Successful Mission [Traverse Town, Open, Incomplete]
He was taking great pains not to be seen. The flowing dark robes wrapped about his body, obscuring everything but his eyes, helped him blend somewhat into Traverse Town's perpetual night. He feared nothing on the streets, but for how his movements were tentative. He had learned interesting things in his first few days of observation, but he had yet to speak to anyone. He had, in fact, taken to running along the rooftops, and silently observing much of the Second District from above.
Oboro liked to tell himself he was being duly cautious, but a more self-defeating part of his mind informed him that he was really just being a coward. He couldn't keep living like this forever if he expected to make any headway. He was still sleeping out-of-doors, which hardly seemed to be the local custom. At the very least, he needed to find an inn or something like one. He sighed to himself as he took a seat on a flattened roof, removing his hood so he could feel a gentle wind blow through his hair and ear-tips. The streets and central fountain plaza spread out below him, their stone streets and marvelous machines still a wonder to his eyes.
Deep down, he knew he was waiting for some kind of sign that he wasn't about to make some sort of horrible mistake. Every time he thought he saw someone likely to be helpful, doubts squirmed through his mind as he thought of approaching. What if they were dishonest? What if they connived to have him killed by bandits in an alleyway? Then all he could see in his mind's eye were his friends dead on the battlefield and his palace overrun by Heartless, and his heart died. The irony, of course, was that the more time he wasted in Traverse Town, the more likely a disaster at home became. Something had to give, and soon.
Oboro liked to tell himself he was being duly cautious, but a more self-defeating part of his mind informed him that he was really just being a coward. He couldn't keep living like this forever if he expected to make any headway. He was still sleeping out-of-doors, which hardly seemed to be the local custom. At the very least, he needed to find an inn or something like one. He sighed to himself as he took a seat on a flattened roof, removing his hood so he could feel a gentle wind blow through his hair and ear-tips. The streets and central fountain plaza spread out below him, their stone streets and marvelous machines still a wonder to his eyes.
Deep down, he knew he was waiting for some kind of sign that he wasn't about to make some sort of horrible mistake. Every time he thought he saw someone likely to be helpful, doubts squirmed through his mind as he thought of approaching. What if they were dishonest? What if they connived to have him killed by bandits in an alleyway? Then all he could see in his mind's eye were his friends dead on the battlefield and his palace overrun by Heartless, and his heart died. The irony, of course, was that the more time he wasted in Traverse Town, the more likely a disaster at home became. Something had to give, and soon.