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Terra wishes for the silence to be broken and for anything to be spoken. Except for the cryptic introduction inside the monster, the mimic has surrendered nothing, and it unnerves her to see someone willingly isolated to the world. Unlike this wanderer, she was forced to sleepwalk through a large portion of her life, and she cannot comprehend others choosing to do so. Still, she smiles at the figure. Friendships and relationships take time.

Locke wants to make his proclamation, but he hesitates. He squints, hoping that he can learn something from the tiny spheres visible through the fabric wrapping the head. His skill in judgments is defeated here. He slaps himself mentally and finally speaks. He looks around, knowing that it’s not just damsels that he has saved in this world. Why that held his tongue briefly, he is unsure. It is long enough, though, to let old and new guilt seep inside him.

Edgar chuckles to himself. The newest member of the team remains aloof and avoids his curious eyes. Is his normal charming personality the proper course here? The risk of faux pas has existed before, but he knows that a different discomfort can be spawned here. Years of playfully searching for something serious has given him the life lesson he needs to restrain his tongue to a more formal introduction. After all, he reminds himself, there is always more time to learn more truths.

Sabin looks on. As is happening now, he occasionally finds himself remembering that fateful night where his brother gave him a choice to escape a potential destiny bestowed to him by birthright. He wonders if this stranger’s lifestyle choice is another means to a similar end. In a more comfortable setting, the martial artist would want to know if regret and desire for repentance have chased the new associate across the world as well.

Celes sees the robes concealing the truth, but she does not question. Fascination certainly abounds inside her, but she chooses not to engage. The former general understands the choice to be selective in what others are privy to see or learn, and she has often chosen to exercise that freedom since she joined their team. Not all shields are carried in the hand.

Shadow needs not question why the figure acts like this. Reflecting on his troubled past, the gifts of an existence without emotional connection to others have helped him stay level in a world full of entropy. Reasons may differ for muted tongues and stifled body language, but respecting the choice is demonstration of solidarity.

Cyan hopes his formal syntax hasn’t intimidated the new teammate. He is fascinated by how easily the new brother-in-arms flows through the sword techniques of Bushido. Execution, however, is only part of the code. The warrior remembers how important it is to teach not just the way of the sword, but also all of its virtues if his kingdom is to be rebuilt and its honor maintained. Hopefully, he has found a new apprentice within the ranks.

Gau tries to communicate through his broken syntax and wild howls. He recalls his instincts, however, maintaining his gaze fixed on the stationary figure. The slightest unnatural move gives him pause and fear. As with the other breaks in his routine, his wild side protects him from the uncertainty this newcomer presents. The rest of the group, though, is not threatened, and the youth uses this to develop the beginnings of trust.

Setzer thinks he has experienced a familiarity with the new pair of mysterious orbs, but even the possibility of that is farfetched for a man who is willing to gamble. The quick glimpse into his past, though, reminds him that surviving for a length of time inside a monster and surviving a catastrophic airship crash shows the resilience of the human spirit, and she might still be out there. Hope, by itself, rarely ever gives the best of odds, but it’s the strongest draw back to the table.

Mog is impressed by the mimic’s speed in learning his dance moves. The passion and meaning behind each required step might not be replicated, but the effects in battle are just as welcome. He peers at the outfit, wondering if perhaps a kindred, nonhuman presence exists underneath the cloth. Human or not, the mimic has not judged him for his appearance, and the moogle is happy to reciprocate.

Strago looks at the newest companion, impressed. How long must one practice the art of impersonation to have it down to such a cold science? Such a musing reminds him of his lifelong dedication to the lore of monsters. Perhaps later the new figure will speak, and it will reminisce of times long ago, well before the youths onboard can recall. It isn’t asking much for someone else raised in a different period of history to have joined the group.

Relm is young and is still controlled by curiosity. Perhaps a portrait could break the ice? Maybe a trade of drawings? After all, if the new weirdo can impersonate everyone else, maybe she finally has a fellow artist to talk to? The trouble, she believes, is finding the inspiration that will let her start working on her ice breaker. Capturing inner beauty is always a challenge, but it is only magnified when the artist has to guess at what exists there.

Umaro stands right next to the newest member of the team, almost oblivious to the addition. His indifference shines strongest. The spirit does not attack him or his friends, and that is good enough. What is lost in the others’ infatuation and curiosity is made up for in his immediate resolution and unwavering support.

Gogo watches out from the railing above the Falcon’s common area. All thirteen compatriots have engaged their new comrade in their own ways. Thirteen different impressions have been made. A smile forms underneath the robes, unseen and unknown to anyone else.