cuideag

No fun at all.

Good. 8-)

I am a-ok with little bits and pieces of flavor to help bring a little more life and immersion to our characters. So hoooray, more poses and sitting stances!

"Ya have an edge here. She thinks yer all alone and scared. She don't know you've seen that ya've got options. When this happens, it's gotta happen fast, before she's got time ta rethink her strategy. Ya get one shot. And don'tcha worry... I'll be wherever ya want me. 'Specially by yer side."

Jajara's been spending some time in Limsa Lominsa trying to get her bearings back in life. Thankfully she's had lovely friends to help her along!

The illustrious Gus Pumpkinweed doing his thang. Jajara Jara silently disapproves. But she's kind of a prude.

(( With apologies and love to the even more lovely Daena Ghurn. <3 )) Suns later. This is all wrong. It was Aylard's voice in his head grumbling low like gravel on gravel, disembodied and all the more disappointed for it. Hroch could almost see the weathered old man standing there beside them with his face set into a stony scowl. Look at it, boy. Look at it. Where's the song? Where's the drink? 'Tis a man fought proud all his life. Where's the fire to send him home? Gharen and the Garlean took off for the night despite Hroch's protests. Though it took some talking, even Hroch began to understand Wolfsong's concerns: he had actually dared attack Wolfsong for protecting the woman, after all. He hardly remembered it but the bruises and scrapes were there from when he was tossed around the cave like the fool he was and Daena had actually been rendered unconscious thanks to Gharen's choke hold. There was no chance he nor Daena could have taken on a warrior like Gharen Wolfsong yet they tried anyway. Ruva had lain murdered after they'd gone to catch the Garlean and they were left seeing red. In the end, it changed nothing. Gharen got his way, the Garlean (Roen as she was called) was left uncut, Xydane offered his condolences before leaving to sniff out possibilities, and Shaelen eventually stormed off hunt down maps and schematics. Hroch and Daena were alone in their cave hidden at the back of a place known to be called Lost Hope and so the task of grieving fell to them. The pyre was small and clumsily built. Both of the youths had seen their fair share but those were built by men and women who had seen and built hundred more. Every body they wrapped and mounted upon the flames made the motions all the more familiar. They were not children by age but by inexperience, for the lives spent fighting for the Resistance were measured not with years but with the number of friends they had laid to rest. Daena wept in silence when she wept at all, angry lines that came down her cheeks in waves she seemed desperate to ignore. Hroch stood by her side while the flames eventually licked up and embraced the body offered to it. It occurred to him at one point that there were songs to be sung but he did not know Ruva, and he did not know how to sing besides. Now and again he noticed Daena's lips moving but she was ever silent and he assumed she did not know, either. He did not think to ask and eventually decided that she might not hear him even if he did. So Hroch Greyarm stood at her side and watched the fabric char and crumble, watched the body of his father's most trusted friend turn to ash. And even as the moon ran its course arcing through the stars overhead, Hroch waited and watched. She stood as the warrior she was groomed to be, proud and defiant against sorrow and weariness. Strong and beautiful and perfect, a true daughter of Ala Mhigo. After the scuffle had died down and everyone had come to their senses, Roen was given an opportunity to explain herself. She did not deny being a Garlean nor plotting with a Garlean but it was not as they had thought. Wolfsong was right all along: the woman was, in her own way, a victim though Hroch would never admit to such aloud. In the end it all boiled down to family and while his father was missing and Daena's was dead, hers was being held like an animal in the nearby Castrum. Just as she had unwittingly ruined their plans to retrieve the ceruleum, they had interrupted negotiations to see her father freed safely and if they did not act it could very well cost an innocent man his life. The thought of infiltrating a Castrum did not sit well with Hroch. There were too many things that could go wrong with the handful of them marching into a Garlean stronghold and that was assuming it was not a trap to begin with. The woman spoke earnestly and there was great sorrow and desperation in voice and eyes alike; Wolfsong was quick to vouch for her and guarded her fiercely, and for that there must have been a reason. Yet Daena, for all the rage she held towards the woman, came to offer her help as well. A consensus was made even if Hroch did not approve; the Resistance would take on Castrum Marinum and, if the Gods were willing, save Brenden Deneith's life. The sun was already high when Hroch bothered to look and Daena was still standing still as stone. He was not certain if he had slept on his feet through what had remained of the night but they ached; the whole of him ached in a way he had not felt since the night his mother was put to the fire. The flame had gone out at some point and left behind a broad mound of ash still gently smoking beneath the Thanalan sun. "We should go," he said eventually. The words did little enough to please her, of course, for she still stared long and hard at the shape that was once her father. The lines in her arms tensed and her fists balled into fists but, after a time, she nodded. "Aye," croaked Daena Ghurn, only daughter of Ruva. "Aye, we should." ================================== The others were waiting for them in Vesper Bay, chatting up strategy and schemes. The Castrum would not be easy to approach, much less break in to. Wolfsong had managed to procure disguises for himself and Roen but the rest of the would have to keep back, follow along when the path was cleared. Xydane had been tasked in taking up the rear for while Hroch and Daena were capable in their own ways, they could likely not stand for long against Garlean weaponry. Even from below the cliffside that coiled up into Garlean territory, they could hear the hum and grind of magitek machinations stomping about the grounds. Not to mention the sounds of combat. Disguised as they were, there was little hope that Gharen nor Roen could make it very far without someone being alerted to their presence. He huddled beneath the stone overhang, listening to the clang of swords and the strangled cries of men being cut. Daena fidgeted beside him, seeming a little more energetic than before. He could not imagine she had allowed herself any rest throughout the night but he was, after all, a child of Ruva: with the task at hand she would never allow herself to appear weak nor weary. She paced, flinging the occasional glance up to where Xydane was awaiting the signal to proceed. At least, that was what she had been doing up until she sighed in frustration and stepped up beside Hroch. He did a double take when she looked his way, startled by the odd intensity in her eyes. They had been friends since the first time they met on that sunny day weeks ago, beating down slimy orobon in the river to the tune of Ruva's barking and howling. More often than not that barking had been directed at Hroch, ever paranoid that the older boy would make a move on his firey-haired daughter despite his obvious apprehension. He could hear him then, that hoarse bear growl of a voice: Sixteen summers, ya shirtless dog! Iff'n ye so much as think to put yer worthless mitts on her, Rhalgr save ye, I'll have 'em stuffed 'n mounted fer all t'see! It was not Ruva who was speaking, however. Daena was still staring at him strangely, her brows knit tight as if in concentration. She was not looking at his eyes though, no; she was looking at his lips, at his mouth that was slowly growing agape at the growing panic in his heart. "Iff'n this ends up bein' the last thing we do," she was muttering. "C'mere, you." They did not hear Xydane calling for them from above.

(( With thanks and some apology to the lovely Xydane Vale. <3 )) Hroch expected little enough of his expedition. He set off from their hideout in Lost Hope with the intention of combing Ul'dah one more time for any sign of the prodigal Aylard Greyarm but his mood was grim and his prospects sour. As the suns came and went (the number of which he stopped counting if only to soften that particular anguish) he came to understand just how far out of his depth he was. Aylard was a wise man and an excellent teacher but it was often said that he was too soft on his boy, the boy who should have been the man to take control and lead their group to better times. He was lost and without direction and it showed. The looks Shaelen gave him were sharp and he could almost taste the disappointment every time they met, for he was his father's son by blood and nothing more. Brynnalia seemed even less impressed and there were times when he worried Daena felt the same as well though she was always kind despite her father's obvious disapproval. Hroch shook his head as to clear his thoughts. His footsteps were slow and measured as he marched the road south out of Black Brush. He had his goals and his hopes to heart and one way or another he intended to deliver upon them. As long as his people were to stay in Thanalan, he would have to do what he could else risk more harm upon those who would trust in him. The road dipped low into a dusty basin where a tavern of some sort had been built into the foot of a crag. He and his father both had passed this location many times before in their walks between Ul'dah and wherever location they were needed, but today it was noisy and raucous. A crowd was parked out on the porch of it, many sporting drinks and some even foodstuffs, and people in red uniforms were greeting anyone and everyone who would approach the doors. It did not strike Hroch as some place his father would stay for the crowd was much too thick but as he strode past he could only remind himself that he had next to nothing left to go on. A pretty miqo'te woman welcomed him as his boot steps brought him through the door. The tavern was crawling with all manner of people, all races mingling over mugs of drink and loud chatter. The setting immediately set Hroch on edge, having not the stomach for crowds. Carefully he edged his way towards the bar, scuttling between free-floating pairs and groups of strangers that hovered in any and all of the open spaces between the occupied tables. The bar itself was a little less crowded: a blue-haired elezen woman at the far end looked about with boredom in her eyes, and a black-haired hyur man watched the crowd with a mug in his hands. As Hroch approached he quickly noted that the hyur's attention shifted square to him. "Would you care for a drink, sir?" An elezen in red piped up from behind the bar, bowing politely to the highlander who had settled in before her. Her attire was like that of the miqo'te at the door and of several others who were milling about the crowd. Not wanting to seem rude, Hroch flashed to her a faint smile. It gave him reason to ignore the hyur man who was still staring, besides, his silver eyes sharp even in Hroch's peripheral vision. "Uh, sure. What do you recommend?" "We've a fine chamomile tea, perfect for soothing frayed nerves," chirped the elezen helpfully. Her smile was professional and courteous but it could not be said whether or not there a hint of amusement there as well. Hroch could feel his cheeks reddening slightly. Was it that obvious...? "Tea? Well... Yeah, that'd be good. I'll have one of those, then, if that's okay." "Certainly, sir. Pray give me a moment, please." Hroch nodded and snuck a glance down the bar. The other hyur was still staring and so caught him looking his way. There was something about the man that struck Hroch as odd but, given only brief glances, he could not pinpoint what. That feeling only grew more potent when the man raised a hand and gestured for him to come nearer, to take some space at the counter beside him. "There aren't any tables," he said over the din of the tavern. "You can come stand over here if you like." A quiet clunk on the counter in front of him drew Hroch's attention away. A fine and earthy smell touched his nose even before he realized that there was a stout mug of gently steaming tea set before him with a beaming elezen behind it. "Here you are, sir. Please enjoy and have a lovely evening." As Hroch nodded his thanks to her she favored him with a friendly wink and turned her attention to the next attendant shuffling up to the bar. He noted the dark haired hyur was still looking him expectantly. There was nothing malicious in his eyes, at least insofar as Hroch could tell: it was his father who was better judge of character, able to sniff out suspicions and doubts with the best of them. Hroch's wary gaze lingered before he finally opted to scoot over, dragging his tea along with him until he had come to the stranger's side. "Dunno how I never noticed this before," he started, picking up some small talk to give him some time to size the man up. "Seems kinda... nice, though, doesn't it?" He was a midlander, this other man, built more compactly than he but still bearing an air of someone who knew his way about a fight. He leaned over the bar like a man well familiar with the surroundings, or at least more than confident enough to be comfortable in them. A sword was sheathed at his hip and though he wore a simple woven tunic, below the counter he could make out the dull sheen of armored greaves. In his hand was a mug of something that smelled sweet, and he sipped at it before responding to his new company. "The drinks are free under the tavern's owner, Quarimar Baenund. It's his generosity." "Can't be cheap being generous to all these people." As if to illustrate his point, Hroch glance around again to a crowd that only seemed to be growing. "Seems like it's a rare thing these days..." "He offers sanctuary for weary travellers," replied the stranger. "You look like someone who has... gone a few steps yourself." Hroch eyed him a moment while he took a sip of his tea. "I guess I have. Not so much as others, though. It hasn't been..." He paused as if to search for words, cautious as to just how much he should say to an suspicious unknown in a crowd of unknowns. "Well, I guess it hasn't been good for any of us really." The stranger kept himself turned to face the bar while he nursed his drink, silvered eyes studying Hroch sidelong. The feeling of being inspected as such made the hairs at the back of his neck stand. "You have a look of concern on you," the midlander said at length. "What's your name?" "I'm... name's Hroch." "Hroch? Heh. Good name." The last of his beverage downed, the midlander then turned to face Hroch fully, making it even more obvious that he was studying the larger man to every minute detail he could see. He couldn't see himself, of course, but his eyes were darkened with sleep or stress or possibly even both, and though he kept his clothing in decent shape he wore them uncomfortably, as though the cloth were constantly itching against his skin. Absently, Hroch spun his mug between his fingers while he turned his head to peer elsewhere in the tavern. Near the center of the room a bard seemed to be setting himself up for a performance and there was a steady stream of faces coming and going through the swinging doors. "Ya think so...? I like it. But I guess it isn't very common, uh, 'round these parts." "I know it isn't." A quick smile touched on the hyur's thin lips. "You looking for someone?" "Aye, sort of. Uh, was gonna have another look around Ul'dah again but... then I saw all the people here. Thought maybe he might have..." Hroch frowned to himself, trailing off his words. He would find himself looking to the other in surprise when next he spoke. "I'm Xydane, by the way. You're new to this place aren't you?" It was a question gently asked, one which seemed to amuse the shorter man. "I could tell you were lost the moment you walked inside this building." It unnerved Hroch, the casual way to which it was asked and ease with which his manner was being picked apart. Warily he grinned at his companion, thankful at least that he could hide his expression behind a quick sip of tea. "Is... is it that obvious?" "Only to some." Again, Xydane grinned. "Relax, man, I'm not going to do you any harm. Ease up a bit and enjoy that drink." He inclined his head towards the mug which Hroch had stopped spinning and, unconsciously, started squeezing. "S-sorry. Just... things haven't been so good is all." That was an understatement if there ever was one: bit by bit, their group was being weathered down and before too long he worried there would be little enough left to save. He muttered after another gulp, "I'm sure you're a decent fella." "You need help with anything? Perhaps I can help you look for... whoever it is that you're searching for?" Hroch balked at that, his suspicions sharpening. It may very well have been the case that Xydane was indeed being friendly and offering genuine aid, but he almost seemed over-eager. "Sorry, friend. I can't really be... It's something I gotta do myself, you know what I mean?" Xydane easily picked up on his suspicions, just as he had easily picked up on his nerves. "Listen. Your business and your story are none of my concern. There is, however, nothing wrong with seeking help every so often." "I know, I know. It's just that... I can't help but wonder if that's what might have got us in trouble in the first place?" "You looked lost and I am merely lending out a hand. If you don't take it, it's all on you and you can keep looking lost and confused." Xydane shrugged and tilted his head towards the young highlander. "If you take it, however, you may not be in the situation you're finding yourself in. All on you." Hroch took one last gulp from his still-warm mug and set it down with a heavy sigh. The elezen that was attending the bar gave him a questioning glance but he shook his head at her. "I know it's all on me. I know that," he said, failing to hide the frustration in his voice. "I just don't know what to do about it. I got nothin' to go on." It was several moments before Xydane spoke again. He was watching Hroch closely, studying the emotions shifting across his face. "Listen... If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. Like I said, it's none of my business. If there's something on your mind, just know that there are some people in this world who have been in your same shoes. And sometimes, we all just need the right people to point us in the right direction." Hroch's jaw set as he listened and considered the midlander's words, his advice. It occured to him then that he couldn't have been much younger than Xydane: the man was a little more weathered about his face but he was obviously still young. At length he turned to face Xydane and spoke in hushed tones. "... I got... people missing. People hurt. Spirits are broken, an' it's up to me to fix it somehow. What do you think I should do...?" The desperation in the highlander's voice was plain, especially to Xydane. A slow sigh heaved its way out of his nostrils and briefly he closed his eyes, pondering. "Know that it's sometimes a problem one person can't fix. There is nothing wrong with seeking aid especially when you aren't equipped with the exact tools and mindset for confrontation. Stay calm and remember every single detail about where you were and whom you've met. Think to yourself how a person, place or thing can relate to a situation. It's a puzzle and your job is to fit the pieces together. Retrace your steps but do not tire yourself out when doing so. Take a moment to breathe and slowly assess your situation." "Problem is... I didn't get to meetin' everyone. And I can't find his contacts. He didn't keep them written down anywhere. Old man had a me--" Hroch frowned as he quickly corrected himself. "Has... a memory like a hawk." Steel-colored eyes fixed themselves back on Hroch. "This... 'old man'. Is he your relative?" Hroch paused once more. It's a big risk he was taking, babbling on like that to a stranger who could very well have been working for the wrong sort of people. There are people asking questions, Aylard told them once. Asking after father and son. He had little else to go on. "Aye... Aye, he is. My da... been missing for many a sun now." "A soldier assess every single scenario possible. You have to think of all ends. Perhaps he was injured on a trip? Maybe he has lost his way? Perhaps he was kidnapped?" Xydane spoke calmly even as he broached on the thought no one wished to entertain, casually brushing a hand back through his hair. "We are in Thanalan after all and kidnapping for ransom isn't uncommon here. Trust me when I say I know." "He's old but he's tough. If he was injured... no he would have found his way back to us by now. And no way he'd let himself get lost, not with everything on the line... Aye. It's a dangerous place around here. We found that out quick." Xydane's expression grew intense as he peered at him."Lost for a couple of days without anyone knowing where he went. Think carefully about that." On the other end of that gaze, Hroch struggled not to falter. The notion had crossed several of their minds many time before but no one wanted to speak too heavily upon, as if doing so might make it even more true. Yet what signs they could discern all seemed to be pointing at that terrifying conclusion. He thought of a room that looked as if it had been abandoned; a whetstone and an unmade bed. "... I don't wanna believe it. I really don't." "In life, you meet the wrong people and sometimes... you meet the right people. Hroch, you've just met the right person. One of the things I do for a living is that I search for the missing." He was not boasting but there was still pride in his voice. The sword made a little more sense then, for the man was plainly not an everyday citizen. "Just know that you can't do everything by yourself. It takes a man to finish a job but it takes a bigger man to ask for aid. Don't be ashamed. I've been down your path a long time ago." "Now," he continued, reaching into a pouch on his belt to retrieve a gil piece which he then left atop the counter. "We can either stand here and talk about it or we can do something about it. When it comes to the missing, time is everything." His gaze turned to Hroch, fiercely determined, and Hroch could not help but feel his own spirit lift. There was no doubt that he was still taking an enormous risk bringing an outsider into their affairs: the man was without a doubt not of Ala Mhigo, but he got the distinct impression that that was not an issue. His words felt genuine and the quiet fire in his voice was, in a way, comforting. Just briefly, the man called Xydane reminded him of his father. "Alright," Hroch conceded at last. Sometimes, we all just need the right people to point us in the right direction. He turned away from the counter and cast one last look around at the patrons in the tavern. It did not surprise him that the greyed, rough face of his father was not among them. Hroch expected little enough of this expedition but a new ally was as good a lead as he could have hoped for. "Alright. Do you think we might... talk somewhere a little less...?" Xydane's grin came easily, as open as though they had been friends for years. He raised a hand to wave his goodbyes to the bartender and some of the other red-garbed figures in the crowd, all of whom seemed delighted enough to bow and nod his way in return. "As you wish, my friend. Now, lead the way!"

Snapped some screens at the trial event. Delial and a pack of cats?! Delial and two dudes who would totally be awesome henchmen! I like how disheveled and vulnerable Askier looks in this. D didn't even make fun of his horrible hair. Then there's these cuties. Not a happy camper.

Can't wait to see how things go down. Happy pre-emptive Birthday, too, and congrats to your sister!!

Personal Profile [align=left] Character Name: Jajara Jara Gender: Female Race: Lalafell (Dunesfolk) Domestic Profile Civil Status: Non-resident, non-citizen. Place of Residence: A room at the Mizzenmast, presently. Occupation: Miner, Blacksmith, Goldsmith. Free Company: The Coral Sea (RP) Social Profile Though better known in Ul'dah, Jajara Jara is a Goldsmith of generally favorable repute who has found herself staying in Limsa Lominsa far more often as of late. Gossip suggests she is considering taking permanent residence in the city, or at least somewhere in the region. Between her personal and professional lives, the city on the sea has become more and more of an attractive destination. While in Limsa Lominsa, she can probably be most often found working at the smithy or the markets. The Marauder's Guild has become a favored destination for her as well, and it is not unusual to see the dark-skinned Lalafell practicing with the axe out in the fields of La Noscea. Meta Profile I'm CST and I am on far more often than I should be. Always happy to meet new people and RP so if you happen to see me about, please do not hesitate to say hello! I will update this as RP things change as Jajara is currently in a bit of a transitional state. [/align]

I seem to have developed a knack for taking somewhat compromising screenshots whenever there's a Memeli on the prowl. But...the star of this shot? ... whyyy, Jajara, why...?! 3

(( This was written for a character building exercise but I'm gonna cross-post it here anyways because I am a giant cheater. )) Jajara was fifteen years old when she was finally allowed the marks. Her mother was, as per the usual, displeased. Throughout the ceremony she stood by as a dutiful wife and matriarch was meant to do. "Duty first" was Jojore's motto and she performed every task that was required of her with grace, even if that grace was often overshadowed by her stony, prickly nature. Her chin was high and she stared at her daughter down the slight nub of her nose until it became late enough for no one to speak unkindly of her departure. Sasayome, on the other hand, was ecstatic. "There's m'darlin'," he boasted often and loudly to his brothers and cousins. "Tough as a sand drake an' three times as fierce, that's fer sure!" And then he laughed that booming laugh of his, planting his meaty hands at his hips. "HAR HAR HAR!" he roared while Jajara's uncles scowled amongst one another, amongst sons yet to earn their place. "So much fer yer lilly-livered sons! HAAAR HAR HAR!" The significance of the occasion was not lost on her: there were, as far as she knew, few enough women in the clan who took up arms. It simply was the way things were and in those days she had never thought to question it. Her father seemed eager enough to bend the rule for her and even if her brothers and numerous cousins gave her odd looks and whispered when she walked by, she did not let it deter her. She could move and dance with the best of them and her strikes were fierce even if they were not always true. She was young still; she had time to learn and plenty of reason to prove her mother wrong. It was to take most of the week that they were there, she was told. There were tales to be told of the achievements of honored ancestors, of lessons learned by those who lived and died by the ways of the clan. Little by little, as the marks were bled into her skin, she would become like those before and only when she was deemed worthy would he deed be complete. "It'll hurt, lil' darlin'," her father told reminded her the night she was told. He wore the markings as well, as did all the warriors of the clan: like skeletal flames, arched and coiled across their eyes and brows in a deep sunset red. "It'll hurt real bad." "S'fine, papa." Jajara wore but a single plait then, having not the patience to bother with two. "I ain't scared, not a bit." "I know you ain't," replied Sasayome as he patted her on the head. Jajara dutifully made sounds of complaint. Later in life she would find that she missed that annoyance most of all, and that no one else could quite irritate her in such a way as her father. No, it would never feel right again. "Don't change the fact that it's gonna hurt. Now, yer gonna be strong. You are strong, y'hear me, girl?" "I know, papa. I'm gonna be strong." Thick rugs were laid out near the oasis and a tent was set up to house the gnarled old seat that had served as the seat of ascension for generations and generations prior. Her grandfather and great grandfather dredged up robes and tomes, squat bottles of deep red ink and the long, iron-needled rod they would fill. The first night was the worst. Sasayome stood well out of the way with his wife at his side, watching in silence. Now and again, when the needle nor the dour faces of her elders were bobbing in her face, she would glance over to watch him smiling proudly her way. It hurt like nothing she had ever felt before but not once did she allow herself to falter. The first night was the worst, but the second was easy as breathing.

Either day works well enough for me! Probably will end up staying up well past my bedtime regardless.

Thanks for coming, Reiichi! Thanks to you, Natalie, and Zularti for playing our mercenary villains! You guys are great. RNG not so much! Thank you for reminding me that I hate dice rolls and RNG. ((*hisses at Delial but grins not-drunkenly-for-foiling-that* Haven't you figured out that it's a Kagetastrophe when you count on him for certain things? >.> <.<) It was pretty interesting and fun! Thank you. :3 Even if this is part of the saga in which Kage-the-lalafellin-Sultansworn-just-can't-catch-a-break. It's time for the next plot that spawned from this. *hisses again* *hisssssss!*

Jajara's getting real tired of your @#$%, Rin. Look at all that shade she's throwing. Also, Wyra is a perfect being.

But... But... Jajara! /heartbroken Pffff. You had THREE sweet little lala honeys sitting on your ledge that whole time, but no Kage!

I have been laughing like a disgusting moron for about 10 minutes why. whyyyyy.

M... M-Memeli-chan... ~

SUBMIT. ALL WITH LALAFELL.

Hmmmmm, interesting. Not quite what I imagined might happen but interesting all the same. I intend to have Delial there regardless as she did make a deal with Askier, so she might do whatever he asks of her anyways.

"Brother." He froze. The sunlight was dwindling and the lamps that peppered the market street were being lit, one by one. Harvard knew better than dwindle in the dark, for though he had the height and bearing of a Highlander, he lacked the pose of anything short of a commoner. A peasant. A victim, she said once. The word stung in his heart. It hadn't been long since those women had plucked him from the street, and mere years since his sister gave him to the chains. "Brother. Wait a moment." He did not turn. Footsteps drew themselves out from the alleyway, sharp and slow. Her robes rustled with her movements and she came to stop square behind him. She did not touch him. Could not? Harvard waited. Delial waited. They were not alone on the street: others, merchants and shoppers and the other pointless faces that, thankfully, had the sense to give them space. There were whispers of her, of course, of the blood-stained woman with a poisonous smile. Harvard could not see if she was smiling then. He did not turn and she did not touch him. "You should leave," she said at last. "Soon. The sooner the better. The city is not safe." Again, silence. Harvard stared ahead. The Blade patrols were absent, he noticed. The bronze armor and the curved swords that made their regular rounds up and down the strip were gone. "Brother, listen--" "I live here now," he heard himself growling, the first words he had actually spoken to her since his departure from Ala Mhigo. "I live here because of you, but I've made the best of it." "I only--" "What are you doing? What have you done?" "I am attending to your safe--" It happened before he realized, before he could stop himself. His body swung around and he found himself face to face with the woman he had done everything to avoid. She met him with surprise as well, wide eyed, even taking a single step back away from her shorter brother. Her face was not quite as he remembered, hardened and marred. Her eye was the first thing he noticed, as well as the long scar that cut across it. "Why me?" he spat. The words rose out of him unbidden but they had been boiling in his mind for years. Theirs was a family shattered and the only thing left, though he hated to claim her, was his sister. "Why do you keep doing this? You know what you did to Wes! Why didn't you 'attend' to his safety, too?!" Once, they were close. Harvard could still read her, see the way her jaw tensed and the way her throat tightened. She was uncomfortable and she was angry, always angry, but there was something else as well. "He made his choice," she replied, her voice low. Delial did not look at him while she started to walk past him, shoulders barely brushing as her stride carried her along. "Just as I give you yours now. Make it. Leave Ul'dah, even if only for a few suns. A week. Leave it." "What have you done?" he snarled at her back. The woman did not turn nor did she address him again, weaving her way into the night crowds that were gathering.

*SQUEE* .... Jaja what. What are you even doing.

Either date or time works for me.