@pollaplous
Namrask stands in the shade of his hand-built stall, situated in the Eliksni quarter of the City. This place below the Great Machine was nothing but ruins of past battle, abandoned, but not forgotten by Humanity. In his grasp is a loom, and while often full attention is required to keep the strands from catching or tearing, he cannot afford it. Humanity has been unkind to him and his since they arrived, and with the Guardians only half caring to help, he has to make sure to keep a keen gaze on the space before him.
People come and go but keep their distance for the most part, an occasional look sent his way or an unfamiliar phrase. It is not hard to tell what the words might mean in how the people enunciate. Anger is the easiest to understand, as is fear. Even before the City he had his fair share of that emotion from Humans. Namrask is at a disadvantage here, though, unlike before when he’d stood atop a mountain of flesh and bone-
He stops briefly from the task at hand to clear his head. He is not that Eliksni anymore. Namrask is here to create, to weave, live without having to endlessly take. How ironic for him to feel this after all he had done.
Taking a slow breath and Ether ebbing from his mandibles on the exhale, motion captures his gaze. Pulling closer the fabrics draped over him, Namrask leans forward and sets the loom onto the table behind the counter, eyeing this stranger with an air of curiosity. They are a Guardian, he assumes. Humanity here often dressed in vibrants and extravagance where it could be afforded but Guardians were even more excessive. It reminds him of their lost home.
He sits there waiting to see what this one is going to do, knowing full well the Human expression of ‘being on thin ice’ applies to all of them in the Great Machine’s City.