The phrase "basketball" makes O'rhok immediately think of dozens, if not hundreds, of small balls being released or pelted at players carrying baskets trying to catch them all. He's not sure if this is accurate or not, but there's a curiosity in Tetsuya that distracts him from the absurd question of sport.
"Oh, Giggity? Well he's a spriggan, and they're known mostly to eat rocks and minerals. Glass is a treat for him, shells too when I come across them. I picked him up when he was only about yey big," He makes a circle with his thumb and index finger, about the size of a large cotton ball. Once the spriggan is finished crunching, grinding, and swallowing his delicious bottle, he'll probably fall asleep in the sac for a few hours.
Tetsuya tells him about Japan, and O'rhok feels a content rumble kick at his ribs.
"We call it Doma," he says, his tail giving an idle swish behind him- short, coarse blue fur with a wide black tuft at the end like a lion's. "Green rice grows around ever hill, and heat's so thick you could carve it with a sword. The persimmons and papercraft show how sweet and detailed the people are, but they're strong too. Too strong for words."
This kid isn't Doman, but he's also a kid. To O'rhok's eyes he can't be beyond his teenage years yet, and it ticks a box the older man wasn't conciously checking for: Tetsuya is young. Why is he here? Why would the moons pick a young man whose barely earned the right to be one?
"How old are you, kid?" He's fit and has a runner's look to him, lean and in good health, but unarmed. "You any good in a fight yet?" O'rhok is unarmed too of course, except for his claws and know-how, but that's only the surface of things. Lunatica is safe, at least up here on this level.
no subject
"Oh, Giggity? Well he's a spriggan, and they're known mostly to eat rocks and minerals. Glass is a treat for him, shells too when I come across them. I picked him up when he was only about yey big," He makes a circle with his thumb and index finger, about the size of a large cotton ball. Once the spriggan is finished crunching, grinding, and swallowing his delicious bottle, he'll probably fall asleep in the sac for a few hours.
Tetsuya tells him about Japan, and O'rhok feels a content rumble kick at his ribs.
"We call it Doma," he says, his tail giving an idle swish behind him- short, coarse blue fur with a wide black tuft at the end like a lion's. "Green rice grows around ever hill, and heat's so thick you could carve it with a sword. The persimmons and papercraft show how sweet and detailed the people are, but they're strong too. Too strong for words."
This kid isn't Doman, but he's also a kid. To O'rhok's eyes he can't be beyond his teenage years yet, and it ticks a box the older man wasn't conciously checking for: Tetsuya is young. Why is he here? Why would the moons pick a young man whose barely earned the right to be one?
"How old are you, kid?" He's fit and has a runner's look to him, lean and in good health, but unarmed. "You any good in a fight yet?" O'rhok is unarmed too of course, except for his claws and know-how, but that's only the surface of things. Lunatica is safe, at least up here on this level.