bit though at the tom's acceptance, and they had been about to open their mouth to give a very cheerful offer that he would gladly show Sinclair the way to the best of his ability, when the tom started walking down the hall. Rasalas merely blinked, taking a small pause and standing there, watching him a moment as if fully trying to fully mentally consolidate what the tom had just said to what the tom was doing. When Sinclair then looked back and re-gave the offer, he -- as warmly and politely as possible, though with a slight swiftness of step as if to not miss the opportunity again -- gently took his place in front of the other hunter, giving him a forgiving, albiet slightly befubbled look. "It's fine!" He practically chirped, as if he wanted to avoid the messiness of the awkward moment that would have risen up from lingering on the oddness of what happened a second ago, and he quickly waved it off as if it had never happened as he started leading the pair down the hall once more.
"Truth be told though, I'm not completely sure myself. I'm a bit sparse of information; but that's probably why they need cats sent out to look into things to begin with, to get precisely that." He said, a note of sympathy in his voice that served as a tacit understanding that his lack of knowledge was probably the last thing the other tom wanted to hear. "But what I do know is basically what I propositioned you with -- more or less. Essentially, in the abandoned town square there's one of those building that -- well, I don't know if you've seen them before, but they're the ones that all the monsters tend to stop at. The ones with those flat, square ceilings with a bunch of smaller, square-ish station-like areas underneath where the monsters actually stop at, and then normally there's a normal building off to the side that looks very similar to a smaller two-leg nest... You'll know it when you see it if you don't already, they're very identifiable. Anyways," Rasalas continued on as they finally passed through the manor's entrance and started to pull into the sparser part of the forest that surrounded it; what might have once been a rather large sum of nicely maintained land, before weeds and all sorts of other plantlife had started to rapidly overtake it. "Apparently a dense fog has been showing up around it and is spreading out to the entirety of the place, and of course with something like that people always think there's all sorts of spooky happenings going on." Rasalas said, a small, paper-thin grin forming on his face as he said the last part, as if it was all very amusing that people were thinking something scary was happening down there; though it was hard to tell if it was in some veiled mockery of the very idea, or for some other deeper, unspoken reason.
He threw a quick glance back at the tom following along behind him, only brief enough enough to meet his gaze for the slightest second. "Just out of curiosity, do you believe in ghosts Sinclair?" The question was said with all the lightheartedness of a joke, and yet just underneath there was something just a bit more serious, a bit more toying.
“I most absolutely believe in ghosts!” Before either of them would have had time to think, Eshek was upon them, appearing from nowhere to curl her forepaws around both their necks and hug them close. Except she wasn’t Eshek, because she’d found an old child’s dress up set in one of the usually-locked rooms, the ones with their doors covered in spiderwebs, and was now sporting a bowler’s hat and fake moustache. “Howdy, my fellow boys and men, they call me Timothy O’Neill. Pleasant salutations on this here wonderful morning,” she let go of Sinclair and began to roughly and emphatically shake Rasalas’ paw as she continued, cupping it between both of her own as she sat back on her hindlegs, “my, my, but you are lookin’ mighty well — send that ol’ ma of yours my regards.”
Then she suddenly laughed, let go of him, and ripped off her hat. “It’s me! Eshek!” She looked between the two with a huge smile, truly believing she’d tricked them. She gestured to her chest with her paws. “Eshek!” She laughed again and then set off ahead, still wearing her moustache. “Ah, man, it gets easier and easier every year.” As the not-yet-official-because-neither-of-them-had-the-insight-and-were-both-too-stubborn-to-make-it-official-especially-after-their-ongoing-fight-and-freeze-out-about-Laertes mate of the Nemesis, two-time Proxy, and former mate of a previous long-standing Nemesis, she got away with anything — and part of that anything was tagging along with any unwilling parties without consultation. More and more frequently something would go wrong around the League and Bermondsey would send out an investigative patrol, and they’d report back with a slightly fearful, ’sir… it was your wife again.’ And of course then Bermondsey would say ‘she’s not my wife!’ and the cycle would continue. Right now, though, she mostly needed a distraction from her son’s running away.
“So,” she continued, leading the way despite having no idea where they were going, “what’s the plan for today?” She suddenly turned around and, in a more suspicious, hushed voice, added, “if you guys are looking for some private place to hook up, I can totally arrange that.” Then she laughed again, her expression lightening, and she leaned back, tossing a dismissive paw at them and closing her eyes. “Totally kidding — I don’t procure places for stuff like that.” Then she grew serious again and leaned back in, her voice and face switching back to hushed and secretive. “Unless you’re lookin’.” She laughed again and snapped out of it, leaning back. “But you’re not!” She continued laughing and began walking once more. “UGH!” she exclaimed in a throaty roar, tossing her head. “I love it! Makes me feel young!” Which she was, if you subtracted the two years she’d been dead.
His suspicion returned, eyeing the back of Rasalas' head as he led the way down the hall, oblivious to his own strangeness, though Sinclair still nodded along at the explanation. He gave a brief smile of amusement as he explained what a gas station was — not because Sinclair knew exactly what it was, because he didn't, so his explanation wouldn't be much better than Rasalas', but because they seemed so determined to do it's description justice even though it didn't really make much sense in his mind. By the time they finished speaking, it had fascinated him enough that he didn't care much for the muddy details any longer. His confusion melted away. "How strange." He punctuated the word with the slight widening of his eyes.
Just out of curiosity, do you believe in ghosts Sinclair? He gave a quiet, drawn out hum before he spoke, "well —" but his words were cut off almost immediately by the arrival of another. He blinked, dumbfounded. "They do?" Was all he could say in response to Eshek's eccentricities, head faintly directed forward, tilted only slightly, his face all scrunched up.
"Oh, yes, of course. Youuu. . ." He looked to Rasalas, then towards Eshek where she appeared over their shoulder. He'd probably seen her around once or twice, maybe even talked to her — not that he would remember it, those little things always seemed to slip his mind, he'd noticed on his arrival, and he was stuck on repeat asking the same people their names over and over and over again until it finally stuck. If you guys are looking for some private place to hook up, I can totally arrange that. Almost immediately, he straightened his stance, almost startled by her proposition. "Wh — No — Not like that. Not at all." He gave a strained laugh, if only to be polite. He didn't say anything on the fact that she didn't even look that old, and obviously she was young enough to enjoy playing dress-up, still, not that Sinclair was one to judge.
Rasalas didn't dare break the handshake (pawshake?) with Eshek, even though by all means he barely knew what was happpening. One second ago he had been slightly slowing his pace, leaning in just a little closer to get Sinclair's answer, like it was a small, initimate little secret to be shared between close parties, the next the life proxy in a bowler's hat and mustache was putting them both in a very agressively friendly headlock. And now, they were shaking her paw with the most strained but appeasing grin they could muster, and nodding along with the madness with the most "Yes yes, of course you are!" kind of uneasy agreeableness he could muster.
And then Eshek ripped her paw away, and Rasalas found himself barely keeping his balance at the sudden jerk, regaining it in time to meet the she cat's gaze for the big reveal as he stood there, taking a small second to recover himself. "I never would have guessed." He said with a small, disbelieving shake of his head, and his words were so breathless and dumbfounded, it almost sounded genuine -- the shock at least was real. He had just been returning Sinclair's glance with a hint of a "Oh god, what in the world have we acidentally walked into?" look (you know the one) briefly gracing their features, before Eshek spoke up again. “if you guys are looking for some private place to hook up, I can totally arrange that." Rasalas jolted a bit at the mere question, immediatly breaking eye-contact with Sinclair before he too let out an awkward chuckle, in the same desperate, appeasing sort of way he had been doing everything since the she cat arrived. He didn't bother hand-waving off the notion, he figured Sinclair had done it enough for both of them -- instead, giving a small, quiet sigh. The sort that could have been mistaken for following such heavy laughter, if there wasn't a tinge of slight distress that was nearly resigned to this, as if he already knew there was absolute no escape.
"Well, uh, Eshek, it's so nice to see you! I don't think we've ever talked before really, so it's wonderful to actually meet you." He said, trying to be as polite as possible, but the tone was already in the tacit nature of a "Well we really must be going." "But me and Sinclair here were about to go down to the old town square. It's a bit of a journey really from what I've heard, very far." He said, in that sort of gentle way that implied that this was really going to be a slog, and that, really, she would probably want to be absolutely anywhere else but with them. Like, absolutely anywhere else, he would swear by it.
I never would have guessed. “Yeah, well, you’re a bit stupid, aren’t ya?” she muttered, the hint of a growl in her voice as her mood suddenly changed, like she was saying what kind of idiot wouldn’t have known it was me? Her sharp shoulders rolled as she prowled along in front of them. And then, when she spun around again, her expression was as smiling and enthusiastic as ever.
“Oh, the old town square?” Eshek exclaimed, leaning forward and letting out a laugh like the old town square and her were old friends, joining in for a moment with Rasalas’ laughter so that, for a few seconds, the two strangers were just laughing at each other in the middle of the woods, one markedly more strained than the other. “I loooove the old town square!” She completely glossed over his polite recognition of her, as though she were a celebrity who got told ‘it’s so nice to meet you!’ every day, as though she spent every day signing autographs on the other side of red velvet rope. “Well, if you’re heading to the old town square,” she laughed as she said it, tipping her head back and shaking it from side to side, “then you’re going the complete wrong way.” As if she hadn’t been the one leading them. She padded back over to them and ushered them in the proper direction, leaning over Rasalas with no recognition of personal space or propriety to pick an imaginary bit of fuzz off his shoulder. “Y’know, one time me and Ber — this was when she first met — went to this old gas station and got hammered on sushi.” She laughed, emphasising again to really slam the point home for her two new best friends, using her paws for emphasis: “I mean hammered.” She was clearly the sort to tell hour-long stories on roadtrips. “And then we stole a shopping cart and went—“ She soared her paw through the air from where she was walking between the two of them, perfectly at home in the centre of the action, and made a loud WHOOSHING sound. Then she burst out laughing. “Wouldn’t— wouldn’t it be nuts if you two bromantics were heading to that same gas station? Like, really, I mean that would be nuts.” She looked between them. “You know what else I was thinking? We should have a purge day. OR— we should get a donkey. I’d honestly be happy with either. Like, I haven’t killed anyone in a minute and that’s obviously a problem, but at the same time I want a donkey, you feel? You feel me. You’re my two homies.”
And then she was deathly serious, and it was suddenly obvious why she had once been a torturer. “Really, though. Why are you two not leaning into the obvious chemistry? Neither of you are that ugly — you’re even kinda cute.” She grinned slightly and bopped Rasalas on the nose. She looked between the two of them again. “So what’s up with that?” She was fully willing to be a therapist for their obvious domestic complications.
He didn't yet feel confident enough to try and meet Rasalas' eye again. It's a bit of a journey really from what I've heard, very far. He nodded with the words, slow at first, then eagerly, matching the tone it was said with, the same strain, the push.
"Oh, how wonderful." It sounded, in the most pleasant way possible, the least wonderful thing in the world, though Sinclair said it was a tight, toothy smile and a squint of his eyes, taking a moment to eye Eshek up and down from where he still stood behind Rasalas, like he was judging her. But he would never do that, he wasn't the judgmental type. At least, not when it came to appearances. He was simply studying her energy, her vibes, and he was conflicted on whether he liked them or not. But, he had to admit, her storytelling was absolutely enthralling, her sound effects only added to the atmosphere. He, too, wondered if they were going to the same gas station. "I have no idea. Perhaps." His grin lessened, less fake. He glossed over the whole killing thing, he was told to expect that here and, while he wasn't exactly into it himself, he was trying not to be so judgy about it.
He was so, so close to enjoying her company, so, so close to getting over the awkward air between him and Rasalas, but then — Why are you two not leaning into the obvious chemistry? Neither of you are that ugly. He made a slightly irked, slightly surprised sound, "I just met him a few minutes ago." He spoke with that same sense of false politeness, the slight passive-aggressiveness that would have had him clasping his hands together (if he had them) and smiling menacingly. Still, he gave a tiny, quick little glance at Rasalas, fleeting enough to hardly be noticeable, at least from their end.
It was hard to tell what in the world Rasalas was thinking as the she cat continued on. His appeasing, forced smile hadn't faltered a moment, not even when the she cat had straight up called him stupid right to his face; he just bit his togue and the agreeble look he had forced onto his face didn't shift in the slightest. In fact, his smile might have even slightly grown, if only because he was over-extending himself to make sure it didn't dissipate.
As she told her story, he nodded along with it, a very agreeble kind of nod, and every once in a while, to be a polite audience, did some of those nice active listening "Mhm..."s and "Ohh..."s to follow along with her, pretending to be very engaged. And, very briefly, when she mentioned the gas station and Sinclair mentioned it as well, he gave a meek, "Ah, well, maybe. Sounds like the same place." And then let her continue on. He had been on the path to uncomfortably accepting this arrangment, doing a very good job of getting up the illusion of not being perturbed in the least and not at all being the least bit upset that his personal space was being consistenly and agressively violated, when she brought up the whole implication of them being a couple again. It took everything in Rasalas to not slightly recoil at the bop on the nose, his smile for one moment puckering, but then he gave a small, re-gathering little sigh, and he managed to put it up again.
"Oh, no no, I think you're mistaken. Like Sinclair said, we literally just met." He said, in that polite but very sharp way, as if he was just trying to say upfront, very bluntly, what needed to be said to clear the room. Truth be told really, Rasalas might have agreed with Eshek in probably any other situation; Sinclair was very nice looking and he tended, generally, to think the same of himself. In fact, the prior comment about ghosts might, just might, have been something of the start of a passive flirt, but he would have never admitted now. Now someone was essentially telling them they should be together, and that made it awkward; which had substantially soured the mood.
Eshek hummed along, skipping between them. “Mm-hm, sure-sure!” she replied, clearly not believing them. “I’d introduce you to the king of falling in love five minutes after meeting so he could give you a couple’a pointers, but I think he’s off somewhere — next time, huh?” She laughed, the sort of okay, you crazy kids have fun laugh. Doefreckle would be mortified, but also impossibly grateful that she hadn’t found him and herded him into this. “Well, I’ll let you two love birds get on with it! Have fun doing whatever you’re doing — oh!” she added, just as she was disappearing into the undergrowth. “And try the sushi! It’s totally,” she mimed her heart thudding out of her chest, then laughed again. “Oh-hoh-kay.”
And with that, as quickly as she had blown in, like a catalyst, she left them in peace.
"Maybe, yeah." He nodded, giving the thin-lipped, fake kind of smiles as she laughed herself out of their company, gone as if she were a spectre that faded instead of walked away. The silence was deafening for the seconds afterwards, and Sinclair wasn't entirely sure what to say at all. To be fair, Eshek, maybe, had a point, a very small, very minuscule point — Rasalas didn't look terrible at all, and neither was his personality, but — hm.
He blinked at the spot she had just been in. "She just. . . alright. She's left, I think?" He looked around like he would suddenly find her crawling along the ceiling like a spider (which was a terrifying thought). "What a strange individual." He cleared his throat and gestured ahead, "shall we?"
Rasalas just nodded along as before, not saying anything; as if he in fear that if dared to she might come back, and then they would be swooped up into it all over again. Instead, even as she was backing out he just kept up that same, completely amicable air -- really, him and Sinclair made a great polite acting pair, he couldn't have asked for a better partner in this. Both just dry enough to not encourage her, and just enough social grace to not have her outright insulted. Rasalas was amazed it had gone this well -- and equally, not entirely convinced it had.
He too stared after where the life proxy had disapeared, disbelieving that she was truly, actually gone, and the strained smiled that lasted a moment to long on his face before it gently faded betrayed it. Still, when Sinclair spoke up again, he finally found the sliver, the smallest fragment of hope to hold onto that she had really left, hesitantly turning his gaze back to Sinclair with a slow nod in agreement. "What a strange individual." "Colorful." He agreed, warmly as possible, not daring to quite call her strange as he was still unconvinced she wasn't lurking in the shadows, about to pop-up from the darkness like a boogieman or say, "Gotcha!" from behind them any moment now. But when Sinclair spoke up again and turned his head straight ahead, he himself joined him, giving the other hunter what was probably his 30th nod so far in what was had probably been less than 10 minutes as he found it in him to start onward towards the town square once more.
"Of course." He said, in a polite, hurried way, now trying to falsely convince himself if they got enough of a move on that might save them from her return. And, as if to seal some cosmic deal with the some universal god of basic decorum, as if there was some divine protection that could come from polite conversation, he tried to return to a casual discussion once more. "Well, the league certainly does have a lot of interesting characters." He said with a timid laugh, trying to make a joke out of all of this now that it was over. At least, he hoped it was over.
"Oh, absolutely. Though, personally, I don't think I'm much less." There was something sly in his face, though in mere moments it was gone without expansion on the subject. The Life Proxy had been loud and eccentric in her oddness, Sinclair was quiet with his, covering it all up with genial smiles and — mostly — kind words, if not slight hints of derision. He knew it, too, because not everybody rose from their open graves, and not everybody left their entire family behind at the drop of a hat to live alone, and not everybody had the sense of guilt that came with choosing to live, like it was a gift they hadn't earned. His oddities were mostly buried in the past, if you looked past the occasional lapse in memory. He was suddenly aware of how much of a mystery Rasalas was to him, how little he knew. He'd take it as a challenge, then, to figure him out.
After their brief interruption, they were finally on the right path again, Sinclair letting Rasalas lead them down the hall and past the main parlour, the front door standing sitting ajar. He padded up to it, poked his head out the door to look around before stepping back, reminding himself once again that it was Rasalas that was leading the way.
"Oh?" Rasalas' voice rose up, a sort of toying curiousity in his tone. In truth he probably could have guessed sooner that something was a little off with Sinclair, with the way the tom constantly seemed to take the lead, then hesitate, then let him take the lead again. But to Rasalas, without context, those were meager little eccentricities, ones he was willing to look deeper into only after recieving the implication that they were connected to something more than surface level quirks. After all, there were a thousand cats out there who had their quirks who were, all in all, as normal as one could get; he himself had a thousand small eccentricities and oddities, though in hindsight, if one was looking for normal people with a bunch of quirks perhaps he was a bad example.
Continueing on leading the way, though this time slightly slowing his pace a little; ostensibly so that they could converse more easily, but also now for his own curiosity, to see if Sinclair would take the lead and then slow down again as he had a few times before, as if in actually setting it up and paying attention he could notice something in it he hadn't the past couples times the tom had done it. "How so? Why do you think that?" He asked, friendly as ever, a certain lightness to the tone that made it sound less prying and more simply curious. "You've seemed fairly normal to me so far. Not saying your boring or plain at all just -- well, that you seem fairly normal by comparison." Rasalas added with a small chuckle, throwing a small glance over his shoulder to where they had been sharing Eshek's "company" moments before.
Why do you think that? Sinclair only gave a smile, something withheld in its depths. "I can't just lay out all my secrets like that," he laughed, "no, not now, but maybe some other time. When I know you more." Not if. It was spoken as if it was bound to happen, as if they wouldn't just be done with each other after this simple task. Truthfully, he hoped, if only slightly, that they wouldn't be. Even in their miniscule time together, Sinclair had grown a small fondness for him, for his surface simplicity that clearly spoke of more underneath. Mostly, he was wary to share his particular secret because he wasn't sure he had the honour to yet — he had yet to earn his time back, his choice, and he knew he hadn't quite been himself afterwards, whatever his self had been before. There was a fear in unpacking it, at learning what had killed him and why he woke up, why he left everything. His own eccentricities were lost on him, he couldn't explain them if he wasn't sure of them himself or didn't know why he did them.
"I'm sure most seem normal in comparison." He didn't take the lead again. Letting him lead Sinclair out of the Mansion, he padded alongside him, gaze flickering to his paws and, with a slight readjustment, matching his own footsteps to Rasalas'. "We've all got our own mysteries." His smile was matched with a slight tilt of his head.
His ears perked at the comment, as if tacitly, very slightly, acknowledging that he heard it, that he had caught the additional meaning, but he didn't dare say a word in reference to it. Instead, his smiled widened just a hint more, and he gave a small, soft chuckle. "Well, I hope to earn the honor." He said, a gentle tease to his voice, but it was warm as ever as they continued along, finally breaking free of the mansion into the forest that surrounded it, and Rasalas made use of the fact that he had slowed his pace to orient himself a bit. He himself was perhaps only barely a better guide through the league than Sinclair would have been. He had briefly passed right by the abandoned town square once before, close enough to it that he had been able to see it over top the trees of the marshes, though he had never actually went there himself. Which meant, really, all he knew was that if they just kept walking north, they would get there eventually. But, perhaps luckily for both of them, while Rasalas had a endless supply of impractical skills and a small sum of actually helpful ones (survival wise, at least, and in the league that seemed to be mostly what counted as practical), navigation skills were one of the few survival skills he excelled in.
"I guess we do. Some less mysterious than others, but certainly we all have a history." Rasalas said with a laugh, as if he had skimmed over the "I'm sure most seem normal in comparison." comment — though he certainly hadn't, the curious glint to his eyes spoke to that even if his words didn't. "Oh! But on the topic of personal histories," He said, as if he had just been struck by a realization. "you're new too, aren't you?"
It wasn't quite as sudden as Rasalas made it out to be, the fact that he had figured Sinclair probably wasn't from the league. He didn't know for sure, but he had guessed at it by the fact the other hunter had said he didn't know the area well, and that was enough to be inclined to think he had either been away for a time, or he was as completely knew to life in the league as he was. Of course, Rasalas was inclined to presume the latter, and he was slightly hopeful in that assumption too; if only for the slight sense of comradery, for the passing sense he wasn't alone in walking through the halls of the mansion like it was an endless maze and stumbling into rooms he didn't intend, or feeling like he was going to have to spend a lifetime getting to the point where he could possibly navigate through the large expanse of league territory with any sense of complete confidence on where he was going. It was such an odd shift from his former life to one in the league, and perhaps there was part of him that wanted to feel just a little less isolated in that; though he would have been hesitant to outright admit it.
