[ Kim truly doubts he will ever feel that he belongs here. Somehow - in a way he neither is able to identify nor wants to identify - the fact that this place bears some resemblance to what people in Revachol would call his motherland makes it that much harder. There is no reminder of how little you belong somewhere than to be recognized as others as one of their own and to have to tell them in a hundred little ways that that is not the case, that has never been the case, that will never be the case. It's odd. He preferred it when he stuck out. At least he felt he could take some ownership of that.

Idly, he reaches out to a can on the shelf, adjusting it so that the label faces the customer more neatly, giving into his compulsion to tidy. ] Perhaps.

[ Kimmuriel's next question is easier to answer, though he doesn't have a great one. ]

My life has not been nearly as exciting as yours, I'm afraid. There's no great adventure in my past. I was a member of the Revachol Citizens Militia -- the police. I gave them two decades of loyal service.

[ He gestures down at his uniform, obnoxious red in awful polyester. ]

And now I am here.