[Sheik isn't sure what brings him to the Plaza today.
It's not as though he misses being surrounded by people. If anything, he's been debating if he shouldn't have pulled away sooner, kept to the rules he'd had for himself in Hyrule and minimized how much he interacted with others. If he had run from the start, if he had never been brought to that masquerade, maybe that would have been better. At the very least, he wouldn't feel like this, wondering what he should have done instead while nursing a strange itch in the back of his mind that just will not cease.
Then he hears it, a horrid retching sound from an alleyway nearby. He turns the corner, some part of him hoping that the poor soul already has an escort to the clinic... and freezes. The singular word that follows is barely above a whisper; she might not even hear it in her distressed state.]
Princess...?
[It doesn't look like her - her hair is too short, her clothes are too strange, she's too hunched over for him to see her face - but he knows it's her, sobbing and apparently in pain, and suddenly everything else he had been thinking about doesn't matter anymore. An instant later, he's crouching at her side, reaching an arm around her shoulders and gently urging her to lift herself upright. His voice is soft in its urgency as he tries to calm her, and if it's an octave or so higher than she might recall in some distant memory, well. He's worried.]
Princess-- Princess, breathe. It's all right, just breathe, please.
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It's not as though he misses being surrounded by people. If anything, he's been debating if he shouldn't have pulled away sooner, kept to the rules he'd had for himself in Hyrule and minimized how much he interacted with others. If he had run from the start, if he had never been brought to that masquerade, maybe that would have been better. At the very least, he wouldn't feel like this, wondering what he should have done instead while nursing a strange itch in the back of his mind that just will not cease.
Then he hears it, a horrid retching sound from an alleyway nearby. He turns the corner, some part of him hoping that the poor soul already has an escort to the clinic... and freezes. The singular word that follows is barely above a whisper; she might not even hear it in her distressed state.]
Princess...?
[It doesn't look like her - her hair is too short, her clothes are too strange, she's too hunched over for him to see her face - but he knows it's her, sobbing and apparently in pain, and suddenly everything else he had been thinking about doesn't matter anymore. An instant later, he's crouching at her side, reaching an arm around her shoulders and gently urging her to lift herself upright. His voice is soft in its urgency as he tries to calm her, and if it's an octave or so higher than she might recall in some distant memory, well. He's worried.]
Princess-- Princess, breathe. It's all right, just breathe, please.