Hydaelyn Role-Players

The oddly garbed Dragoon hadbecome too common a sight in the Carline Canopy. Each passing day felt like he was overstaying his welcome in the Elemental-plagued shroud. Rumors of a man like him being present in the light of grand disasters that were plaguing the forests was finally catching up and it seemed that people made purposeful effort to skirt around his table, adventurers and the staff alike. Even the one Keeper of the Moon bar wench who he had been angling for now always looked at him as though she was being held hostage whenever they conversed. 
 
Thoughtonight he managed to wrangle the company of an Elezen woman to his table, was always easier to do so when in more civilized clothing.
 
"Alwayswanted t'head back t'Ishgard myself" She said with a small titter "Heard its beautiful even in the winter, Ma always talked about how she loved the high courts; going on about the high life she used to have --before she took me away to Gridania when I was just a babe for my safety of course-- funny how she speaks like the rest of them Gridanians do though.." 
 
Orrinlistened politely, her words passing through one ear and out the other, eyes beginning to wander about for something, anything more engaging. His eyes caught a retainer of some sort adhering a new poster to the wall, eyes narrowed in hope that the quiet weeks of inaction had finally come to an end and a new leve had surfaced.

This was not the case, his eyes widening as he say a wash of flesh-colored tones of yellowed paper, he recognized too many faces in an instant, Anstarra, Nihka…Leanne?  He had to blink a few times and it clearlybetrayed his disinterest to the woman in front of him.
 
“You even listening? I’m beginningto doubt you are a true blooded Ishgardian like myself!” she said with her forest-borne drawl.
 

“Excuse me…” he said, gettingup with a bow that would have been instantly recognized as polite, but dismissive, cessation of dialogue customary to the Pillars, which was clearly lost on her.  Her protests fade into thebackground of the canopy as he looks over the poster. “This grease business again” he thought, recalling V’aleera’s poster. Curious it took so long to resurface since the last…even more curious that Leanne of all sorts was pulled into it. Perhaps a visit was in order, remembering something about horse oil causing issues in the market naught but less than a moon back.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The sounds of a Carbuncle Wall Clock. The room was dark, save for a single candle. A poster was laid out on a desk. A figure was sitting behind the desk. Green eyes, glowing. They would fall upon the poster. Fingers would tap the desk.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A glance up, eyes piercing the darkness. Her lips would curl, revealing a fang. "Go to every single bar, pub, inn, or otherwise patron-gathering locale and rip every single one of these down."

Hushed whispers, various individuals discussing such a thing to one another. There is a pause, before each gives a low, respective bow.

"Hai, Hijiri Denka. And what of the woman responsible...?"

A slam of a fist upon the desk. Green eyes would begin to bleed red, as the woman stands abruptly. She adjusts her choker, and fits her blades into her belt. A trained assassin. A shinobi. She turns toward the door, clenching her teeth.

"Oh, I will handle Miss Spahro personally..."

With that, she vanishes in an instant. The manipulation of space and time, the immediate placement from one locale to another? Nearly a plaything for a shinobi of her skill. But what was not so simple, was her boiling blood and rising anger. Especially at a time like this.

Walking through Limsa Lominsa, the white ribbons of her new outfit fluttering in the sea breeze, L'yhta passed right by one of the posters without a glance.

At first.

With a clack of her boots on the stone -- and with nearly causing a pile-up with a crate-hoisting roegadyn and his lalafell associate, who evaded her at the last moment with a few grumbled obscenities -- the again purple-haired miqo'te skidded to a stop and reversed a few steps, leaning backwards to peer at the poster, most particularly at the well-muscled fellow in the center.

"Um..." she said to no one in particular as her dusky cheeks took on a distinct ruddy hue. She blinked a few times, then quickly resumed her walk towards a nearby aetheryte with a quicker pace.

The old Roe woman move through the market place of Ul'dah, a basket of fruit on her arm to sell to any Brass Blade or Flame that pass by.  "So shameful..." she heard off to her side.  She glance over at the pair of Seekers that was staring at the poster.  "I don't know.  If he was Miqo'te, I could have him as our Nunh."

She moves over to the pair.  "What are you looking at dears?" she ask.  The pair spun around to her.

"Nothing...nothing at all."  The female seeker said, grabbing hold of the other female.  "Twelve, first you want a Keeper now you're after a hyur."

"But...but..." the other female said as she was drag off by her sister.  The old woman watch them with laughing eyes.

"Ah, see ya still after the menfolk, Nightingale."  The old voice was no longer old, as Kestlona pull back to hood a little on the robe to get a better look on the poster.  "My, my, Nathan."  Her eyes dance in laughter as she swipe the poster from the board.  "Wonder if he wouldn't mind a Seawolf to go along with that pile of Kittens."  The next time she saw him, oh the teasing she was planning.  Pulling the hood back down, she hides the poster in the basket of fruit, and makes her way out of the marketplace.  She should stop by the Hall to see if he was there.

Luminous moon strides through the streets whistling, hands in her pockets before she notices the poster. Pale white cheeks flush as silver eyes widen "Goodness, we dont have anything like that where I come from..." she muses. Distracted by the highlanders muscles she ogles the poster until Alfort calls to her. Her stupor broken she gathers herself together and chases after him. "Coming, Ser!"'

Rufus casually strolled through the Gold Court in Ul'dah, as though it was any other day for him. His gaze wandered to the fountain that served as the familiar centre piece of the area. A nostalgic smile spread across his lips as he seemed lost in thought for a moment.

Just then, a peculiar thing caught his attention. A flyer left on one of the benches that surrounded the fountain itself. He approached at a casual pace, leaning down to pick the flyer up from the stone upon which it lay. He squinted his eyes, examining the piece of parchment for a split second before unconsciously bellowing, "Bronco Grease? This again?!" before he could even stop himself. He quickly looked about,  a mild amount of panic written on his features. As it seemed his outburst had drawn no attention, he quickly poured over the remainders of the flyer, his eyes steadily growing wider as he did so. He abruptly took off in a quick jog, as his armoured form clanked noisily from the motions, the leaflet all but discarded. He raised a hand to his ear, activating his linkpearl as his voice raised once again. 

"Aeron! Aeron it's back! Put on your skimpiest outfit!"

Slowly, evenly, the darkened figure moved through the frozen city.  It would have even appeared to be gliding over the cobblestones had the heavy fall of boot steps not told otherwise.  It paused just before the door to the inn to stare at the wall of fluttering papers tacked and nailed for public display.

A long dagger was drawn, hefted, and reversed before being jammed violently into the poster.  The figure drew closer as if to speak to the image.  "Sinner", it hissed.  "Your words will no longer save you."  It's hand withdrawn, the knife left in place seemed to sever the head from the body of the image.  With one last snarl, the figure moved on.

Sigurd had endured an awful evening at the Black and White ball, culminating in his dearest friend, Septimus Rem Nero Varus Nerva, punching him square in the jaw for simply uttering Septimus' full, gods-given name in public several times.  But perhaps the most awful, lingering part of that evening was a wine-stain that ruined one of his fitted formal shirts.  The Highlander had been recovering from the Garlean's "lucky punch" when a ebony-skin Miqo'te flung the glass of wine at him after finding Sigurd's conduct mildly objectionable.  Despite the force of Septimius' blow, Sigurd had not been punched so hard that he forgot the Miqo'te's face. 

"...Gods dammit.  Jaw still hur--," he muttered from that aching jaw, stopping mid-sentence as his eyes rolled over the promotional flier that had been posted outside the Quicksand.  The Highlander stopped dead in his tracks. The face of the Miqo'te who had flung wine on his shirt stared right back at him from the page. 

The streets of Ul'dah carried his voice: "A prude /and/ a FRAUD! Vexing!  Vexing!! VEXING!!!"  As much as Sigurd desired to scream additional disclaimers about the Miqo'te's marketing practices, his jaw ached far too much, leaving him unable to do much more than nurse it with a hand. At least his favorite watering hole was steps away and held the promise of 'one more drink' before work.

Ears flat and tail tip twitching, Rhea stormed passed the posters, nose in a book and a giant, floppy hat on top of her head. Pausing in front of one random poser, she glanced at it, only to blush and shake her head. At least it didnt show much of her face, but she wasn't about to risk it. Originally? She had considered a cowl, but that seemed a bit excessive.

"It should just fade out of existance, give and take a few days... yes... The book was worth it i think..." Mumbling to herself, she quickly power walked away.

"More half-naked models? But they're wearing a sufficient amount of clothes, right?"

Dressed in his usual get-up, he did not make the mental connection that he was, and had been for quite some time, showing more skin than a Bronco model. That would require self-awareness that Kellach seemed incapable of doing on such a scale. Granted, the chief source of the skin showing was the fact that he was wearing very short shorts, but that did not exactly register with him.

Though it would explain the strange stares.

The Midlander sat at the large table with fingertips pressing into his cheek, that amethyst gaze held onto the poster that had just been presented to him by the younger girl sat within the magitek chair to aid her mobility. He could feel that gaze fixated on him by the girl as she awaited his reply or full reaction to the sight of Odette on the poster and what was written alongside it.

"Really.. I... I didn't put her up to it if that's what you're wondering and no she didn't tell me..." the Midlander muttered, even if the girl replied with a roll of her own amethyst hues.

With a slow push the Midlander stood up from his own chair and grasped the back of the magitek chair to slowly push it along to speed up the mechanisms that saw it move forward along the marble tiles of the large room that served as the lounge of the estate.

"Besides she's not on it with another guy, otherwise I might've gotten a bit jealous. Maybe. Maybe just angry. Now come on lets go to the markets to pick out something nice for her."