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MikoBehnen · **12-10-2014, 11:57 AM**

Two weeks until the Stairlight Ball and Miko didnâ€™t even understand why she was going. She remembered being drunk and telling a friend sheâ€™d go with him so he wouldnâ€™t beâ€¦ attacked? Miko frowned, that didnâ€™t make sense. Who would attack him at a party? That would be rude. But she did remember saying sheâ€™d go, and if there was one thing Miko was good at it was keeping her promises.
The shopkeeper had been babbling on about lines of some sort for a while now and the way he was talking made it seem as if she were meant to have some sort of response when he was done.
â€œI donâ€™t really like lines,â€ Miko interrupted his babble, â€œI get quite bored in them. Is there anyway I could get a dress without a line?â€
The man stopped, silenced in his confusion and slowly walked her over to a selection of giant tent like things made of fabric. He selected one and with a curious look in his eye, handed it to the now nervous Miqoâ€™te. Miko had seen dresses before of course. The Elezan that had raised her sometimes wore these sleek, elegant gowns of silk and lace. She had loved how the dresses hugged the older womenâ€™s curves, and the fabric glittered like the moon, but that had been before the Calamity when things like silk were available in greater supply. This dress had ruffles and bows and a lot more fabric than she had been expecting. Miko held it up by the sleeves and looked at the shop keeper with a hint of fear. It looked so feminine! She was going to look ridiculous in this thing, and sheâ€™d never be able to dodge a punch or dagger thrust wearing this much fabric. The merchant smiled reassuringly and gestured to a small room where Miko could try the gown on.

A few moments later Miko walked out of the room with a frown on her face and the bow tied awkwardly around her head. â€œI donâ€™tâ€¦ I donâ€™t think I did this right.â€ she blushed.
A bell like laugh drifted over from the other side of the shop followed by an accented voice and a tall sunkissed Miqoâ€™te with a kind grin.
â€œUwah... Yangh no think is correct dress...â€

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Berrod Armstrong · **12-10-2014, 12:08 PM**

The air was bitter with the smell of smoke and blood. All around the small gathering of individuals laid the wreckage of a campsite -- some of it burned, some of it torn down, but most of it being actively salvaged by the victors of the battle that had raged not a bell ago. Men and woman alike picked through the covers, crocus and supplies. Water and meat were regarded as precious. Tarpaulins, blankets and clothing even more so.Â

In the midst of it all knelt a young boy. He could not have been more than fourteen years of age, probably thirteen, given the deceptive development of his strong build. Ropes bound his hands tightly behind his back, mercilessly cutting to wrists stained with blood mostly not his own. All he wore was a pair of ragged pants and the blood of many of those he had felled. The lad was a Highlander through and through, with shaved brows, a strong nose-bridge and intense eyes that stared up with unfiltered hatred.Â

The subject of his loathing stood before him, looking down with an infuriating calm. The other Highlander dwarfed him in comparison; mightily tall with thick muscles wreathed about his tanned and Â broad frame. A wild, battle-harassed mane of red hair fell from his shoulders, and green eyes regarded the captive with cold scrutiny. Behind him, a hardened looking midlander woman restrained a sobbing highlander lady. She blubbered and pleaded for the life of her son.

"Do you know who I am?" The red-haired Highlander asked of the boy.Â

By the way the lad spat at the other's feet, yes, he did. There was no reaction on the part of the captor, and he continued. "Do you know how many of my men you killed?"

"Nine," The boy answered with pride. "I cut down nine of your bastards." His golden brown eyes blazed with the fire of hatred.

"Nine," The captor repeated, "You are a warrior indeed. Very rarely does one your age accomplish such a thing. You remind me of myself."

The words seemed like the gravest insult to the young man, who lunged forward impotently with a snarl. "I am nothing like you."

"Hm. You're strong. You've murdered mine, which brings the penalty of death. Yet, your mother begs for you, for Â you are her only child." He jerked his head back to the pleading woman -- her own captor had no need to hold her anymore; she had prostrated herself behind the man, uttering her most desperate plea.Â

He saw that it bothered the boy in the way his lips pressed thin. Battle drenched as he was, the bond between mother and son was ever a weakness to be exploited. The red haired Highlander knew this all too well. He took a deep breath and exhaled, putting on a show of contemplation. "I would like to spare you. But you must join me, and fight for me. Your worth is those nine lives. Spend them in my name."

Behind him, the boy's mother erupted into a new spurt of pleading. "Yes! Please. Please, he will serve you and fight for him, so long as he has his life. Please, Redhammer! Spare him!" While she was ignored by the Highlander called Redhammer, her own sun flashed her a grimace of deepest loathing. The glare did not last long; after a moment he seemed unable to bear the sight of her. Instead, he turned his burning eyes to his captor.

"I won't serve you. I'll kill you, just like I killed your men."

Redhammer looked down at him in placid silence, devoid of all emotion, yet rife with scrutiny. "Are you sure?"

Another wad of spittle fired at his feet. "Gods take you and swive you bloody, you bas--"

He wasn't allowed to finish his final curse; Redhammer's hand swept out in a blurring arc. The scimitar clutched in it severed the poor lad's head from the top lip go up, spattering an untidy trail of gore as the top of his head rolled in the sand. He had done it so quickly that it took a few moments for the boy's mother to realize what had happened.

And when she did, her wails into the smoke-thickened air did not cease.

As the young man's body crumpled into the floor, his mother's captor treated Redhammer to a disapproving scowl. "We don't kill children, I thought." She was barely audible over the anguished ululations of loss.

"He was a man," Redhammer said, "And given the chance to live, he would have been the end of us all. Take her away. She'll learn to live from her loss, or die from it. We have work to do."

Gegenji · **12-10-2014, 05:07 PM**

If one would travel down to Moraby Drydocks this evening, one might find themselves witness to a sight quite fanciful. Nestled up to one of its much-less-dry docks was a Clipper of a most unusual design, its deck and masts and every other conceivable surface above the waterline was decorated in lights and streamers and all manner of festive ornamentation. Even from the brick and mortar, those that cast a glance its way was rewarded with a wondrous sight of balloons and fireworks.

This was the Stage Left, the ship of an up-and-coming traveling troupe of acrobats and fools. A step aboard its deck was a step into a fanciful world full of tricks and treats, brought (nearly) free of charge by a delightful crew of face-painted performers. Mostly Lalafell and Miqo'te, with the occasional Highlander or Roegadyn showing off feats of superhuman strength. All there to lift your spirits for a reasonable handful of gil from your obviously deep coffers in return. This evening was no different, slowly drawing in a crowd of curious common-folk with their lights, colors, and music.

Watching the gathering numbers from the sizable stern-side window of his personal quarters was the Captain and Ringmaster of the troupe who were tentatively referring to themselves as the "Ocean Opo-Opos" - one Hohoyoho Nonoyoho. He, like all those under him, wore a mask of face paint that made him seem quite friendly and approachable, which was certainly no lie. Its assortment of colors would've clashed with his normal ship captain's attire if it wasn't also just as flamboyant and colorful. All to appear appealing to the audiences he so loved.

His favorite performance these past suns, however, was something a bit more special. The stage was a yawning bridge connecting the two halves of Lower La Noscea. The audience was a group of Ul'dahn visitors transporting quite the most interesting cargo. Even constraint to just two of his helpful assistants, Hohoyoho had managed to amaze and befuddle, attract and distract, like he ever so much loved to do. The payment he had gotten for the job was just icing on the cake, though he had to admit that it was a tasty icing indeed. After all, all these shows - and his love of the latest advances in showmanship - couldn't run solely on the paltry coin that ticket prices brought in.

Well, they probably could, but Hohoyoho was more than happy to avoid seeking a more mature, fiscally responsible solution. As long as his clientele agreed to his terms - such as minimal harm to his "target audience" so that they might enjoy the show he and his put on for them - then the Lalalfell was more than happy to participate in dealings that seemed much more at home in the shadowed alleyways of his hometown of Ul'dah. Oh, and what a dealing - what a performance - it had been!

The Lalafell smiled his trademark Cheshire grin as he thought about it, slipping his over-exaggerated twirly mustache onto his face and affixed his monocle to its rightful home where - not many suns at all ago - an eye-patch had alighted itself. Tonight's performances, though of a more mundane nature, also required his full attention to ensure the entertainment of the populace. And, who knows, maybe there would be a calling again by those needing the skills of the Distractin' Captain and his Jolly Rogers.

After all, who'd ever expect the pirate to be a clown?

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Oscare · **12-13-2014, 10:13 PM**

"Ugh."

"Emotions."

The dark toned highlander aggressively exhales, shooting at a vase in his room that shatters into probably quite a couple of hundreds of pieces. "Who fuckin' needs them?" He holsters his pistol again, looking at the mess he made. "Weaklings, that's who. I have no need for 'friends' or feelings. I've signed them away -- why do they KEEP FUCKING COMING BACK?!" Oscare slams his foot on the ground, the pure force put into his plus his irritated mood causes the whole room to tremor just an ilm[inch].Â

"They shouldn't be coming back. I've signed them away, disposed of them like the waste of space and time they are. I've let myself soften upon these people -- I need to remember my goal. Keep your eyes focused and your shots steady. Channel the anger and the joy alike into nothing but energy, yeah? I need to steel myself again. I can't succumb to what my life is meant to be."

A silence followed.

"I've got to. I will neverÂ fulfill to what I've been destined to do. My love Reina -- I will seek your vengeance and take blame of all those you want dead. Your last dying wish will succeed. I will kill them all."

"All of them."Â

Ciel · **12-14-2014, 01:45 PM**

"Sauveterre?Â That's a name I haven't heard in a long time.Â She was with the Free Brigade, if I recall."

An older member of the Immortal Flames sat off duty with a former comrade, long since retired from duty.Â "Odd that her name would come up, but she was a good soldier.Â Her and all of Wulfegard.Â Ser Morithan hand-picked each and every one, thinking all of them cast-offs and meant to make something worthwhile out of them."

"Aye."Â The first Flame closed his eyes for a moment, letting callused fingers tap idly against the side of his tankard.Â "She was never meant for any military... you could see it in her eyes, and just the way she dealt with others.Â She had confidence, but not the physical bearing of a soldier, nor the mindset to deal well with taking lives on a battlefield, which is why she was assigned to Conjury at Carteneau even if it wasn't her strong suit."

The retired Flame nods slowly, "Too nice even when giving orders to her own subordinates.Â Even so, she earned her rank... Second Lieutenant."Â He rubbed his chin, "If what I've heard is right, the person claiming her name even had the bow she was awarded upon achieving that rank.Â Could be a shoddy duplicate.Â She's been missing in action since then... why would someone claim her identity now?"

McBeefâ„¢ · **12-14-2014, 03:42 PM**

Evangeline walks into her room, flopping down on the bed with a sigh.

Was this really a smart idea? It had occurred to her at first as a reasonable opportunity. Otto Vann, was smart, rich, and well connected. Even a bit dashing when he wished to be, as rare as that was. He was still a man though, and a Syndicate man at that.

Perhaps she'd let her guard down. Their long talks on subjects both personal and practical had left her feeling comfortable around him. She remembered mirthfully even now, their first meeting, when she had spit on him for his Syndicate status. Now, ironically the same status that was helping her cause.

Still though... the Ball? With him? She still wasn't sure if the thought brought anxiety or excitement, perhaps both.

Evangeline sits for a moment, then laughs. "If I'm going to lose my way, I might as well look good doing it." Then, hopping up, she begins looking through her effects, wondering what she might wear.

Parvacake · **12-14-2014, 06:02 PM**

Marriage.

Why were people so hung up on marriage?

Lili ran her hands down her face as she let herself free fall onto the couch, giving a little bounce before she settled against the cushions with her quilt. A marriage proposal here, a dead husband suddenly returning to her life there, an ex fiance she runs into in the city of occasion here and here...Then there was Locke, sweet as could be...

The blonde let out a groan and tossed the covering over her head.

Fuck people. Time for a nap.

Cliodhna Eoghan · **12-15-2014, 02:51 AM**

The sun shone brightly leaving little room for shadows as it normally did in the Goblet, the air smelling of warm earth. Cliodhna sighed contently as she stepped out of the Sable hall and into the side yard; this heat was so nice. Tucked under her arm was what looked to be a piece of Galrean tech. "Okay...." She murmured, kneeling down and setting the small vanguard on it's feet. "Let's see what ya got Steiner."

Pearl street always had it's problems, but because of the things that happened there; Cliodhna found reason occasionally to travel it, here boots clicking loudly in the night air as she walked. Though her gaze appeared passive, her sharp eyes were taking everything in; the drunk slumped against the door-frame, the whores heading out for work, the cloaked figure peddling ill obtained wares, his gaze fixated on her and glaring. "Get lost, we're busy." He growled at Cliodhna as she approached them.

Her lips pursed into a smile, "No I don't think so...." She replied, slightly shifting in her stance. "Look, either you get the hell out or I'll make you wish you did. Pretty lil thing like you has no business being here if you wanna keep yourself proper." By this point the buyer; a Highlander looking to be in his late teens grinned as well, leering. "Right? I could take you out if you're really that desperate, honey." He grinned, flashing his teeth.

Cliodhna shook her head, chuckling. "It's shit like you that makes me enjoy what I do for a living." Before either man had chance to reply; Cliodhna quickly delivered a snap punch to the buyer, his head jerking backwards as she heard the cartilage in his nose crunch as the force caused him to stagger against the wall before sliding down. The seller tried to run but she was already dropping to the ground and swung out behind him; sweeping her leg under his and knocking him off his feet. rolling quickly she tossed her weight against his and knocked him flat on his back; straddling his chest with her knees pinning his arms.

"L-lady LADY!! Look I'm sorry! I'll give you whatever you want, here take this!! I got some high quality sum-fuckin hells!!" He cried out as she clocked him in the right eye. "First, you're a piece of scum selling this trash." Another snap punch. "Secondly you pissed me off with your comments. That is NOT how you talk to a lady." Another punch. "And lastly, you don't bribe a flame, you dumbass!" One more punch, knocking a few teeth loose in the process. "F-flame?" He gargled around a mouthful of blood and broken teeth. "Flames don't patrol this area!"Â Cliodhna backhanded him. "We do when you sell our shit."

Turning her attention back to the buyer that had been scuttling away; Cliodhna spoke over her shoulder. "You, did you learn your lesson? Don't ever let me catch you this way again or I'll make your face match his." Quickly the younger boy ran off; hand clamped tightly over his severely swollen and bleeding nose. Still perched on the buyer as he whimpered in pain, Cliodhna tapped her pearl. "Captain? I got him."

Shortly after a team of Flames arrived and picked up the Seller. He had been openly peddling a varying amount of stolen goods, most interestingly was a variety of Flame gear and had been a target to weed out quickly. Once they were gone, Cliodhna stretched and tilted her head from side to side; her neck cracking. As she did, something caught her attention.

It was on the ground and in a heap of things the seller had dropped when being hauled off. Kicking aside some debris to get a better look. "....Thought so..." She murmured. It was a badly damaged Mammot, but the crystal looked intact. Knowing she should take it in for evidence, Cliodhna couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for the little thing as she picked it up and headed home...it would just rot in the evidence room forgotten.

It had taken a few weeks but not nearly as long as she had originally thought. With a bit of help from Erik, she was able to repair what was needed and with her own skills form her former life, improve the overall design and concept by taking a model Vanguard toy that was typically sold only in Imperial lands she had smuggled to Ul'dah originally just to keep but decided on giving the Mammat a better body .

Suddenly the sound of a small bullet cracked in the air; breaking the silence. Dragging herself from her thoughts, Cliodhna looked down at Steiner as smoke drifted off one of his guns. "Mistress! A threat was detected and has been eradicated. Praise me, PRAISE ME!" The small Vanguard boomed, it's arms shifting and key twirling happily as a bird dropped from the sky and landed at her feet; bullet in it's chest.

Chuckling slightly, Cliodhna knelt down and patted Steiner on the head. "Thank you Steiner, but we'll have to adjust your settings a bit...." Continuing to kneel she looked at Steiner with admiration, he really was a beautiful melding of the two technologies and Montblanc needed a playmate.

Steel Wolf · **12-15-2014, 03:50 PM**

Steel grumbled as the small army of Lalafellians fluttered about her body like she was a piece of comb and they the bees.

Her new friend Miko, whom she had met in the streets of Ul'dah after her adventure with a certain baby behemoth, had talked her in to going to some Starlight Ball, and it had completely slipped her mind. Now, she was being punished for her poor memory.

The tailor could throw something together...but it would take time. And she would need measurements. It all sounded like fighting a dragon to hear the tailor speak...but Steel knew the fault was hers, and so complied.

Steel had no idea her form could be broken down into a series of numbers. She wasn't a stranger to fashioning metal around the curves of a body, but apparently fabric required a Summoner's level of knowledge of higher math. And also required her to stand stock-still while myriad tiny hands pawed at her body in ways that probably would make a fetishist novel writer blush.

The Miqo'te tailor tut-tutted, finger waving about at the Lalafellian assistants scurried about, pulling swatches of fabric about Steel's smallclothes form. It had been about twenty minutes of this treatment and Steel's face was growing darker and darker.

Another tiny digit jammed itself in to her inner thigh as measuring tape was rode up her leg. There was a pause. The finger stayed put near a place that only Steel had let her husband touch before. Then, a tiny voice.

"She has nothin' here, ma'am."

Steel looked over her shoulder at the assistant, her eyes glowing in rage. The Lalafell wilted under the look. Meanwhile, the Miqo'te woman strutted over, muttering. "Whaddaya mean she ha--....oh."

Steel's eyes looked over to the tailor. "What?"

"Dear..." ,said the tailor, lip pouting as if she was a disappointed mother. "You have no butt."

"I have no butt."

A nod.

"I'm reasonably sure I have one."

"Oh, you've something like one, but...not a substantial one. Not fit for th'sorta dress you're looking for..."

Steel peered over her shoulder, a hand resting on her derriere. She arched her back, watching her body move. Sure enough...there was something there, indeed, but her years of labor had all but chiseled the womanly wiles of her backside away. She had decent hips, but beyond that?

Steel's frown mirrored the tailor's. "So...what'm I supposed to do then? Eat cake for a week?"

The tailor had strutted back to the front of the Roegadyn, fingers rubbing her chin. "Well...at least you have an ample bosom. That's something we can work with."

Steel growled. This was going to be a very long day.

Dogberry · **12-15-2014, 04:44 PM**

"I know, dammit. I know. Look, I bought him a bed. Sheets and everything." Dogberry paced around in the room he had rented from his friend and physician, Rhianna Oruissi. He was talking on a linkpearl, navigating crates and chests set around the room in various states of unpacking.

"Red. They're red," he said, growing increasingly frustrated. "It's a Maelstrom--I KNOW he wants to be an Immort-- That's not the point, OK? It's something to sleep on. What, I gotta get him Sultansworn bedsheets and Raubahn branded underpants? Twelve's sake!"

Dogberry sat down on his couch, and began the process of detaching his legs. After some time they become uncomfortable.

"Why else would I rent a place in Lavender Beds? The whole reason I got this place was so I can be near him. Just give'm t'me every couple of days out of th'week." A pause while he listened. He deflated visably.

"I know, I'm tryin' to work up to it. I figure I'll tell him once he gets to know me. He ain't dumb, he might even figure it out on his own." Another pause.

"No, I'm not trying to get out of telling him. I'll tell him. We can tell him together as a family. Just let me at least build up somethin' with the boy."

"No, I'm not--Bloody hells, y'think after th'life I led I want that boy anywhere near a ship? I'm hopin' th'boy displays an aptitude for woodworkin', or cookin', or hells, haberdashery. I'd rather he make a decent life sellin' hats than takin' after me." The legs were off now, and he began massaging what was left of his legs.

"Hells, Styrseig, I'm sittin' here, rubbin' the aches out of a set of stumps what used t'be my legs. I've faced foes th'likes of which haunt m'dreams t'this day. Y'know what I fear more'n that? Livin' with the thought that I've not done right by m'own son."

"It ain't too late, dammit. We're both still breathin'. What I did, I can't change, but I can be better."

"No, I didn't write that down. I'm bein' serious here. Can I please, just spend some time with m'own son? Seig? Y'there? Dammit."

Dogberry threw the linkpearl across the room. It bounced off the wall and fell into the bath.

Kage · **12-15-2014, 05:05 PM**

Kage paused while he worked the hot piece of metal. A gift. To whom... it really depended on what he'd get the item worked into. A decorative piece? A more... martial piece? Whichever it became, he hoped the recipient liked it. If not, well, he needed to work on this more.

The lalafell thought back to the last Grindstone, remembering the people he'd taken notice of. The one that he'd fought, Aiden, and the one he'd taken a small moment's of interest. He didn't feel too bad about misleading Chachanji into taking part in the events. Perhaps a part of Natalie's ways had rubbed off on him; it certainly seemed like something Natalie would have done to himself once upon a time. But he did feel a tad bit bad that he'd not stuck around to watch how Chachanji fared against Koporo and any consequent matches... He'd taken to seeing how the Quicksand was and decided he'd head off home and take care of some of the business orders that needed finishing touches.

Oh well, perhaps he'd be able to see Chachanji again.

Edgar · **12-16-2014, 12:32 AM**

The fire crackled as a tiny hand poked the brush with a stick. The pit cast a soft glow against the figure, the Dunesfolk Koporo Aporo, as he twisted the cap off his flask and took a swig. The evening had turned the sun-baked Thanalan into a quiet, cold place; Koporo nestled into his blanket and rubbed his hands together in front of the fire, sighing. On the other side of the flame, propped up against a rock, there was the shield of the late Natalie McBeef, a gift to him, as was specified in her testament, and now, a companion piece for him this lonely night, there at Fesca's Wash.

His eyes watched the embers of the firepit for a moment, before turning to focus on the shield. He cracked a small smile, briefly, before reverting to a saddened expression. Again, he turned to the flask, downing another ounce or two and giving a knee-jerk shake of the head in response to the drink's potency. For such a little creature, Koporo fancied drinks that would knock most taller beings flat on their ass, cringing and gripping their guts as if they had just plunged a knife into their abdomen. If Koporo had tolerance for anything, it was alcohol, and he found himself trying to find progressively stronger and stronger drinks as his resistance to the previous tiers grew. He thanked the Twelve every day there were madmen out there ever willing to push the boundaries of the strength of their brew, especially considering recent events that were pushing him to his limits. A worse event, a stronger brew. It seemed to be the way of things, as of late, and Koporo was not arguing.

The wind blew, and Natalie's shield slipped ever so slightly to the side. Koporo's upward-pointed ears twitched as his eyes darted. If the shield had anything to say on the matter, it was being rather quiet about it. Then again, it was an inanimate object, was it not? Koporo sighed, placing the flask on the dirt as he lay down on his side, wrapped in his warm blanket. Finally, after minutes of silence, he spoke up:

"...It ain't fair."

He looked down at the dirt, watching as a tiny little beetle made its way past him. "It jus...It ain't fair, what's happenin'."

Koporo gave the shield a good hard look. "It's all gon' t'all Seven Hells an' back since ya went an' left, ya know?" The shield gave no response, as shields are wont to do in a conversation. Still, he continued, "Ya ever once picture in yer career th'people ya done swore t'protect would come t'hate ya'll an' everythin' ya do fer em'? All th'hurtin', all th'sneakin', all th'...Th'gods derned sacrifices ya'll make? Fer them?" Koporo turned his head and picked up his falchion from the ground behind him and began to scan around. His eyes spotted the beetle from before, and with one swift motion he stabbed the dirt in front of it. The beetle jumped back instinctively, poking the obstruction with a feeler, before marching around the large blade. "That th'Citizenry would come t'hate the Sworn?"

The glow of the fire illuminated a sad expression on the Dunesfolk. "An' that o' all people, not even Crofte would know how t'stifle it?" He turned his head back to the shield. "Don' git me wrong, I believe in 'er, an I respect 'er...But she ain't so good at th'false certainty deal. I see right through it, ya know? An' it makes me...Nervous. An' th'worst part is, I know exactly why she ain't so sure."

Koporo lay his head in his hand, giving a long sigh. "I took up th'sword an' shield what fight back 'gainst those who fight wit' their own weapons, righ?" He began to pick himself up off the dirt, finding himself increasingly uncomfortable. "But these folk...They don' fight wit knives, er swords, er spears. Thems fellars fight wit' words. Words what come out their mouths, an' words what wrote on' paper, handed out t'every bleedin' impressionable bastard in th'city. An' ya jus' can't fight words wit' swords."

"They're tearin' us down wit' their gods derned opinions. One by one. None o' us er safe. From th'Captains t'the poor fellars what jus' signed up, they're out t'ruin every single one o' us. An this stupid Editorial has th'gall t'try an play innocent an' act like they jus' wanna rid th'city o'the bad folk in our ranks, righ? What bad folk? I ain't seen no bad folk. An I reckon if'n ya'll weren't six feet under, ya'd be noddin' yer 'ead righ' now." He clenched the balled-up article from the Tonberry's Lantern in his hand and tossed it into the fire, sending a brief plume of flame up into the air. "Worm shite."

He shook his head. "Ya'd know what t'do. Idjit that ya were not bringin' me along t'save yer ass, ya'd still know what t'do fer all o' this. But ya done went off an got yerself killed, now what the hells am I s'posed t'do?" He stared at Natalie's shield, as if expecting an answer. When no words came, he shook his head again, sighing. "Look at me, talkin' t'a derned shield. This is drivin' me crazy, ain't it? Soon I'll be seein' things an' they'll 'ave t'send me back t'what's left o'Mama's Clan."

He chuckled a bit at the thought. "That'll be th'day. Momma, I love ya, but ya'll done lost it, an' ya'll never find it, again. Dammit, now I need 'nother drink..."Â

As he finished off what was left of the flask's contents, he looked at the shield one last time. Placing the flask in his pocket, he realized there was an old song playing in his head, a tune he had learned from a bard in the Forgotten Springs, and one of his first tastes of the Eorzean language. He grabbed the bag of sand affixed to his belt, and emptied its contents over the fire, making sure it was properly starved of air. Pulling the visor affixed to his turban down over his eyes, he lay down on the ground and nestled comfortably into his blanket.Â

"Dust devil swept ya away..." he whispered, as he began to nod off. "What's left o' ya is ash an' urn in this silent...Yaaawn..."

[youtube]VYffGOMCcMQ[/youtube]

"...Horizon."

Dogberry · **12-16-2014, 02:08 PM**

Another day of arguing and Styrseig finally relented. The boy would come to visit for tonight only. If it went well, maybe there would be more.

Dogberry's patrol couldn't end quick enough. As he made his rounds, he found himself smiling. He noticed this changed the way a lot of people reacted to him. Where usually they seemed intimidated, now they seemed much friendlier. Of course, Dogberry thought. You get what you give.

Maybe, he reasoned, things could get better if he acted more positively. That his generally negative perspective meant he wasn't seeing the good all around him. As the cold, bitter air chapped his drying lips, he promised out loud to do better that day. He'd take more time to help people on his patrol.

He helped a man calm a chocobo that went wild and nearly overturned his cart. He brokered a deal on behalf of a nervous goblin. He purchased and brought hot tea to someone in the cold. He even tried, in vain, to catch a stray cat.

As the day passed, Dogberry decided that he would pick up a meal for two from the Bismarck to go, hop the first airship to Gridania, and take the ferry back to his place in Lavender Beds, where he'd await the boy's arrival. He received the bag full of tin containers from the waitress, and gave her a respectable tip and a courteous smile.

A voice came over the linkpearl he kept for the family.

"Dogberry?"

"Aye, sis?"

"Rhutshald won't be coming over."

Dogberry took a moment to compose himself.

"May I ask why?" He asked.

"I just don't think right now is a good time. How about after the Starlight festival?"

"A-aye," Dogberry said. "Fine."

"I'm sorry, it's just-" Styrseig said.

"I said it's fine," Dogberry was a little more forceful than he intended. There was silence over the linkpearl now. He began walking toward the Drowning Wench, to catch the elevator to the airship landing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the stray cat from before.

"Oh, so now you come around," he said to the cat. The cat moved forward and looked up at him. "You're probably hungry, aren't ya?"

Dogberry knelt down, picked up the cat, and put it inside his big, warm coat.

"C'mon, little guy, let's go home."

DreamedReality · **12-17-2014, 09:32 PM**

Jaques keeps a tight grip on Vaughn's hand as he drags the other elezen through the crowds of the early evening in Ul'dah. Having pulled him away from whatever stall he'd been browsing. "Lydie! LYDIE!" A pause, cutting off anything Vaughn might be saying or trying to say as Jaques turns and demands, "Enie, did you see which way she went?" He blinks as he gets a good look at who he was dragging around before confusion clouds his features.

Vaughn gives Jaques a bewildered look at the sudden change in the man. Still he forces a smile. "Are...are you alright, Jaques? I...haven't seen you act...like this before."

Stares at Vaughn as he seems to come back to himself and the confusion clears. He was sweating and his heart was pounding. He shakes his head before looking around the area trying to get his bearings. They were down a different section of the markets and he couldn't place exactly where they were. Another shake of his head, "Fine... Vaughn. I'm fine."

"You...don't seem fine." He tries to reach up to caress his face. "What...what's going on in that mind of yours? You're worrying me."

Pulls away to avoid the touch. "I told you I see them... Just not normally when you're around." He was overheating despite the fact that the evening air had cooled quite a bit from the burning heat of midday. There were too many people. He starts to pull Vaughn down a side alley at random.

Frowns slightly and follows, holding Jaques's hand tightly. He was still worried, and now starting to panic a bit, wondering where Jaques was leading him, but not saying anything until they reach whatever destination the man decided.

Oscare · **12-17-2014, 11:50 PM**

Nothing. The perfect word that describes the mood of a specific highlander, laying on his bed tonight in perfect solitude. The rest of the mass can shove it up theirs.
No anger. No joy. Nothing. Oscare lost all feeling in everything tonight. "Fuck it," escapes the hunter's lips. "No." Follows shortly after. "Never again. Forever. This is what I deserve. That was a pathetic me. Perfection like me, needing someone or having a friend? No. A mistake I refuae to make again. I need no one. I don't need feelings."

He closes his eyes, not even a pinch of amger or happiness led him on. From today onwards, he makes a new vow. No emotions, not even wrath. A permanent change was needed now.Â

This marks the beggining of a new life. One he intends to lead forever. Those idiots can keep their emotions and friends. A perfect person doesn't need those. And Oscare is perfect.

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