Atticus regards the pipe as it is extended to him, shifts his eyes to meet the Medicine Seller's strange ones, then steps forward to accept it.
"How does a man from beyond this place command it so deftly, I wonder?"
At this question, he responds only with a thin smile, and doesn't rise to the bait. He supposes it is possible that this elf could simply be a cleverly disguised demon, and, though unlikely, it is better to err on the side of caution. "You're so certain that I'm not of this place?" he asks instead, and brings up the pipe to smoke from it.
It was good tobacco. A perfect blend for passing a pleasant spring day under the boughs of an orchard in full bloom. The Medicine Seller was always particular about such things, especially in his dreams.
"You are not a spirit," he repeated. Atticus had affirmed as much not a moment earlier. Still, he couldn't blame the man for being suspicious.
"Perhaps there are other things here aside from spirits and dreamers," he said. "But I have not met them. Nor read about them."
“Nor I,” Atticus replies, savoring the foreign taste of the smoke on his tongue. He shifts his eyes back to the face of the masked apparition still lurking within the line of paper trees several metres away. A moment later, and the Medicine Seller is the recipient of Atticus’ intense focus again, his peculiarly pale blue eyes studying the shape of the elf in front of him as though searching it for some indication of just what he is.
He offers him his pipe back; he may be a monster, but he’s not a greedy one. “You can affect the Fade,” he notes softly, recalling the show of fireworks that the Medicine Seller had made of the splash of color Atticus had painted across the air. “Are you somniari, or a spirit yourself?” He doubts the latter.
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"How does a man from beyond this place command it so deftly, I wonder?"
At this question, he responds only with a thin smile, and doesn't rise to the bait. He supposes it is possible that this elf could simply be a cleverly disguised demon, and, though unlikely, it is better to err on the side of caution. "You're so certain that I'm not of this place?" he asks instead, and brings up the pipe to smoke from it.
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"You are not a spirit," he repeated. Atticus had affirmed as much not a moment earlier. Still, he couldn't blame the man for being suspicious.
"Perhaps there are other things here aside from spirits and dreamers," he said. "But I have not met them. Nor read about them."
no subject
He offers him his pipe back; he may be a monster, but he’s not a greedy one. “You can affect the Fade,” he notes softly, recalling the show of fireworks that the Medicine Seller had made of the splash of color Atticus had painted across the air. “Are you somniari, or a spirit yourself?” He doubts the latter.