[Who needs magic when you have bullshit scifi. Clearly superior, join the club, Sansa. He laughs, brief and self-effacing, while he swings the Transistor onto a shoulder and matches her pace, trailing unhurried after Lady until he catches up. She gets a head start, but he's got a long stride.]

Getting there, I think. Or at least, getting better at rolling with the punches. Thanks for bearing with me.

[Growing pains and all. Neither Wyver nor Olympia is very much like Cloudbank at all, and it still manages to be pretty dizzying. But he's always been pretty good at taking things as they come. (Pretty much the only thing he was much good for in the first place.)]

This what you usually do in your spare time?

[Odd jobs. (Quests.) That sort of thing. He's the type, for sure. Good-for-nothing, no-talent, Unselected nobody. Drifting from place to place without ever really committing. Everyone in Cloudbank had a passion, but Boxer had never really found a use for himself. Sansa, on the other hand, strikes him as a little more put-together.

...Then again, they're all just putting their lives back together, here. Some are just further along than others.]