pyro-latry:
Willow, eternal in her nature, didnât say much of anything while she was chirped at. Just a bit dumbstruck, she stood and tilted her head one way, then the other. That name was hardly one she knew how to replicate, and for a moment or more, Willow was left just feeling badly for the other. Thatâs one of those things where it seems downright impolite to mention.
So, she stands in front of the other, tilting her name and giving the symbol a look. Itâs pretty, despite her inability to repeat it. Her own tongue is not made for those things. âDo you, um, have a nickname that you like? I donât like the idea of just being like âhey, youâ, seems impolite.âÂ
Realizing her ramblings, Willow looks upon the White Cloak, tilting her head, pigtail flopping to one side. âIf you donât, thatâs perfectly fine, I mean. I could help you find one if thatâs what you want, but, eh.â She shrugs soon after, looking just a little bit lost on what sheâs supposed to do or say for this strange being.Â
The White Cloak squinted its eyes, though not out of anything like displeasure or something negative like that. It tilted its head in kind, mimicking Willow, and then turned its gaze downwards towards the ground, where it had traced its name.
It had been offered a nickname before, and at the time, it turned it down. It didnât think it needed one. It still thought that, but it had learned by now that being given a nickname wasnât a sign that they were disregarding your actual name. Rather, it tended more to being a friendly gesture.
Even still... the White Cloak didnât want a nickname so much as a title? The White Cloak kept its gaze downward and chirped out a quiet note: If anything, call me Companion.
















