wrong tune, c

He clutches a small package under his arm. Lyndon doesn't know what's inside of it. As per usual, this was also for the better. Most people would have wondered if this was for their own good or for their good, but it did not matter very much to him. It is slim and wrapped in brown parcel paper, and if he were to warrant a guess, Lyndon may have thought there might be a book inside.

He slides it into the satchel the others provided for him. It was only when he looked back up did he realize that he wold have collided with a young woman if he hadn't stopped himself in time. Lyndon's hand slides into his pocket, retrieving a sliver of paper. "Miss Farron?" he asks, reading the name off of it.

"I was sent to accompany you on this delivery. I hope to live up to your expectations." The boy gives her a small smile and a polite nod.

"It was a bit of a last minute arrangement," Lyndon admits. Under normal circumstances, he would have gone alone to make the delivery. Not yet a man, it was easier for him to maneuver through the crowds undetected, and Lyndon did not exactly possess what could have been a threatening mien. It helped with work when people felt they could trust you.

"My name is Lyndon," he says to her as they turn down the hall for the exit. "It's Lyndon Joyce." This should be fine. After all, nowhere was his name actually documented. Benefits of being abandoned at a young age, he supposed. "The freelance organization I'm under thought that an extra person might help a lot."

"I think this is going to Lady Shannon Lambert. I wonder what's inside..."

That was a load off of Lyndon's shoulders. Quite frankly, he had no idea where to find this Lady Lambert. He had been banking on his partner to know, and luckily enough, Eden seemed to know the way. As Eden takes a few steps forward to survey the area, he follows quietly and gives her a small nod. "Maybe it's something important," he responds with the slightest of shrugs.

Quite frankly, Lady Lambert might not even exist at all. That would explain why Lyndon had been given the package as opposed to Eden. Eden was only here to point him in the correct direction, along with aiding to keep the lady's image up as a noblewoman of Irkalla.

"About myself?" he asks her with a slight blink before falling in step beside the messenger. "Tell me about you." That was always a dangerous question. Say too much, and that would cast immediate suspicion. Say too little, and the effect would be the same. "There... isn't much for me to say, Miss Farron," he says to her. "My employers are very important to me though. They are like my family." And that was the truth, considering the fact that Lyndon had little to no idea where he would be if a man with blond hair hadn't stopped to ask him where his shoes were ten years ago.

Had he offended her? Lyndon casts his eyes downward for a moment, his steps slowing as he fell into his ruminations. In any case, Eden was right. She couldn't have been more than two years his senior. "I... usually address people by their surnames if I don't know them very well, or if they're my superior. But if it's okay to call you Eden, then I can do that. Eden... It's, um, it's a nice name."

"I think that it suits you."

He's said too much and falls silent as Eden begins to speak again. But she's asked him a question. It's an invitation to say more about himself. A slight frown tugs at the corners of his mouth when he responds. "I think so, yes," he says. "I assume so, anyways. I've lived in Irkalla all my life, so I must have been born here... How about you, Miss -- ah, Eden?"