*/ Disclaimer: I do not own Tales of Symphonia, or its characters.

And thanks for your supportive comments! I really look forward to them now =)

PS. These next chapters aren't actually filler at all, I've decided that they're actually going to be pretty important to the story ;D */

Chapter 7

Kratos was not in a very pleasant mood. Not to mention these emotions were starting to get on his nerves. Before he could compound his frustration any further, he decided his time would be best spent if he purchased new clothing first- his judgment attire made him stand out like a sore thumb. He wondered if that was why the woman had been staring at him like that. He shrugged and walked across the street to the armor shop, hoping that he had brought enough money for the next few weeks. When he had been "packing" he hadn't exactly counted out his quarters.

Since he had the time, Kratos decided to browse through the selection of outfits that were on display, eventually settling on a sleeveless deep indigo turtleneck and a pair of white pants. But when he was on his way to the cash register he thought about the practicality of his choice, and put back the pants. He was looking for something that wouldn't become easily torn or dirty if he were to camp out for the remainder of his stay- he picked through a pile of neatly folded pants, trying to see if they had his size. Kratos hated clothing that was too baggy, because in battle he didn't want to snag himself on branches or become distracted. It was one of the things he had learned from spending practically his entire life fighting, and he wasn't about to change on that point. He was lucky; they did in fact have what he wanted, so he went to the front, not needing to try them on- he could tell they were his size, just from looking- and he allowed the cashier to add up the price in his head. Kratos felt sorry for the man- on Tethe'alla they had machines that could do simple calculations like this. Not that Sylvarant would ever be so lucky.

"That'll be fifteen thousand gald, sir"

Kratos blanched. Surely he was bluffing, either that or he had added wrong.

"How much is the sweater, on its own?"

"Thirteen thousand gald, sir. It's a nice sweater, isn't it? Will keep you warm, and it's knitted with magic which will protect you from-" he kept going on about the good qualities of the sweater, and Kratos ignored him. He was beginning to hate this town.

Then, the door chime rang and they both looked to see who had come in. Kratos recognized the newcomer- it was the old man he had escorted from the forest only half an hour ago. He wondered if the old timer would remember him, or if he had been too blind to distinguish features. Not that he particularly wanted to start a conversation, of course, but Kratos was merely curious. He found it hard to understand, that old people could suffer such ailments naturally- he was on the highest side of three thousand, and had never experienced these things. So many lifetimes, and he would never know blindness, weakness, or the concept of deterioration. He felt it was interesting, but on the whole a much better position to stay young. To be truthful, such vulnerabilities were frightening to Kratos, when he tried to imagine what they must be like. He closed his eyes for a moment, and turned back to the cashier after he was ready to proceed.

"So, do you want these, or shall I put them back for you?"

Clearly, the clerk was trying to rip him off. Kratos was not to be fooled, there was no way inflation could have gone up that much… he sighed. He turned suddenly as he felt a hand on his shoulder, and it was the old man, grinning practically toothlessly. There was no mistaking him, of course.

"Well hey there, stranger!"

"Hello, sir."

"Is this the business you had in Luin? You should have just said so! This is my son's shop, just so you know, and this is him." He pointed crudely at the cashier, whom Kratos did see faintly resembled the old man. They both had the same colored brown hair, and rounded faces. Though the older man was nearly bald, there was enough hair there for Kratos to tell that the two had very similar hairlines, with a peak in the front and receding otherwise. It was amusing how similar they indeed were, upon looking closely. He realized this was one other thing he would never have- the old man may have been almost blind and unable to protect himself, but he had a family to succeed him. Kratos on the other hand knew that once he died, that would be the end, and he almost envied the person standing in front of him. Almost. But then he came to his senses, and realized how naïve he was being. How can a four thousand year old man still be naïve?

Kratos didn't want the answer to that question.

"You're charging him WHAT?" the old man was practically yelling.

"But that material was so expensive, father! I need to be able to sustain my family, you know!"

"Well when I was your age, I-"

The younger man rolled his eyes and harrumphed, looking away and acting completely rude in every way he knew how. Kratos was taken aback by this blatant disrespect, and completely changed his mind. He was very glad that he didn't have a family now.

"-and I didn't make my life better by charging others their life savings for firewood!"

"Well I'm not selling firewood, father, I'm selling clothing. Please stay out of this."

"He helped me get home today, I hope you know! I was chopping wood and accidentally crushed my glasses! If he hadn't appeared right next to me, I would have been stuck out there!"

"With all due respect," the son glared at his father, before turning to Kratos, "is this true, sir?"

"You doubt the word of your old man, now? You think I'm that looney now, do you?" Kratos realized the argument was becoming more heated now, and he tried to back out of it without hurting either man's pride.

"Please, calm yourselves. I was just on my way out." He hoped that was neutral enough to stall their argument. Or at least give him an opportunity to exit.

"See, you're driving away your customers with these ridiculous markups! At least give this man a discount, do you hear me?"

"No, no, that is not necessary. I'm done here, thank you anyway." Kratos patted down the clothing on the counter, and made for the exit, trying to gage what would be a reasonable reaction from a normal human. He decided that actually, he didn't care.

"Wait! Young man, don't leave just yet. Please." The old man was begging now. Kratos didn't want to cause a fight, seeing how unpredictable these people were. He stopped, just shy of the door, and frowned. He hoped he wouldn't have to turn around; he didn't know how much longer he would be able to take this.

The father and son were carrying on in whispers now, and Kratos wondered if they had forgotten he was still standing there. He was tempted to just continue out the door, and he wondered if they would even notice. But then they called him back to the register, and he ended up getting his outfit for free. Kratos walked out of the store in disbelief, following the old man who had now asked to be called "Pete," as he led him to his house for dinner, as an apology for all the trouble he had gone to. Dining with other people was not something Kratos enjoyed, but given the circumstances- his stomach growled again- he really had no reason to decline.

"So, what really brings you to Luin, young man?"

That question caught him off guard.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what are you really here for? Certainly not clothes-shopping. And you don't seem to need a weapon upgrade…" The old man eyed a shining orange hilt protruding from the sheath attached to his acquaintance's belt.

"…" Kratos had nothing to say to the man's deductions. Clearly he wasn't as blind as he had let on.

"And that outfit you're wearing now, it certainly isn't like anything I've ever seen."

Kratos began to feel uneasy. He didn't want to have to explain himself to anyone, and he made up his mind not to. He would allow the old man to make his own conjectures.

The old man, Pete, pulled him aside and motioned for Kratos to bend down. He whispered into his ear like a child, but his words were very serious.

"Are you a Desian scout? Are you their Leader?" the words burned into his mind. He felt almost insulted, and slightly terrified, that any human's perception could be so sharp. He hoped that silence would not betray him, but he was at a total loss for words.

"Ah, I see. I see. No hard feelings, then. Say, you never did tell me your name…"

Was this a test? Kratos couldn't be sure, but eh didn't want to get caught in the middle of it.

"It's John. About inviting me to dinner…"

"No need to thank me," Pete eyed him carefully, "I am so glad to be having a guest. It's been ages," he finished, quite sincerely. Kratos felt very uneasy now, as if he were walking right into a trap. Who was this "Pete" anyway? He didn't want to offend someone so mysterious without knowing what the outcome would be…

Dinner turned out to be surprisingly uneventful. Kratos was introduced to Analese, Pete's wife, and as soon as they were done with introductions she went to prepare their supper. They ate perhaps an hour later, and Kratos who was extremely hungry by that point finished his plate while it was still steaming. The elderly couple laughed merrily at his "youth" (to which Kratos joined in their laughter good-naturedly) and Analese brought him seconds. Surprisingly, Kratos was almost enjoying himself, although he was still bothered by Pete's accusations from earlier. He couldn't fathom what had possessed the man to jump to that exact conclusion so quickly, with clothing as his only hint, and perhaps the sword. These were not enough evidence for most people to jump to the conclusion "Desian." And for some reason, it truly unsettled him to be called that title.

When Pete, Analese, and their guest had all eaten their fill, they cleaned up the table together and Kratos thanked them for the meal. He tried to escape as tactfully as possible, but they wouldn't hear of it. They asked him to stay the night, trying to figure out why he would have to leave if he had just arrived, and telling him that it would not be wise to travel by night. Not wanting to seem suspicious (there was after all a Desian ranch just up the road a ways) he agreed to stay. He was not at all pleased to be told what to do, and even less pleased with himself for allowing social obligations to have a hold over him, but he rationalized it all by remembering the fact that he had a month to waste here, and no place else to go.