*
Voices filled every corner of the day, amassing into one incongruous deluge of noise. Bustling couldn't begin to describe the amorphous wriggling figure of people passing through the markets. It was loud, and it smelled really bad, yet it wasn't as packed as a modern commercial zone where people squeeze like sardines and swim through flesh to reach their destination.
Compared to the ruins of that village... The emptiness of their shattered structures flash in Lastia's mind for a moment, as if haunting her, but she promptly brushed it off. The incessant buzzing around her felt downright comfortable next to the eery stillness of a village's desecrated corpse. After all, it was the sound of activity, of the city's lifeblood. The markets and roads are its veins, the goods travelling likened to oxygen, the putrid roiling air seemed like a sign of health akin to a steady blood pressure.
"mrhh it looks a little small, and it sucks that I can't try it first...." (Lastia)
"Try it? Did you want to strip in public? Anyway, trust my judgement! It's supposed to be snug when you put it on, getting a couple sizes small should be no problem." (Leslie)
They don't have the concept of changing rooms or customer experience. Most of the commerce in this era will be from crude stalls set up by anyone on the street. To expand business, they'd have to build up an entire guild and hire private mercenaries to guard their goods, the barrier to entry was monumental for the average joe.
"Should we buy some food before we go? Ah, but we don't have a kitchen. So it might be limited to bread and cured meat." (Lastia)
"... I don't have experience in that regard. If you think it's necessary, then so be it. " (Leslie)
A blush briefly crept over her cheeks, but Lastia thought she was tough for admitting her faults. Maybe it's her prejudice for noble ladies, or rather than prejudice some trivial expectations had quietly filled her mind. Maybe it's because of media from her original world, but noble ladies always give off that 'ojou-sama' air. Instead of being revolted by it, she saw the haughtiness as essential to the ojou-sama experience... Dismissing such rude thoughts, they calmly walked on basking in the atmosphere.
"Let's get some. It's always good to have some on hand for emergencies." (Lastia)
Leslie caught a glimpse in her voice, of a Lastia she had never seen. Somehow it sounded bitter, like words chewed out of her throat. Curiosity was like honey beckoning to her, but she knew people kept secrets for reasons. She had many of her own, apart from the general circumstance of competing with her family over the governor position, a situation you could find in any city, she didn't talk much about herself. She grew up in a sheltered environment, she can clearly admit that much.
She can easily say it all, about what everyone has said, what everyone has seen. In this world, of course news doesn't travel easily. No one truly knows what happened, what happened to her. Everyone knows about families in high positions fighting for things that don't matter to them, but they won't know what she's been through. If given enough time, would she be able to say it? What she wanted to say, what she wanted to scream to the world, what she wanted to protest for her whole life.
Lastia was slightly aloof, at least according to Leslie. This was because Lastia disliked talking about herself, mixed the first impression of her immense strength then results in an air of mystery. Lastia wasn't aware in the slightest, she didn't even notice it, because it was the natural conclusion of her inclination. This was a foreign world, it wasn't her enemy but she basically treated it like one even if her only target was the demon king.
She's stuck here, but she came here with purpose using data from her own soul as the gateway. The past version of her planted that gate, it only made sense to her if there was some higher purpose to it. As a result, she never treated this place like home, never treated the people as people. Everything here was a prop that either served as a clue to her past, or was something ultimately worthless.
Technology was only at the medieval level, the quality of life is generally low, people might have once lived like this in the past but she despised it. Despised how she can't help them all, how she couldn't change much for the wider world. When it came down to it, with the tragedy at the village on the capital's outskirts even 'props' would elicit strong emotional reactions. This was no flaw on her subconscious stance, but rather proof that her viewpoint was fluid and always changing, covering up for the times she treated them as less than human against her awareness.
Even Leslie here was just a sub quest, her problems aren't meant to be solved but to be conquered. Having enemies target Leslie meant that exp was coming to her instead of having to hunt them down. She saw it as an essential problem to solve... Not in the way she believed she did. Before meeting Lastia, she had used every resource in her disposal just to escape with her life, every connection and every means to her burned in the embers of conflict.
She had nothing left, nothing but her name. Even her clothes was given to her by someone kind hearted when they saw her ruined dress. Honestly, she didn't even have any hope left. No doubt she would continue to be pursued as long as she was in this city, her enemies are amongst the guards pacing along the border wall, if she wanted to live she needed capital to hire bodyguards. Once again, she believed she had nothing left going for her, at the end of her road she found her.
Lastia turned around, immediately noticing Leslie was no longer following her pace. It was daytime, but in an era of low public security anything could happen. Leslie was reminded that she was carefully being watched, for a reason obfuscated to her, her heart was feeling warm. The light shone through Lastia's ink black hair, some parts were shaded a deep red that shifted with perfect gradient, painting a picture esque scene.
"Is something wrong? We're almost there." (Lastia)
Puzzlement washed over Lastia's face, her expression was undeniably gentle, at least to Leslie it looked so. She had little chance to survive this ordeal in the long run, and though unrelated she thought the battle with Lastia was a fitting way to die, perishing by the hands of an unnamed vagrant. Everything after that battle felt like a miracle, a strange source of life coursed through her, rejuvenating her will to live, to resolve, to fight. Like a small fire that grew large, burning fiercely and biding for the time it could grasp victory.