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Siffrin is strange.
This was the first thing you realized after you met them, an undoubtable fact that extends beyond the general shroud of mystery that surrounds them. Something you were certain of even before Mirabelle and Isabeau asked them to join the party.
It isn’t every day that your group faces a sadness so large and dangerous that it swallows up most, if not all of your resources in the process of defeating it. It’s even less frequent, to the point it’s only happened this once, that a hero passing by swoops in gracefully to help you all out. And it hasn’t slipped your notice that this saviour was so conveniently also a scissors craft user, the perfect match for the paper-typed sadness.
You remember how unfazed he'd been by the combat, barely even breaking a sweat as he’d slashed and dodged. Moving so quickly they were nothing but a darkless smudge against the landscape. It was as though battle was an ordinary, everyday activity for him, just as much an expectation as was the practice of handwashing before and after meals. He had been so incredibly focused, didn’t say a word, or acknowledge the three of you in any way until the sadness was fading back into nothing.
In fact, you remember specifically the first thing they said to you. Not, an introduction, or a quip or a reassurance or anything else that’d be more pasted straight from a gaudy novel to fit the scene. No, the first thing Siffrin had said to you had been a simple muttered “Here.” Their gloved hand outstretched, offering you a sour tonic they’d procured from somewhere in their cloak.
Now, you’ve spent enough time in the country to grow familiar with Vaugardian generosity. You’d slept in as many first rooms in strangers' homes as you had in inns, and since joining up with Mirabelle and Isabeau, you’ve been offered a great deal of handouts. But unlike this, those acts all made sense within the culture. When you were alone, it was considered the basic respect to show a traveller, with the others, it’s a boon given in hopes of helping you in your quest.
There was no logical reason for a passing wanderer to save you all from certain death, and then offer up precious, expensive resources to a group of strangers. Especially when, based on the lack of recognition in his eyes, he didn’t even know who you were, what you’d set out to do.
You're no Isabeau, so the kindness in this act was taken with a great deal of suspicion, considering why he would not only help, but offer up his own supplies to your party. But, you are also no Mirabelle, and knowing how expensive tonics can run, you downed the sour tonic in a single gulp.
After that, the others had invited Siffrin to join your party, your singular, cautious opinion fully outvoted by theirs. They’d agreed easily, without any care or concern for their own life, if anything they seemed almost ecstatic to have been invited along. While you and Isabeau didn’t have to be dragged into the fray or anything, there was something off putting about the rogue’s apparently incredibly sincere excitement at joining a suicide mission.
Soon enough you were back on the road, with your party on either side of your new member, badgering the poor guy with every single question that came to their minds. Over the course of your walk from one corner of Vaugardian woods to another, you learned an awful lot about the new addition to your little group.
Firstly, he was, much like you, a traveler, wandering from town to town working odd jobs here and there. Unlike you, however, he doesn't seem to have a particular motive in his travels, nor is he all that picky about camping in the forests, although the twenty or so years you and your joints have on him may be the cause of that. Mirabelle had to practically strong arm him into sleeping in one of your tents and not in a tree.
You've also learned that Siffrin seems to have some degree of memory issue or amnesia that they are a tad too unconcerned with, if you were to admit. Isabeau had worked through enough questions about their past and homelife before you shut him down, that you now have a fairly extensive list of things Siffrin has forgotten. Where they grew up, any specific details about their childhood or family, any friends they had or have and even certain countries they’ve visited are all on your list. It may not concern them, but it does concern you, you’ll have to pay close attention to this, you decide.
Finally, and most annoyingly, Siffrin has the exact same sense of humour as Isabeau. Not only did they humour him with their uncontrollable laughter at a low-hanging joke about a rock Isabeau had tripped on, but they’d followed it up with not one, but three awful puns about the exact same rock. At this rate you’re fairly sure you’re going to be driven insane long before you arrive at the gates of the House in Dormont.
Regardless of the information you acquired listening to the others talk, you still have questions of your own, things you wonder about with this new member of the party. Things that you don’t know how much Mirabelle and Isabeau would approve of you asking someone you all just met, if they could come up in conversation at all. Which leads you to one simple conclusion.
You need to make an excuse to get Siffrin on his own.
In an unfrozen town, this wouldn’t be a difficult feat. When you all stop in a town, you divvy up supply lists alongside your chores, as well as seeing to anything that the three of you personally want to do. This often sends you to different corners of the same place, only meeting up again when the sun begins to set.
On the road, it’s much harder. You’re a lot more hesitant to separate, what with sadnesses lurking and it being so easy to get lost or turned around. There are also fewer tasks that take you away from the campsite, which leaves you with one option, really. An option you would've much rather left to anyone else.
You find Siffrin hunched over the makeshift firepit, methodically stacking wood against each other with his tongue out of his mouth. He doesn’t notice you, it seems, far too focused on the task to pay much mind to anything else. Casually, you clear your throat to get their attention.
“Siffrin,” You begin once they look up, keeping a gloved hand firmly on the firewood. Interestingly, he didn’t appear to startle- maybe he did know you were there after all. “Our supplies are getting low. I could use some help foraging so we don’t run out before we hit the next town.” Adjusting your glasses, you shift your gaze away from him. “We were prepared for three, not four, after all.”
Their expression shifts, brows pinching in a way that radiates discomfort before it’s carefully smoothed away into an awkward smile. “Oh, okay. Like… now?” Siffrin asks, looking over their shoulder at the wood with their upper lip pulled between their teeth.
You nod, shrugging the leather strap of your bag higher on your shoulder. “If we want to be back before dark.” You explain, tightening the buckle so it doesn’t fall again. “Besides, as a traveler I’m sure you have interesting insights on the forage available to us.”
Standing, Siffrin winces as the firewood collapses inward without support. “The others know we’re leaving?” He questions, propping his hat up so it sits less in his eyes and taking place at your side.
“They do.” You reassure, heading off towards the trail you’d come from earlier at a brisk pace. The ground is still soft, with the moisture of recently melted snow making it much more difficult to keep your footing, but it doesn’t seem to bother Siffrin at all, even in his poor choice of footwear. If anything, it seems like Siffrin is gliding across the terrain as though he were on skates. “Do you know how long you’ve been traveling?” You ask, hoping that’s a safer pick than some of the questions you hope to inquire about later on this walk.
Siffrin hangs just far enough behind you that you can’t quite make out their expression without turning around, but from their soft hum, you don’t believe they’re upset. “Not really.” They admit. “Forever, I guess, I dunno.”
You watch him closely out of the corner of your eye before saying anything else. If you squint, you can make out his eyes looking anywhere but at you through his too-long lightless bangs. A concerningly unsettled look, to say the least, but one that might be deserved from your 'not four' comment earlier. What can you do to salvage this? “I’ve only been a traveler for a few years, myself, at least in Vaugarde.” You share. “When I was young, I did my fair share of exploration through Ka Bue, however.”
They consider this for a moment, tilting their chin up to look at you. “I’ve never been to Ka Bue, what’s it like?” This is a question you’ve been asked multiple times over since docking in Vaugarde months ago, but with Siffrin it seems more like a genuine curiosity than a polite courtesy.
Your answer, however, remains about the same. “Warmer, for one, especially in the south; you’d never survive Ka Buan heat in that cloak of yours.” Honestly, you’re not even sure how they've survived Vaugardian winter. That darkless cloak of theirs looks comfortable, but not all that thick, and, with their lack of pack or bag it’s unlikely they’re hiding a coat somewhere on their person. The winter chill was no joke- Isabeau had needed to take you shopping for a proper coat before the first snow had even begun.
“I survived Poterian heat!” Siffrin argues, more loudly than you’ve heard him yet.
Shaking your head you hum in disagreement. “Mmm.. It’s not the same, I’m afraid. It’s oppressive. It sticks to your hair and skin, and you cannot escape through shade or without a breeze.” You explain, ignoring the phantom sensation of clothing slicked to your body with sweat. “Vaugardian summers are much more tame, I must say.”
Siffrin nods in acknowledgment but their lips stay shut as an increasingly comfortable silence surrounds the two of you. If there’s any good time to pull out one of your real questions, now would be it, with both yourself and Siffrin quite relaxed.
Nonchalantly, with your head turned away from them, you ask your question. “Say, why did you agree to come with us?” Your tone remains casual, but you hear Siffrin stumble for the first time since you lef
“What?” They gather their bearings, catching up to you quickly. “Like… on this mission?” Siffrin clarifies, voice tight. Nervous again. Hm. You can't figure out if they’re hiding something, or if this is their normal.
Regardless, you continue, setting your shoulders back. “Yes, this is a highly dangerous quest, after all. The chance of the four of us even making it to the King is slim, and not to mention what could happen when we do face him.” Only now, do you look at Siffrin. The shadows of his hat, now resting lower on his head, swallow his expression with shadow. But his posture is tense, with shoulders so high they nearly touch his ears. “I’m not trying to dissuade you, I just don’t understand why- you’re a competent fighter, sure, but you’re young and you’re not even Vaugardian. Logically, there’s no reason for you to follow us or even care.” You explain, waving a hand to punctuate your words.
Without looking at you, Siffrin responds slowly, defensively. They're not walking anymore, feet planted firmly in place. “Does there have to be a reason? You’re not Vaugardian either!”
You don't let it bother you. You can't. They don't know. Why would they? Your eye twitches, but the rest of your face is perfectly neutral, even if you have to bite the inside of your mouth to keep it that way. “Be that as it may, I’ve lived a lot longer than you, and have a lot less to lose. So, why?” You press.
“I just-” He rocks back and forth in place. “I had nothing else to do, I guess.” As though it's that simple.
Stunned, you blink once, twice. “Siffrin, when I get bored I go for a walk, or read a book. Surely you had other options, even with the country freezing over.”
Siffrin shakes their head, frustrated. “It’s not- the musical one asked me to stay and I didn't have any other plans, so I did, that’s all there is to it.” Their gloved hands escape the confines of the cloak gesturing firmly with a sense of finality. That’s the best response you're going to get, it seems.
“..Musical one?” You question.
Pointing vaguely to his torso Siffrin stammers through his response. “The one with the charms that go ding.”
“Ah, Mirabelle.”
Again, Siffrin nods. “I couldn't remember her name. Hers or the funny one or…” Their face grows dark, and they bury their chin in the collar of their cloak.
You chuckle, which only seems to make him more embarrassed. It’s... actually pretty cute, if you're honest with yourself. “The ‘funny’ one is Isabeau, and my name is Odile.” It takes everything in your power to not roll your eyes after hearing the generous description of the man.
They repeat the names a few times under their breath. “Okay, I’ll remember them this time.” Siffrin states confidently, straightening their hat. “You were uh- you were the scary one, if you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t.” You clarify, walking once more at a quicker pace. “But, I am quite fond of it. One of us has to be intimidating, and it is not going to be Isabeau or Mirabelle.” Siffrin laughs, covering his mouth with a hand. You chuckle as well, recalling the way you’d had to step between Mirabelle and a particularly brave stranger in the last town. For a country that’s so thankful to have saviours, they seem awfully keen to send them on a whole number of random side quests.
“Yeah, well, I-” Siffrin begins, trailing off suddenly, shooting a look over their shoulder. They step carefully off the trail, dagger unsheathed, unsure of what else to do, you follow behind. Leaves crinkle softly beneath your feet, but otherwise the world is quiet, still.
Siffrin scans the area, holding his free hand out behind them, gesturing for you to stop. You barely breathe, looking along the horizon until-
Piou piou!
There’s a little bird, swooping off of a branch. It lands in front of you two, opening its beak to sing once more. Siffrin coos, sheathing his dagger and kneeling down. He reaches a hand into his cloak and pulls out some kind of grain. Holding it out, he offers it to the bird.
You bite down the idle urge to remind him that feeding the local wildlife is the opposite of what you two set out to do on this walk. Instead, you watch. The bird picks at the food in his hand, marking up his leather gloves with its sharp beak. Occasionally it chirps, and you hear Siffrin respond with a stilted chirp of his own.
“Did you know…” You entice, continuing only when Siffrin looks up at where you’re still standing. They seem almost startled, as though they’d forgotten you were standing there until you spoke. “In Vaugarde, they say the birds go ‘piou.’” You explain.
Siffrin looks at you, to the bird in their palms. “Peeoo?” They vocalize questioningly, head cocked to one side. The bird chirps back, pecking at their glove some more until Siffrin’s hand is empty. You can’t make out their expression, but their posture is relaxed, and their hat is tilted higher on their head, likely revealing more of their face than it has since you met.
Before you can say anything else, the bird spreads its wings and takes off again. Siffrin follows it closely with his gaze until it disappears further into the woods. Slowly, he stands, tucking his hand back into the abyss of his cloak. ”Sorry.” He mutters. “I thought it was a Sadness.”
“So you ran towards it?” You question with a raised eyebrow. Siffrin shrinks into their cloak, pointedly looking away from you. “I take it this is a habit of yours, then.” Your tone comes off more accusatory than you’d anticipated, and as a result Siffrin’s face is carefully guarded under the shadows of their hat.
Without acknowledging any of what you said, Siffrin walks past you, cloak swishing behind him. “Let's head back to the path, I saw some mushrooms on a few of the trees we can probably use.” There’s no inflection in his otherwise mumbled voice, an entirely neutral, forcibly polite tone. Gems, you have not made a very good impression, have you?
You quicken your gait until you catch back up and walk side-by-side once again. “Siffrin.” You open, placing a hand on their shoulder, taking note of the way they startle at the contact. Cautiously, you release your grip, tucking your arm behind your back and out of the way. “Look, I… I want to apologize for my treatment of you.”
They don’t say anything, but they tilt their head up to look at you, eyes narrow. “This whole walk I’ve been overly judgemental of you, and, in fact, I had planned this outing specifically to pull you from Mirabelle and Isabeau to ask questions I felt they were too kind to not ask.” Pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose, you sigh. “All of this to say, I’m sorry, I’ve never been good with strangers and I let that get the better of me today.”
Siffrin stares at you unblinkingly for a moment, long enough that you consider if you’ve said another thing wrong. Then, instead, he starts to smile, a closed-mouthed, genuine smile. “Thanks, I appreciate it.” He says, meeting your eyes. “I’m not great with strangers either, or… talking in general. So, I get it, I’d probably do the same in your shoes.”
You nod, averting your gaze as your cheeks turn upward into a small grin. “Yes, well, now that we’re done clarifying our… mutual anti-proclivity for communication, we should probably continue our actual mission and return to camp before we stray too far.”
“Is a side effect of your 'anti-proclivity for communication' your vocabulary, by any chance?” Siffrin teases, eyes shining with mischief.
With a roll of your eyes, you groan loudly. “Only if that snark is yours.” You retort not unkindly, something warm forming in your chest as they laugh.
You could grow used to having him around, you think. In your many years, companionship had often been fleeting, temporary. You could count on one hand the amount of people back in Ka Bue you still communicate with, and nobody had stuck with you during your travels.
Mirabelle and Isabeau make wonderful companions, of course, you don’t think you’ve had nearly as much fun as you’ve recently in years, even with the looming threat over all of your heads. Siffrin is a tad different though. Sometimes, especially during longer treks, you find yourself exhausted from conversation, especially with Mirabelle’s rambling and Isabeau’s energy. But with Siffrin, you don’t find yourself worn at all- if anything, their company is relaxing, although you could do without the awful jokes.
Siffrin is strange, sure, but not any more so than the rest of you.
And really, you’ve always preferred the company of those who were a little strange.