[ Allen's after his name, is it?

Sion gives pause, a hum of consideration playing upon his lips as his golden eyes fix first upon the playing card held lofty and high between Allen's fingertips, then upon Allen himself with a lofted brow which masks none of his amusement.

So they are to be reacquainted, then, and this Allen has decided for himself, leaving the King to only...

Bow his head, briefly, in gratitude. He is touched, perhaps, by Allen's faith; by the younger man's certainty that this is the right path, that what once had been could be renewed again, despite all odds and poor circumstance. ]

Would you like the long or the short of it? [ With or without his entitlements, his epithets? ] Or dare I ask that you wager a guess of your own, and so be dubbed something akin to 'Franklin' or 'Oswald'?

[ From King, to trainer, to welcomed companion, Sion finds himself transformed into something lighter and lighter still, someone who is far more of himself, and truth be told, he is at ease. Relived to see Allen find his footing, to be smiling brightly and without so very glum a look. ]

Perhaps, though, you may just call me 'Sion'. Nothing more is necessary.