“I’ll take that as a compliment. I do try to be the opposite of whatever people perceive me as.”

He kneels down so he’s eye level with the masked person. “You’re not robbing me for fun. You need food, clothes. And you tried not to strike me. This tells me you’re a good person in a not good situation.”

"Ha," they say flatly. (Good is not something they have the luxury of being.)

Zveran smiles a little grimly. “All right. A person who would be good if the situation allowed?”

They don't respond to that, instead, they crouch down - probably still watching Zveran, and rifle through the pack.

Inside is plenty of food, a few changes of clothing, a few mysterious things wrapped up, and tied on the end is a bedroll and blanket.

They take some of the food, although not much, and straighten, stepping back.

Zveran takes the pack back, and frowns a little at the contents. "You didn't take much."

"And?"

"You could take the whole lot. You look hungry."

That gets him another flat look. They still don't trust this, still half-think he's mocking them, going to take this away.

“Take this too.” He pulls out some more food and wraps it in a blanket, tossing both to the stranger. 

They catch it, a move that's far more reflexive than anything else. "I don't-" they start.

"Take it, please. And spare the next person their life."

-Silence. And then the stranger disappears back into the forest.

Zveran frowns. He hopes the stranger took his words seriously.

He starts on his way back to Luca.

For now, he is unmolested by any further robbery attempts.

He thinks about his robber the whole time, and wonders how things got so bad that people must turn to that.

It's a couple of days later that he'll encounter them again - by some strange coincidence - on the Mi'Hen Highroad.

A handful of people have cornered them against an outcropping. Whatever's going on, does not look particularly friendly.

"You've had your fun," one of the people is saying, "now it's time to remember who you belong to."

Zveran knows all about people like that. The priests and monks of Yevon would like to think he belongs to them too.

"Pardon me, but I do believe that you've mistaken your friend's role there."

The would-be robber isn't looking at him, is looking more for an escape route - despite the hand that is resting heavily on their shoulder, or perhaps in spite of it.

The man turns to Zveran, looking him up and down. "Beg your pardon, but I don't think this is any of your business."

"Ah, you see, that's where you're wrong. People in danger is very much my business."

"No danger here. Just a friendly discu-"

He doesn't get any further, as the stranger moves, a dagger plunging into the hand on their shoulder, slipping sideways and lashing out at the apparent weakest of the group hemming them in.

Zveran leaps into the fray beside them, making sure to protect his would-be thief. 

Between the two of them, they've got more skills than the other group put together. The group, when this becomes apparent, flee, their assumed leader snarling out threats of dire consequences.