cashing in my bad luck

She's strange. Curious and strange. Gin can't help it, peering carefully at the stranger who speaks of creating something... something that spoke of home. This was a cause for intrigue. Another careful, curious step brings the pale creature towards him. One foot in front of another. The desire to listen to his words isn't a new one. No, Gin is a collector of stories, and that means she's a grand listener on top of everything else. She's happy to listen to the man, and what he has to say.

A pack that's like that of their homeland. It makes sense, the way he speaks. The way that he talks... Gin nodded once. We shouldn't, there was a glimmer in her soft, champagne gaze. She's electric with it, alive with it. We shouldn't blend in with the rest, after all. What do I call you? The words were soft, swift. She wanted to know, and she wanted to hear his stories. The stories... there had to be stories. How would she know how to tell his stories if she didn't know his name?

Speech