What humor there was... perhaps it'd be better to say it was bemusement that the question 'Are you alright?' was asked. He certainly hasn't the energy nor interest to pursue it further. Already what little strength he's gathered is waning. Whether it's consciousness or the attempt to rise that drains him so Elidibus isn't sure.
Whatever the man is going through, he seems to have enough wits about him to take care with the help Lioriley offers. Both will probably realize soon that standing is too much to ask of his strength or hers; Elidibus falls heavily against the nearest wall, a knee weighing against an empty crate. Though with the Lunari's aid, he'll at least be able to keep a certain dignity by shifting around and turning crate to seat, wall to backrest.
Eyes closed, the Ascian sags against the supports, trying once more to assess his condition. Far, far more drained than his defeat, yes. But it would be shocking not to be. Elidibus opens his eyes again and studies the source of timely aid. Recognition dawns on him.
"You're one of the newest passengers. ...Lioriley, wasn't it?" Elidibus furrows his brow momentarily, having spied the mist of tears, the sign of guilt and sadness. They possessed no close bond and barely a handful of words had been exchanged between them before.
The Ascian muses the matter and comes to think of a few possible reasons. Though it will not be immediately broached. Instead he offers an answer to her unspoken question. One that takes a tilt of his head in consideration before giving a shake (very carefully) of his head. "I fear your own life would be spent ere I gained even an onze-" some unit of measure it seems "-of what I need to recover."
Not that he's in any shape to really determine if that is a fact, nor will he imply his uncertainty. It's usually a reasonable assumption in most circumstances. Now Eldibus looks steadily toward the Lunari.
"I don't know how long it's been. I believe it was the twenty-fifth of Poi." Since he died. Minutes? Hours? Days? "What day of the train's month is it? What has happened since?"
He has no reason to expect Lioriley's grief is specifically for him.
[Closing I (Luggage Entry) to Lioriley]
Whatever the man is going through, he seems to have enough wits about him to take care with the help Lioriley offers. Both will probably realize soon that standing is too much to ask of his strength or hers; Elidibus falls heavily against the nearest wall, a knee weighing against an empty crate. Though with the Lunari's aid, he'll at least be able to keep a certain dignity by shifting around and turning crate to seat, wall to backrest.
Eyes closed, the Ascian sags against the supports, trying once more to assess his condition. Far, far more drained than his defeat, yes. But it would be shocking not to be. Elidibus opens his eyes again and studies the source of timely aid. Recognition dawns on him.
"You're one of the newest passengers. ...Lioriley, wasn't it?" Elidibus furrows his brow momentarily, having spied the mist of tears, the sign of guilt and sadness. They possessed no close bond and barely a handful of words had been exchanged between them before.
The Ascian muses the matter and comes to think of a few possible reasons. Though it will not be immediately broached. Instead he offers an answer to her unspoken question. One that takes a tilt of his head in consideration before giving a shake (very carefully) of his head. "I fear your own life would be spent ere I gained even an onze-" some unit of measure it seems "-of what I need to recover."
Not that he's in any shape to really determine if that is a fact, nor will he imply his uncertainty. It's usually a reasonable assumption in most circumstances. Now Eldibus looks steadily toward the Lunari.
"I don't know how long it's been. I believe it was the twenty-fifth of Poi." Since he died. Minutes? Hours? Days? "What day of the train's month is it? What has happened since?"
He has no reason to expect Lioriley's grief is specifically for him.