Hydaelyn Role-Players

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P'rita wasn't one to have an interest in anyone. Especially Flynt. In public, they made sure to keep it as business related as possible to not warren any gossip about them. Yet after heeding advice for a job, she returned to Ul'dah with nothing to show for it. Her return to where she lived with her master was more of a defeat than a victory. All she could do now was relax and calm her mind.


Her time spent tending to her small collection of miniature bonzi trees and in deep meditation. While her master did get into the more Eorzean way of life, P'rita never could...but she wanted to try. In secret she wanted to be more with this land but still keep her way of life from her homeland. It was at this time she decided to talk over the pearl but she didn't seem to take a reply at all. It was like an order.

---

P'rita walked with P'rth down through the marketplace and heading to the waver's guild. Her eyes looked to the very regal and detailed designs. Such works back in their land was saved for Emperors and high class. Though truth be told Ul'dah was pretty much high class in terms of wealth. It still made P'rita nervous. It was here that P'rth told P'rita to look at some of the example dresses in the design book while he talked it over with one of the Receptionists. 
P'rita looked at the collection of hand drawn clothes. All sectioned in various styles, for region and occasion. Turning a few pages, she saw some dresses but most were revealing in a way that some scars would be noticed. Not that she didn't mind if Flynt saw them but in public it demoralized her. It seemed like none would work for her. That is until she saw a dress that did catch her eye. While it did expose her arms and uppermost part of her body, the dress was long enough to her feet to cover only her legs. Yet it was slim enough to show her figure in the process. P'rth could see that look in her eyes already.

"Shall I ask for them to make that dress?" he asked.

P'rita smiled lightly with her rugged and cut lips. "Yes, and if possible...could it have Nophica Green dye?"

---

It was one part of her attire, but now came the next part. Makeup. She didn't know if it was possible to do it herself, so she asked Arala to come and aid her.

"Put makeup on me." was all P'rita demanded.

Arala was dumbfounded. She ran a hand through her red-brown locks with small Ceruleum blue streaks in thought. "Makeup? I...don't know. You look fine as is. I don't even use Makeup. Why? Are you going on a date with someone?" the question P'rita didn't want to answer but was clear as day.

"If not makeup then...fix my hair?" she pointed at her messy short black hair. There was no design and it was just all over. Arala thought for a moment before knowing what to do. She sit P'rita down on a chair and took a comb to begin fixing her hair. Taking some water of all things to make it stick together as a base design. She made the ends look more spiky and spunky in a way. Showing it to her after she was done.

"How's that? I am not hair stylist but you should ask someone who can cut hair to make this." Arala suggested. P'rita smiled at it.

"I do like it more...Thanks."

---

When the time came to check on her clothes, her hair was fixed up better with a stylist. The weavers needed P'rita to put the dress on so they could finish the last minute touches and adjustments. Reluctantly, she did enter another room to put the dress on. It slipped on with ease so that was good, but what she didn't expect was her backside was exposed. The bra line and her many back scars exposed. From cuts to even a faint burn mark. Her arms had some battle scars as well but nothing too distracting. To see such a beautiful dress on her battle drenched body was both a nice change but frightening. She prayed no one would judge her taste. That no one tried to make her feel unwanted.

That no one would try to take Flynt from her before she had a chance to fight back.

...A few snips and sews later, the dress was finished. It was packed up and sent with P'rita back to the small home with her Master. With maybe a day or so left till that date she set. Hopefully nothing would happen in that time or any interruptions.

"Maybe Flynt could share more about him?" she flicked her Bombling earring.

After a long day of shamelessly making a damn fool of himself, it came to be for the good Flynt Reddard to go to Flynt Beddard. Making his way through the Gate of Nald after a heart-to-fist with the Grindstone, sure he got rid of it once and for all; that goddamn bird flew down from the high heavens, delivering what may as well could have been a message from the Twelve saying 'Go fuck yourself.'. 

Thankfully, Flynt was beaten and bruised well into sanity for the next few hours, taking the note from the chocobo chick's talons. Opening it up, he first felt threatened. "What do I owe?", was the first thing that sprung to mind, but really, after some healthy dosage of common sense, he figured that he was being asked out. Alright. Cool.

Shooing the bird off, he proceeded to his room in the Quicksand, which reeked of urine, bodily fluids, and daddy issues as per usual. From there he awaited the day, which in literary context, was the next one, go figure. Flynt didn't feel the need to dress over-the-top, the Major was simply going to another PR stunt to boost his ego. 

Dressed in a black coatee, topped with a striped bowtie, accented by riding pants and spurred leather boots; Flynt looked like he came back from a chocobo race, drinking with peabodies and gamblers staking their hard earned cash on wealthy pricks with too much gil than what they're worth. Regardless, he was sharp. Just what he needed.

The Hyena marched off, nose up high, to the city's central aetherite, taking the rift to Limsa Lominsa, another subsequent warp to the Culinary Guild on the upper decks of the portside city. From there, he took a seat at one of the vacant tables, unsure who he's going to see, for the letter did not quite specify. He kept his chin propped up on a bent hand, the other staying firm on the stiletto on his pant-leg, half-expecting a bag to come over his head, half-expecting an adoring fan to come waltzing in to court him. 

P'rita had taken a small like to her attire but arriving in Limsa started to diminish what sense of strength she had. Her backside completely exposed to the curious gaze and her choker covering the one scar she never wish to expose in public. While she wore nearly no jewelry, P'rita did have the hair style perfected for this day. In the time when she would make it to the establishment, there she saw Flynt and yet now it kicked in.

"Not now..." She thought to herself. Her courage diminishing. In her years of training, P'rita has all but effectively removed most of her womanly charms and attitude. She looked at herself again, noticing the dress type. Her legs shaking. She asked herself constantly why she acted like this? Why she couldn't just be a normal person and go with the flow? 

"Are you alright, Miss?" a waitress finally noticed P'rita. She stood straight up to reply.

"Yes I am! Just trying to find my...companion." she couldn't admit it still. She could stare death in the face, feel pain and not show emotion, yet the social act of dating or even company was harder than it seemed. So P'rita, a few minutes late would eventually step out from cover and walked to Flynt. He could easily tell by the way she was walking up that it took her a lot of effort to attempt to show up wearing a real dress. She bowed before him. 

"S-sorry for being late!" she said in her most nervous tone before taking a seat. Of course being the Bismark, there would be no traditional dishes of her homeland. So picking out food would be a struggle. Especially since she always stayed away from any food that was smelly or meat wise. P'rita's face had a large mixture of emotions. More importantly Anxiety. For this was completely out of her comfort zone. 

But P'rita was willing to do anything at this point.

"So...F-flynt? Has your...Job been g-good to you?" the first question to ask and she was already picking up a stuttering tongue. Oh how nervous she was. She was thankful, however for her outer appearance. So no one could judge the age gap between them.

"The job is fine. I've been doing what I've been doing for months on end; being a waste of space." he replied dryly, the tone of dissatisfaction prevalent in his commentary. "Playing dress-up to get a few laughs, play the fool, anger some of the regulars. It's all so monotonous, tried cooking up my own personal ring of entertainment, but even then, you never really feel proud of what you do. Well, at least I don't. I just do what keeps me happy for the moment at hand. Past already happened, future can be dealt with as it comes. What about yourself? You look spiffy." he smiled, releasing the tense grip on his leg, leaning back into his seat with both hands balled on his lap.

Something wasn't right about him, he felt a touch more on-edge, something was plaguing him, but even he doesn't know what. A result of cumulative fights, physical and verbal, led him to feel rather trigger-sensitive; the sight of P'rita, despite not one of his more regular confidants, cohorts, or concubines, eased his nerves some. She's yet to piss him off, and doubts she ever will. She had that motherly feel to her, despite the shockingly young appearance. Flynt thinks to himself if that's weird, seeing an older woman. "N-Nah..." he accidentally vocalized, trying to rationalize in his mind, slipping out audibly rather than internally.

P'rita heard his dry tone and how he delivered the rest after made her feel like she was bothering the guy again. It did sound like his jobs were bad, but it wasn't like her's was even better. In fact, during his long winded rant she looked down more at his attire, taking note of how he showed up. She was thankful she did pick a more commonplace dress. Her ears twitched when he asked about her. Cheeks turning a rosy red.

"S-spiffy? I figured that trying something new would...help a bit more." she was bad explaining it. P'rita was not use to no sleeve wear outside of her comfort zone. But she tried to talk about it in a nice way...only turning into a melancholy tone. "I searched that crystal area you told me. Nothing but furry hairs and odd bird things roaming around. No sign of the witch...then i went to report my finding to another of my associates who told me about another job. That turned out fairly rotten." she sighed. 

The idea of a date. So far it looked like Flynt was stressed in some regard and all she could do is freeze up and speak. "I'm doing my best to be more-" his sudden nah halted her. "You don't see anything you like?" P'rita asked as she wanted to help him however she can. The selection of current food at first didn't really tickle her fancy but the more she looked over them, the more she felt overwhelmed with the selection. She could have a dish with fish, or one with pasta, or she can have a soup. It was a tad overwhelming in her world but to most it was the norm for this kind of establishment. "I...was thinking of getting Crayfish." trying to keep Flynt in reality with that statement. To pick just one item...it would take a while.

"Crayfish, sure... Alright. I'm paying, so you know. I came into some wealth, working my ass off. Not like I spend it on myself anyhow, so I insist." he stated coolly, absent in thought, but present nonetheless. "You look fine, very fine. I know it's not your thing, but so long as you're in Eorzea, I suggest you get used to the style of dress. You look nice, anywa-- I'm repeating myself." he cut himself off. 

Flynt waved over a server, allowing the couple to place their orders, Flynt simply ordered a glass of overly expensive water and an overglorified steak; the most pretentious of dishes: the filet mignon. He had the gil, he had even less of a damn to give about it neither. Nodding off the waiter with a grateful smile, he returned to his somber, more honest demeanor.

"Tell me," he mused, "You're really strung up on me, aren't you.". He leaned back against his seat, twiddling his thumbs, finding comfort in P'rita's presence. "You do Know that I'm not one for a single woman. I can't, it's simply not in my interests. Of course, I am not implying you need compete with somebody else for my attention." "It's just a matter of your own comfort. I'm interested, you're interested, everything is hunky-dory, right? It feels wrong to advance without you aware that you are not the only one. Ah, rest assured, you won't be pushed aside, neither. My love is indefinite, it chooses no favorites. Unorthodox? Yes. Healthy? Well, I try to accommodate the individual wants and needs of my lovers."

The explanation ran on, he was honest about it all. It really would be a shame to go on with any romantic advances without both sides on common ground; after all, that's the fine line between being a booty call and a love interest. "Call me a tramp, a playboy, whatever you find most fitting. I simply cannot confide in a single one, easy as that.", he concluded after a long-winded proposition. "What say you?", he asked with a genuine smile, seeing out of his peripheral vision that the food was near completion, being placed on silver platters.

"You're really strung up on me, aren't you?"


In truth P'rita never met anyone in her life thus far who's taken interest in her. The feeling was odd. He was strong and she wished one day to finally win one match against Flynt. What she has known about him thus far and the idea of having a more laid back life was more or less a nice goal she wanted to achieve as well. Sure they had different ideas on fighting but never the less it was the only time she felt even with another person.

"I am but-" she stopped. Flynt explained a lot to her. About how he was not able to sit for one woman or not choosing favorites. Hearing this made P'rita's heart sank a bit, but she kept her neutral expression on the surface. She had horrible luck with men before...

With his question and smile, P'rita kept her face hidden by looking down at her lap. He couldn't see it but her hands were shaking a little. Until she finally spoke up.
"...I'll call you an idiot."
P'rita looked up again with a slight smile. Masking what little she really felt about it. Was what he said about settling down all a lie? No...he was genuine when he told her that information. But he was young and even now she believes it was better if he went with a woman his age.
"I understand if you want to do that. Girls your age are better suited for you."
And she started to spiral down once more. Her Melancholy attitude. True as it may be at times, she was harsh on herself ever since that incident years ago.

Even if he tried to stop her, she would interrupt him. "You want common ground, right?" her ears twitched and her long tail swayed in the wind. "I will give it to you." Her attention out into the harbor as she waited for the final touches in their meal. 

"...Now that i think about it...it was weird that you of all people took interest in me. No normal man would even look at me without being the least bit disgusted with how many scars I've accumulated." she turned and gave a big smile to Flynt as the food arrived. The few bits of Crayfish with a small red body resembled a real lobster but were caught in freshwater. Seeing this she reached for her fork and oddly tried stabbing at one of them to pick it up. Only bouncing off the shell. "Huh? You are suppose to eat with your tools, right?" she asked, almost forgetting the topic that put her heart off balanced for a moment.

All the while, P'rth was ease dropping on the conversation. He wasn't about to leave his last and only pupil alive on this odd date alone. Hidden away from even P'rita's senses-
"Take these to the table five!" P'rth was handed the food that the two would indulgent on. Apparently disguising as a waiter meant you had to actually work the job as well. How degrading...

He let out a tired sigh, expecting a reply like that. "Idiot.", he parroted to himself. He's heard worse, but it still didn't feel great. "In my defense, I think a mature figure is much needed in my life; I see somebody with much under their belt in you. I hadn't really known all to much from empiric knowledge: age." he trailed on.

"Yeah. Just crack open the shell with the butt of your knife, if you were served with a small mallet or vice, use that-- But, seriously." he went on some more, feeling that he didn't quite make his point clear enough. "I do want to call it quits sooner than later, but my love life is not like most. I've come to terms with that. I do, however, want you. Simple and clear." he stated flatly, cutting the crap and stating his mind. "Age really doesn't matter, well-- Yes, it does, but that's contextually sensitive. I find you attractive, no? I do, therefore I wish to pursue." he clarified, leaning over to cut up the slab of meat on his plate with a serrated steak knife obviously worn by the wooden grip, it's seen many overpriced meals be cut into morsels before. What an experienced knife. If you really want to dig into it, though, I guess it's that very same mundane ideology that attracts Flynt to P'rita in the first place.

From that comment of wanting her still...a smirk crossed her face. Her eyes beaming at Flynt as she issued a challenge.
"If you can find out what my real name is...consider me yours." 
She would hold her promise. Yet there was nothing left of her old life or name. All information even remotely close to her resided in her homeland and her master. Yet it wasn't impossible.
"But if that is too hard for you I could always reduce the challenge. I think it would be fun, no? See how determined you are." she wanted to have fun with Flynt in a way. She took his word and tried cracking it open, seeing the edible meat and part of the internal organs. She tried her best to not even look at it as she dug out the tail meat to eat.

But as he was cutting into his steak she could see how it cut in. To the untrained eye it seemed like any knife but to her it felt like a dull blade attempting to cut through a dummy, only to have it take multiple swings. It was a pet peeve to see any cutting tool not be precise and perfect in a way. So she took one of her knives from the small bag and handed it to Flynt. She didn't bother to look at him, feeling too embarrassed to offer.

"Use my knife. I can't stand seeing a rocking motion with blades..." 
Her dagger was a one sided blade. The blade shined brighter than the other parts and the handle made from a sturdy kind of wood. Polished and maintained to prevent rust and wear. On the end of the handle was a small symbol of a half moon with claw marks through it. Her old clan's mark. Unlike the knives she threw, these were her weapons...and she brought her weapons to dinner.

On her second, she caught wind of the so called butter sauce. She didn't want to ask Flynt, wanting him to enjoy his meal. So she tried it and yet it tasted different with the sauce. The faintest meow of enjoyment came from her mouth. "...What is this golden delight? It makes the meat taste so much better...So creamy and...lemon in it?" her eyes almost sparkling like Emeralds at this new discovery for her mouth. In fact, taking another bite from another tail was even better.
"Nya..." her words slipping out louder.

Some would find this weird or awkward out of context of her situation.

Nothing felt more irritating than a challenge. Nothing comes for free nowadays, does it. Of course it had to be something as cliche as 'guess my true name', as if digging up some legal documents or asking a close friend for the answer wasn't the simplest way to go about things. He knew she was trying to get a foothold by making him flop about looking for answers as if it ultimately mattered. He really didn't care. Flynt gets what he wants, and won't resort to playing by the rules to get it. 

The good Major shook his head, rolling his eyes, giving her the satisfaction of compliance. Sure, he'll do it, and he'll retain his dignity all the same. Humoring the woman was the idea of the date, why be a stuck up prick about it? It was hard to take a challenge in which the magnitude of success and failure was so severe so seriously when the challenger is mewling like a kit over basic seafood. Her sudden generosity didn't help much neither, albeit well-received. It was a shitty knife he was handed by the server, the finely crafted knife P'rita lent over was much better.

It severed the well-singed meat by the bare muscle and meat, a single draw of the edge across the slab was well enough to cut it up and leave it soaking in the bloody puddle of garnish, oils, and hemoglobin. Flynt felt out of place with the combat knife in hand, using a full-fledged weapon at the dinner table is usually something your parents told you not to do. But its not like it mattered all to horribly, a playboy and a refugee are out to dinner in the same world where the economic powerhouse of the country is run by a pink midget and a beefcake warlord actively being undermined by the goddamn lollipop guild. 

"...It's probably some sort of dip made up of some of the local produce. Summerford, maybe. Beats me." he shrugged, setting down the sizable blade to grasp his seventy gil bottle of water, taking swigs after every morsel consumed by the voracious meat connoisseur. Wine would be an ideal pair, but Flynt is under the constant worry that he won't control himself while drunk, he was tiny, a lightweight. Better not risk it.

"Well, you seem so sure that if I find your name and see to my rightful claim that you are some sort of big catch. All I see is a pretty face and a good talker. Sell me on why I should take time and effort out of my life to want to find something likely buried in the archives of some immigration office-- which would cost me a fortune to get into, by the by. Give me some incentive, what can you do that others can't?" He had faith in P'rita, surely a worthy investment, but it still never dawned to him that something so contrived as a 'hidden' name would be worth it. Determination? Like hell Flynt would put unnecessary effort into something he has hardly any knowledge of. Like betting for a mystery prize, why go all in without knowing what you're getting? It's a fool's errand. He wants foundation to base his investigation; something to sell him. 

And as she thought he wouldn't take it as a game. Yet that seemed to make P'rita smile inside. Sometimes fooling around was not the smartest move. Yet this game was one thing she was determined to push.

"I can cook wonderful dishes of my homeland and make a great breakfast. I'm a good sparring partner and not going to cry after taking one punch. My ears will be always lent to listen to you. And as you saw before, I am fairly flexible. Maybe that can give you a few ideas of your own?" she smirked. P'rita was not going to let this game go. It gave her some confidence that she really could use now to even sit here with her shoulders exposed in public. 

But in truth what she could offer is her company at any time...but what good is that when he can have whomever he wants at his side. "Don't have to accept it. Think about that little choice." P'rita was more than happy to drop it if he wanted, but there had to be some fun in her life. She had to take a moment to think.
"I'll be back. I need some air." and without letting him say otherwise she got up and walked a little distance to look out over the ocean to think for a moment...and how she really just wanted to be that only one in an impossible situation.

"Everything okay, sir?" P'rth asked, knowing full well that Flynt had no idea who he was. This could give him the chance to talk a bit. "That woman seems pretty strong for all those scars on her. She must of been though gods know what. But i think you would fair best with a girl with fairer skin."

"Why is all that people think about have to be outward? I mean really, who cares. If they want the affection, I find fancy in them, and wouldn't mind being in a relationship with a shameless debauchee, so be it. If I feel like a woman with fairer skin, I'll get one. But right now, I want that one. She's got more going on for her than a tight rear, thankfully." he spoke, his tone as casual as ever. He was candid with the waiter, a heart to heart between two working men. 

"Hey now, you took her name, yeah? You wouldn't happen to be able to repeat it for me? I think she's just toying with me about it all, she must've had some sort of identification? Throw me a bone here, lad, I'll tip you extra." he joked, nudging the man's suit with an elbow with a big grin. "You heard her. She's wife material, ah? You wouldn't cockblock a gent like me, huh?" he teased some more, subtle pleading undertones lined his questions. Sure, he was joking around, but he liked what he heard. She's a keeper. No pun intended. 

"Listen, take this here five hundred or so, save it for a vacation. I'll double it if you can get me a name." he winked, slipping a bank note for five hundred gil, signed with a false account name into his apron. The money was real, the identity? Not quite. Unless you think Franklin Suddonim is a real name. "I'll be right here. Get it quicker and I'll get another fiver under that there grand." he ensured, really trying to get the man going.

P'rth looked at the money and listened to the man's word. While yes he looked like any normal waiter say for the slight glimpse of prosthetic limbs, he was being as covert as possible. "Seems like he isn't going to give up on her then." he thought.

"If her name is not what it is, then maybe there is a reason behind hiding it." He wasn't about to take any random money. Especially his. Even the information was quickly washed off. "It's said some information cannot be bought with money. Your best bet is to keep at it and try your hardest to dig..." and looking up to P'rita still there he added.

"You can start by asking about that wonderful knife she gave you. I've never seen something that sharp before. I'll let it slide this time, but next time someone sees a weapon at dinner there would be some consequences." P'rth hoped he played his part right. The least suspicious he was the less likely P'rita would easily pick him out. He walked off after placing the water on the table for P'rita when she returned.

She eased herself down in the chair and took a sip of the water. "...Sorry about that. Had to clear my mind. Any special treats they offer here?" her eyes wandering to look for the chalkboard with written specials they had for today and only today. Looking for anything that caught her eyes. While chocolate wasn't something she enjoyed a lot, there was another treat she did but it was not here.

"Any recommendations?" P'rita smiled with some excitement. Her meal in itself was a great experience and with Flynt it made it better. Oh how she felt more than enough confidence from earlier. Almost like this little date helped open her up more. Her eyes not bothering with how others looked and seemed to look to Flynt...but still at times she couldn't help but imagine him with other women at his age. It stung at her heart from time to time. She was use to such pain by now. 

Even if this was the only time, P'rita was more than happy to have this event.

"I-- Yeah..." he fumbled, examining the foreign blade before seeing the waiter leave. Peculiar fellow. Flynt found no suspicion about him, not like he had any to begin with. His eyes found P'rita walking back to the table, greeting her with a smile and a nod. "Mostly pastries. Cheesecakes, fudge, flan. Missed you, by the by." he quipped, trying to be coy. His mind was to preoccupied with figuring it all out, though he did soon after cave to inquiry.

"So... What's with the fancy stabber? Seems custom made. Nice stuff. Don't see this kind of stuff out of Doma or Abalathia. Tough metals from them there regions, yeah". That should suffice. He held the tang up to the sunlight, examining the intricate metallurgy put into its creation. "Matches the owner, in a way. Sharp. Useful. I want it." he snickered, knowing full-well now he's just trying to get on P'rita's good side while she's still in her happy-go-lucky state. What kind of a dinner date ends with just a hug and a kiss anyway? This is a Reddard date, it ends with a bang. No pun intended. Again. 

At the very least, he didn't plan on parting until he has her; he's waited too damn long between meetings anyway, so why bother letting her go? In a mix between interrogation and flirtation, Flynt masterfully weaved his words to both mine for information and soften up the Miqo'te in a fell swoop. Dusk began to on the couple's evening dinner, servicemen all around the restaurant preparing the torches and candles strewn about the patio deck. Flynt had a feeling things were going for the better, he just couldn't wipe that smug look of satisfaction off his face.

P'rita did think about the options at hand but his question seemed out of the blue. Followed by his comments. P'rita wondered why he would ask such a thing? Did he take a real interest in the knife?

"That knife was gifted to me by another clansmen. He made the pair himself for me after I was an official member of the group. I've used them since then, taking care of it and cleaning it regularly." P'rita began, adjusting the choker on her neck as she tried to talk more. Hoping that Flynt wasn't just brushing it off. "He was a great guy. Whenever master was not home, he would take control and do fun things with us. Gather rice, play with the children at the schools..." and it seemed her idea of fun was more or less work to most.

P'rita took out the second pair to show how similar they were in design but that one had very subtle spots along the blade. Almost like blood stains. "The only gift that survived the invasion. They are always with me until the day I die." her care for knives was a tad weird. P'rita always held her memories so close and to share even small information with Flynt was rare. So rare that he is the only one thus far who has heard any of this. "Are you that fond of the forge work?"