[ooc: Should I hold back Esteban a bit for them to talk before he encounters them or should he meet them next post? Also, I tried to describe Sanctuary as Esteban would have seen it, but I have no idea more than a quick search, so, sorry if it's all over the place.]
The land he encounters is-- odd. Very, very odd. There's metal everywhere, such a wealth of it that he's never seen before. The sun glancing off the structures hurt his eyes and drive a wedge of distraction-- his curiosity is ever insatiable-- but he hasn't come here for this. In the thrum of a thousand voices, there are people coming and going and the sky shifts in distracting colours overhead, which he doesn't dare glimpse at.
Amaya. He holds fast onto the memories he has of her, their easy chat always derailing as Esteban poked and prodded and asked questions, enjoying learning what he could about her, about her world, about her values. He hadn't expected her world to look so... different. Somewhere along, he'd thought Amaya was from a world like his-- but. Not important. He has to find her right now.
Her language-- the language he's been keen to learn turns out to he an incredibly strong pull to her. It is so unique, so strange and interesting because it relies so much on movement, on expressions, on watching the person rather than listening. Most people can recognize voices from afar when they loves the person dearly enough.
Now he wonders if Amaya has specific hand gestures, has a way of moving her pinky or her thumb or something that traces an accent in her patterns. (Esteban himself knows that if he flattens his hand too much, his pinky sticks out. He has no idea why, and it has been difficult to try and fix whenever he gestured too excitedly.)
He follows the thread of it, the string in this foreign labyrinth guiding him forth.
No worries! Hope the puppy is doing better .__.
The land he encounters is-- odd. Very, very odd. There's metal everywhere, such a wealth of it that he's never seen before. The sun glancing off the structures hurt his eyes and drive a wedge of distraction-- his curiosity is ever insatiable-- but he hasn't come here for this. In the thrum of a thousand voices, there are people coming and going and the sky shifts in distracting colours overhead, which he doesn't dare glimpse at.
Amaya. He holds fast onto the memories he has of her, their easy chat always derailing as Esteban poked and prodded and asked questions, enjoying learning what he could about her, about her world, about her values. He hadn't expected her world to look so... different. Somewhere along, he'd thought Amaya was from a world like his-- but. Not important. He has to find her right now.
Her language-- the language he's been keen to learn turns out to he an incredibly strong pull to her. It is so unique, so strange and interesting because it relies so much on movement, on expressions, on watching the person rather than listening. Most people can recognize voices from afar when they loves the person dearly enough.
Now he wonders if Amaya has specific hand gestures, has a way of moving her pinky or her thumb or something that traces an accent in her patterns. (Esteban himself knows that if he flattens his hand too much, his pinky sticks out. He has no idea why, and it has been difficult to try and fix whenever he gestured too excitedly.)
He follows the thread of it, the string in this foreign labyrinth guiding him forth.