As predicted, Tara slept for most of the eighteen or so hours they were on the train. It went to the closest major city to the chosen village; from there, they’d just need to walk an hour or two before they got there. Matteo alternated between reading and staring out the window, sleeping overnight before repeating the process in the morning.
Once they arrived in the city, Matteo confirmed their already-bought tickets would bring them back to San Asari in a few days. Upon receiving that affirmation, he went ahead to the town. Tara spoke up, albeit very quietly.
“We’re staying somewhere else, then?”
“The direct path to the village I want to go to involves a train change halfway through,” Matteo explained, glancing at her but not sharing her quiet caution. “Coming to the major city then walking to the village is both cheaper and less complicated. We’re slightly less likely to get lost.”
Tara just looked around at the scenery—buildings with more influence from the first island than San Asari’s, trying to be as accurate as possible while still retaining any elements that were necessary for Dakari’s climate—and sighed.
“…I’ll take your word for it.”
They fell silent again for most of the trip, Tara somehow managing to draw while she walked without running into anyone. Matteo led as a result—although he expected to, honestly—and glanced back every now and then to make sure Tara didn’t decide to wander off for some reason. He knew he didn’t need to, but he did anyway.
There were a few signs to guide the way and, in the worst case scenario, he asked the people living there while Tara pretended not to know him until the conversation ended. The townspeople were friendly, at least—neither one of them fit in, especially as they got closer to the village, but they still answered his questions with a kind smile. Only one or two seemed to mutter a kind of ‘good riddance,’ compared to the half a dozen or so he ultimately spoke to.
They arrived at the major city early in the morning and got to the village slightly later than he expected but still before noon. Looking around, it had the same charm as the town where Grandmother grew up—the main difference being the look of the place and the fact that Matteo and Tara were undeniably tourists.
He didn’t quite mind the obvious difference, because for one reason or another—likely people from the main city who were just curious and came over—there were still others walking around who didn’t belong with the locals either. He could tell that Tara seemed to be bothered by it, so he tried to make asking the townsfolk about directions quick.
Matteo figured out where they could stay for the night, then brought them to somewhere to eat. Tara still didn’t seem any more comfortable after they found a good corner to sit in and Matteo ordered lunch—she followed him around like she used to follow Rene, at least. It….was weird.
Once they sat down Tara took out her drawing supplies and continued on whatever she was doing while they were walking—this one looked like a bustling crowd, albeit no one stood near the girl in the center. She looked at him, then to the drawing, then back to him again.
“You don’t like people,” Matteo half-guessed, half-stated. “That’s not a surprise to me?”
“…They keep looking at me.” He had a hard time hearing her among the chatter around them—normal restaurant fare, sure, but whenever they ate at the restaurant Rene worked in sometimes, the surrounding tables tried to find some happy medium between being respectfully quiet and loud enough that no one would think they were eavesdropping.
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Suffice to say, he now doubted that was a coincidence. Matteo liked to believe they got equal attention, but in different ways—their parents mostly treated Matteo like an almost-adult, whereas Tara still needed to be convinced she was safe in San Asari.
He doubted it would do anything—Rene was closest to her, and even she had trouble telling Tara she didn’t need to worry—but he tried. He was, if not Tara’s brother, the closest thing she had to a familiar face here.
“If anything,” Matteo said somewhat cautiously, glancing around a bit as well, “They’re probably more interested in me. You could reasonably pass for a good fifty-fifty Dakari-Sólstaður—I cannot. I mean, it’s in the name: Dakari.” He attempted a joking smile, but could immediately tell it didn’t help. “Would have to call us something weird like ‘Ruler’ or give us a real last name if we didn’t look the part.”
“Could you…not…outright say that?”
“I have a knife,” Matteo pointed out. “My stepmother is a port girl and I’m inheriting two separate knife collections—I’m probably better at stabbing people than most everyone here.”
“Could you not say that either? They’re still looking…”
“No one’s looking, Tara.”
“Yes, they—”
She stopped once she glanced around herself and could see that there was, in fact, not a single person looking anywhere near their direction. After taking a second to process it, Tara lowered her head and tried to make an effort to take up the least amount of space possible, flipping her sketchbook over to start a quick ‘thank you’ drawing for whoever came with their food, based on the first few lines.
“…Could’ve sworn I felt it.”
“Again, probably just me,” Matteo reasoned. He was more obviously from Dakari than most of the tourists, who looked to be mixed like Tara.
They fell into silence for a few minutes until a waitress came back over with their food. Tara pushed her sketchbook to be more visible while making herself shrink into the chair and stare at the wall, and Matteo actually smiled at the young woman.
“Thank you,” he said nicely. Tara tapped her finger on her drawing to show she meant the same sentiment, even if she hadn’t done all the detail work she likely wanted to.
“Not a problem!” the waitress replied, smiling. She glanced at Tara. “I love your hair by the way. Pink’s such a cute color for you! Where do you get the dye?”
Tara blushed—not that the waitress could see considering Tara’s determination to seem small—but didn’t respond. Matteo spoke up in her stead.
“I’m not entirely sure,” he said, “But we’re from San Asari, so some shop there.”
“Oh, okay,” she responded, still friendly but seeming a bit disappointed. “They probably wouldn’t sell that around here.” She perked up almost immediately. “But please enjoy your meal!”
“We will, thanks again.”
She left, and despite expecting some comment from Tara, the quiet teen herself never actually said anything. Matteo waited for a minute before eating; Tara, in the meantime, pulled her sketchbook closer to her.
Matteo mainly focused on eating while trying to think of something to make it less awkward—if meals were silent at home it meant someone was really mad or you were eating alone, so being with someone but no one talking was, suffice to say, strange. Instead, he chose to casually eavesdrop on the conversations around them. Tara, meanwhile, clumsily attempted to draw with her right hand and eat with her left. She prioritized drawing over eating—that seemed to be the case now, at least—and he assumed she probably had to focus more on the former than the latter.