Aoba found himself with a strange set of thoughts as he took in what tour of the Reef he could be shown, given their timetable. Technically speaking, the City itself was closer to Midorijima in terms of architecture, what with its tightly packed buildings and the remainder of humanity eking out their survival there…but something about the Reef had him far more nostalgic. The Districts had never been made of the skeletons of ships, had never been engulfed in such a richly colored nebula, but there was a ghost of familiarity even so. Exiles from Earth, living and surviving as they could.
It was inaccurate on many levels, but the comparison existed in his head for a few moments at least: that the City was more like Platinum Jail in that regard, shadowed by the Traveler instead of Oval Tower, and the Reef here on the fringes stood for the Old Resident Districts instead.
Even the Sovs themselves were closer to something familiar than the things he imagined when thinking of royalty, be they queens or emperors. They were wild, somehow, and he wouldn’t have been surprised to see people cut of similar cloth heading some of the more prominent Ribsteez gangs back home.
Didn’t mean he felt completely comfortable standing there, though. After all, it wasn’t as if he played at the Rib turf wars. But, still. It was better than being surrounded by finery and supremely formal manners, he thought.
“Yes, your grace,” he managed when he was personally addressed, having been sure to make note of that bit of address. He might not have been made for formal court, but he could pay attention to proper titles at least. “Maybe not long before, but my time hasn’t met the Traveler yet.”
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It was inaccurate on many levels, but the comparison existed in his head for a few moments at least: that the City was more like Platinum Jail in that regard, shadowed by the Traveler instead of Oval Tower, and the Reef here on the fringes stood for the Old Resident Districts instead.
Even the Sovs themselves were closer to something familiar than the things he imagined when thinking of royalty, be they queens or emperors. They were wild, somehow, and he wouldn’t have been surprised to see people cut of similar cloth heading some of the more prominent Ribsteez gangs back home.
Didn’t mean he felt completely comfortable standing there, though. After all, it wasn’t as if he played at the Rib turf wars. But, still. It was better than being surrounded by finery and supremely formal manners, he thought.
“Yes, your grace,” he managed when he was personally addressed, having been sure to make note of that bit of address. He might not have been made for formal court, but he could pay attention to proper titles at least. “Maybe not long before, but my time hasn’t met the Traveler yet.”