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[indent]Mio smiled, but a part of her was sad to have given up so easily. She’d become so accustomed to spending these festivals alone that, the idea of not only attending, but attending with [i]company[/i] seemed so strange, so outlandish, but also so enticing. She knew better of course, but she couldn’t shake feeling that she ought to have put up more of a fight—not with Haruhi, just with herself.

It didn’t matter though, shortly after, a strange voice filled the front of the smithy. Mio didn’t pay it much mind; most of the village spoke to her as little as possible, and she wagered she knew only a handful of voices well enough to remember. Haruhi’s curiosity however was piqued, and like an observant squirrel, poked her head out of the back to see. That didn’t last long. She retreated almost immediately, so suddenly that she dropped the freshly-fixed hoe—which thankfully held up to the fall—and tripped over herself.

Mio wasn’t the fastest person in the village, but when you worked with hot metal and roaring flames, it paid in flesh to have good reflexes. With a lurch she caught Haruhi by the arm as she fell, and held her without much trouble; the young farmer was toughened by a life of hard labor—made notably harder by her own self-imposed limits—but was still smaller, and nowhere near as heavy as the anvils and steel pipes and pallets of work that Mio moved around on the daily. 

Of course, once she’d pulled Haruhi upright, she realized she was not only touching her, but [i]grabbing[/i] her. When was the last time she’d grabbed [i]anyone[/i]? Haruhi’s arm was…well, not quite thin thanks to her farmwork, but Mio could feel flesh and muscle yielding under her fingers, felt, she thought, pulse and bone deeper down. She’d bent metal rods thinner than this with her bare hands. 

[i]How would Haruhi bend?[/i]

Mio breathed sharp, and let the girl go with mortified shock. 

“[color=f26522]Sorry,[/color]” she muttered, mind threatening to tilt into a whirl of guilt and self-loathing. She was spared only by the reminder that they had guests—guests who had, apparently, spooked Haruhi. 

Peering out into the smithy, she took stock of the crowd. Keiko was still here, along with Fumiko and, of course, Tsubasa, who was face to face with their guest. He was…well, even Mio could recognize that he was a stranger here; scarred and weathered like beaten leather, he wore an outfit of metal over his clothes, painted red with a fiery hand on his chest.

He handed Tsubasa what could only be described as a weapon. It made Mio’s heart race in a dangerous way, as did the strange device at his other hip. She listened to him speak about a lord, about negotiations—he said '[i]we[/i]' which surprised her, how many were there?—and then about—

About…

Who was this man? She peeled her eyes away from the things he held, looked to the others. Over the years she’d become very good at picking up people’s discomfort, even, and especially, when they tried to hide it, whether out of politeness or fear. To Mio, this looked like fear. Keiko especially seemed to be angling for a retreat, and for a moment she wondered if their guest would let her leave. 

She decided not to wait to find out. 

“[color=f26522]One moment,[/color]” she said quietly to Haruhi. She didn’t want to leave the girl alone, but she also wasn’t sure if it was best she follow. In the end, she decided to trust Haruhi’s instincts, which were surely much sharper than her own. 

Mio made her way out into the smithy proper, emerging from the smoke and shadows to stand with Tsubasa. She tried to make a subtle barrier between the man and Keiko, who she hoped would take the opportunity to slip away, and studied the stranger in silence.
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[sup][right][color=f26522]Tags:[/color] [@Lemons] [@Asura] [@Hero] [@Maxx] [@Queen Arya][/right][/sup][/indent]