Federico blinks. That was Lateran. Well—Siracusan in dialect, but still. On this landship? Unexpected. Concerning? No. Just... mildly disorienting. Like finding a perfectly good croissant in the middle of a battlefield. Not a bad thing, though. His posture relaxes slightly, finally putting familiarity to Mario's accent.
“I see.” He makes no attempt to stop the man from clambering off him—just lets it happen, completely unfazed. He has surprising experience with children doing the same thing, actually. They tend to have terrible balance. “You did not harm me. I am alright.” His head tilts slightly, following Mario’s gaze to his leg. Ah. Right. That.
“There was an… altercation with a large fowlbeast on the lower levels of the ship,” he explains, as if that’s a perfectly normal thing to say. “I needed to extract a severely injured ally from danger, and the beast injured me slightly right before I escaped with him.” Still seated on the floor, he straightens up a bit. “The injury is minor, especially compared to Flamebringer’s state. Dr. Ratio merely requested that I stay off the leg until further notice.”
There’s a pause.
Federico very deliberately forces himself to relax again. This man is addressing him by name, not title. He’s not asking for a report—his questions come from curiosity. From concern. And the problem is... Federico has no idea how to respond to that.
Luckily, he’s spared the trouble when Mario moves to retrieve the crutch—a kind gesture. But then Mario freezes.
Federico’s mind instantly switches gears. Was he injured? No… but the plumber looks afraid. His gaze flicks from Mario to the water, then to the crutch, then back again. More data required.
“…Are you alright?” he asks carefully. A pause. “Is the water corrosive, perhaps?”
no subject
“I see.” He makes no attempt to stop the man from clambering off him—just lets it happen, completely unfazed. He has surprising experience with children doing the same thing, actually. They tend to have terrible balance. “You did not harm me. I am alright.” His head tilts slightly, following Mario’s gaze to his leg. Ah. Right. That.
“There was an… altercation with a large fowlbeast on the lower levels of the ship,” he explains, as if that’s a perfectly normal thing to say. “I needed to extract a severely injured ally from danger, and the beast injured me slightly right before I escaped with him.” Still seated on the floor, he straightens up a bit. “The injury is minor, especially compared to Flamebringer’s state. Dr. Ratio merely requested that I stay off the leg until further notice.”
There’s a pause.
Federico very deliberately forces himself to relax again. This man is addressing him by name, not title. He’s not asking for a report—his questions come from curiosity. From concern. And the problem is... Federico has no idea how to respond to that.
Luckily, he’s spared the trouble when Mario moves to retrieve the crutch—a kind gesture. But then Mario freezes.
Federico’s mind instantly switches gears. Was he injured? No… but the plumber looks afraid. His gaze flicks from Mario to the water, then to the crutch, then back again. More data required.
“…Are you alright?” he asks carefully. A pause. “Is the water corrosive, perhaps?”