For all the limitations inherent in judging books by their covers, Misaiya had always thought it unreasonable to totally give up man’s most powerful perceptive tool - vision. And so, as he chuckled lightly at the recount of the morning class and Nyx’s unprofessional conduct, he observed.
Ankaa looked like a martial artist—perhaps it was the tied-up hair, and the way it floated wildly in the wind—and not one of those mystic types who were more philosopher than fighter in the less-than-positive ‘no action, talk only’ sense. Nor could she have been the opposite extreme, a bloodthirsty ruffian who beats people for fun, detests the weak, and has little brains to accompany their brawn; she surely had a better head on her shoulders than that. She appeared the more realistic and practical sort, who had the conviction and skill to defend themselves and those they held dear without losing to their own temper. The ideal practitioner of martial arts.
At least, that was Misaiya’s opinion. All predicated on an analysis that was anything but rigorous and the assumption that her demeanour reflected her character, he would note. A psychological report wasn’t his intention anyhow. As long as he kept the quick appraisal’s numerous caveats in mind, he could probably avoid prancing straight towards the most egregious faux pas.
Either way, Ankaa was friendly and easy enough to talk to, Misaiya thought.
Then he looked again at her face, a proper and careful look.
She had a questioning expression; not the questioning expression of a typical questioner, which would have been normal enough to evade notice, but the questioning expression of someone who was utterly bewildered, like a foreigner watching a bizarre and incomprehensible local practice. Misaiya hadn’t been listening too closely to her tone of voice, and the compounding marketplace-like bustle was of no help. It was hence unclear to him what exactly Ankaa had found so strange.
Time to put on the thinking cap.
There were three possible sources of her confusion, at least as far as Misaiya could identify from what she had spoken aloud.
“Are you two waiting to get a portrait done?” she asked disbelievingly. “Looks like a long wait,” she noted, expression puzzled.
The first, “you two”. This would make it an expression of surprise that Kress and Misaiya specifically were doing something together. It was immediately evident that this was unlikely at best. Barring some foreign social norm not known to him forbidding his interaction with Kress or other similarly unprovable speculation, there were no concrete grounds to suspect this as the cause.
The second, “waiting”. He would admit that he couldn’t see the slightest outline of a queue, but surely waiting was not so peculiar a sight even here.
The third, “to get a portrait done”. Ankaa was asking, ‘why spend so much time on a drawing of yourself?’ Maybe the idea of wanting your own portrait was inconceivable in some way to her. Hypothetically, could it have been rooted in self-image issues, someone who couldn’t stand the look of their own face and couldn’t imagine wanting to see someone draw it? Not impossible, but if his previous assessment stood true (and that was quite the colossal ‘if’) then fussing over looks in such a way would have been vapid vanity in her eyes. Plus, there was nothing in her appearance for her to be ashamed about, though it’s not as if that had ever stopped anyone.
No, hers was not an outright negative response at all; she did not hate portraits. Neutral - would be the best way to put it. No strong opinion, because portraits are frivolous. They do not serve a purpose.
By extension, this implied that Kress and Misaiya were also frivolous people. How, then, should he explain and justify himself? A more utilitarian approach would fit well, something about evaluating the quality of the cocurriculars perhaps, or building a network of contacts, or, but then again he couldn’t make it appear as if he’d been examining her so thoroughly because, well, that would be unnerving, so it had to be natural, and subtle, and since Kress was here too, sounding too utilitarian would be off-putting, plus, blundering and making a poor impression on Ankaa would have repercussions on more than himself alone and he had to account for—
He was hearing and half-listening to everything Ankaa and Kress said, trying to follow along with little nods and timely chuckles and a content smile on his lips that was not mirrored in his eyes. Yet, occupied as his mind was, none of their words and sentences had any real meaning. Even as they moved on and spoke of other topics, the gears in his head kept turning and churning his brain into smooth mush. What should he do…?!
Ankaa put a rest to all this thinking and rethinking. It took but one simple sentence; sincere, straightforward.
“I will join,” she confirmed.
…
Damn.
Misaiya noticed that he hadn’t put the thinking cap on all this while. No, it had been a dunce cap.
What have I been doing?
Why was his mind wracked with such crippling indecision and complex inanity at a time and place like this? It was a fun fair after all, meant to welcome the new batch of students, people like Kress and himself. He may as well have some fun. Yes, that was right on—
“As we seem to agree that we would like to see the experts at their work, may I suggest adopting the local custom and squeezing our way through?” Ankaa proposed, one arm spreading wide in the painters’ direction, the other turned towards her classmates, beckoning them with a come-hither motion.
And just as quickly, Ankaa’s suggestion triggered a momentary lapse from this newfound enlightenment.
On one hand, queueing was a fundamental component of civil society. Waiting alongside everyone else was a little bit of equality in an often unfair world, and in Suanneipua it was so inviolable a tradition that you could reserve a spot in the line with nothing but shoes, and a seat or a table with some paper or a coin (or even a whole purse, though that was still a bit of a gamble) and only an oblivious tourist or an utter rascal would dare to break the unwritten rules.
On the other hand, this schoolyard pseudo-market clearly wasn’t a civil society. When in Avalice, do as the Avaliceans do. Misaiya had been to bazaars and wet markets many dozens of times, so this sort of chaos was scarcely an alien environment. He thought about the one next to his home, with geriatric grandmothers outrunning wide-eyed whippersnappers to get first picks from the fishmongers and fruitsellers, how nostalgic!
On the other other hand, there was the exasperated parent’s favourite ‘if everyone jumped off a cliff’ rebuttal. Perhaps all customs were simply peer pressure, codified and normalised. Hm…
Absurdity brought Misaiya back to his senses.
Ah, whatever. The journey here had made his body weary; that bout of irrationality had tired his mind. To live a simple, honest, and genuine life, like his two peers, Kress and Ankaa: that would be an ideal worth striving for. Ankaa had shown the futility of overthinking just now; it wouldn’t do Kress and Misaiya much harm to follow their senior’s lead again. Elder’s wisdom and what not.
“I haven’t any objections. We’ll be in your care.” Misaiya turned to look at Kress, asking for his assent, even as he expressed his own approval.
He faced the stall again, from which emanated laughter and cheering - someone must have been trying to hold an untenable pose, or perhaps made into a comedically grotesque caricature.
“I wonder what they can do. Should we ask for a realistic drawing, or something cartoonish, or…?” Misaiya let his voice trail off. It was rhetorical, more a vocalised thought than a serious question. He did have something to ask, though. Cocurriculars had brightened up many a slow and dreary day, becoming something he looked forward to and dedicated hours to without the slightest regret. If the school life and learning in Avalice was as holistic and broad, it would be quite wonderful.
“How are the clubs here? Are you in any, Ankaa?”
