@lungtienhsiang
It’s one of the better days for him. Not necessarily a great one - he feels weak and slightly nauseous when he attempts to stand on his own, which means that it’s Mobility Aid (”a cool wheelchair, that can like. Handle various terrains. Preferably somethin’ I don’t have to push by myself all the time. Maybe put some cool windy decals on it.”) time.
To say that he’s a little startled when he wheels out into the hall and finds a skeleton would be an understatement. He almost jumps clean out of his seat, which is an achievement, and the chair seems to wobble uncertainly when he crashes back down, as though threatening to tip over. That’s not the only change, though - the entire hall is filled to the brim with banners and other decorations in oranges and blacks and purples, and pumpkins, too. Why pumpkins? The fuck’s a “Halloween”?
Levin shakes his head, and wheels the hell out of there. The skeleton may or may not be fake, but... jeez. Kinda creepy to see that first thing.
The rest of what he finds in Nectar is far more pleasant. The first thing he hears on exiting the Flats is distant music from the Central Hub, and he all but ignores the lovely flower displays to speed on over (Really, they’re lovely - just not his thing! He isn’t even sure he can identify half of these plants! He’s pretty sure those flowers over there don’t exist in any part of Jugdral, and if they do, he’s content to remain unaware of them!). There’s fair games as well: some standard faire, other than the flashing lights and shiny new mechanisms; others are strange and new. He could probably win something at one of the dart games, honestly, if he could keep his hands steady - but that’s still not what he’s interested in.
He stops at a decent distance from the stage and stays there, sinking down into his chair, letting the music wash over him. There’s new styles, strange and unfamiliar, but it doesn’t matter; he likes them all the same. Eyes closed, his fingers move idly, picking out notes and chords as though playing them on the lute he doesn’t currently have with him. Perhaps he can borrow one, maybe he can get on stage and bring back his act as a bard. That would be fun. He can’t move like he used to, but...
He’s lost in thought like that until the shadow passes over his face, and his eyes snap right on open. There is, a dragon here. There was not a dragon before. The part of him that remembers the dracoknights of Thracia goes high on alert, blaring out a warning signal, but -
Beside him, in the wheelchair, the Forseti tome feels calmingly warm. He breathes out; this is not a Thracian dragon. It definitely is a dragon, but it’s not so harshly spiky and fierce looking. There’s something about this dragon...
It’s hovering in the air now, lower than before, within reasonable earshot of him speaking, and the performer on stage is just about to wrap up. It’s not like he’s shouting rudely in the middle of the performance. “Um? Hello! Big dragon!”
...Most of the dragons he’s known haven’t actually been the speaking sort. Hm.