Strel gave a sigh, wondering if there was anyone at all who could help. Oh, he was being quite the drama king but that was definitely not the point here. The point here was that the lack of assistance was only making him pout more and more, and quite frankly, that just sucked so hard. It made him despondent and this was not the kind of face he wanted to present to the public, friends and strangers alike. Strel was not a depressive person, whose very presence sucked the joy from the room. Well, at least he hoped he was not. But this, this was just ridiculous and had to stop. Or else.
He scantly heard what the man said, so lost in thought was he. After a moment, though, all of it registered in his mind and the redhead straightened up instantly and turned at the waist to peer at Niro. "Really? You can?" Strel was feeling the pressure at his waist. Getting out of the slight ditch of the stream, the redhead crouched in front of Niro, fumbling with the paper in his hands. Rushing, he flattened it out, trying to rub the wrinkles out of the piece of paper. It was almost futile, but it seemed as though the scribbles were still decipherable. "What does it say? What did Rikka tell me?" he asked, voice almost impatient.
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