[ Though he doesn't pause or slow, Nanami's aware of the movement behind him, the heft of that comically large sword and greeting of metal. Comically large, but only in a superficial, passing way. He's seen enough variety in cursed tools and their wielders that a guy with average height and an enormous weapon doesn't warrant comment. Or, hasn't yet.

It is notable that he brought it to the fields, to dig and plant and attempt to initiate conversation with seed. Not that Nanami had left his nata behind, but being a significantly smaller blade, it kept well obscured between his shoulders, beneath his jacket — a different, darker jacket from that he'd arrived in. Habit, caution, and an assortment of other reasons, many of which also kept his sunglasses on his face, despite a continued absence of cursed spirits.

Of course, today, at least as far as sunglasses go, the reason's simpler: the sun's strong, bright, and he's been bent beneath it for hours.

And once settled out of that sun, having chosen to sit at a table, turned partially in his seat in Cloud's direction, he'd removed them, set them on the table beside the tankard of, yes, beer. He probably should have given more thought to the other options, particularly water, but it really has been that kind of day. ]

For a couple of years, yes. I left that job a few years ago, but you're correct — I didn't move on to gardening.

[ If there is a trace of drying humor at the tail end, if his mouth might have slightly shaped it, it's lost behind the tipping of his cup. Watching the younger man over the rim as he drinks, Nanami notes, not quite idly, his position, almost pose.

After setting down the drink, ]

Similarly, you look like you were neither a farmer nor a salaryman. That sword makes a different kind of impression.

[ Though Nanami doesn't like to be vague, as different kind of statement could be, but a weapon like that cleaves clean through ambiguity. ]