Goodfellow

"I believe it was you who wished to speak with me." He took another step forward. "So tell me, Miss Joz, what is your interest in arcanima?"

Ben stopped by the girl and turned back to gaze at Lolotaru, head cocked, before continuing on to the other end of the bridge. He hopped up on the railing and began flitting intermittently across the bridge, halting to peer about and sniff at the air. To the unobservant it may have appeared that he was playing. "Yes, Miss Joz, I'm here," Lolo said as he stepped closer, out of the shadows.

Was he dense? Was he trying too hard to be sharp, seeing threats that weren't there? He sat the whole afternoon in his room at the Mizzenmast, replaying the day in his mind over and over again. Limsa Lominsa was a city full of half-heard whispers and misdirected rumors. It was a city of wind and water, with people coming and going and rarely stopping to get names, faces, or facts just right. It could be nothing, he thought to himself. But it could be so much more than that, as well. He had summoned a retainer, thinking of any old contacts, or rumors of contacts, that might be found on short notice so far from Ul'dah. By the time the retainer arrived, he was halfway through a tall glass of red wine and was suitably mollified by his own machinations so as to dismiss her almost immediately without assignment. That's not who I am anymore, he reminded himself. He wouldn't let the fear of being found out force him into old habits. He had worked hard to divorce and distance himself from that person and it would be all too easy to slip back into him. He had been good at it. A natural. No! Before leaving his room again, he freshened up and changed into a simple trouser and half-robe set, lighter and more mobile. He would have liked to be more discrete, maybe wear a cowl, but he also wanted options; no more falling on his face like earlier that afternoon. He summoned Ben again. He had thought about calling forth the smaller, more discrete fairy Ariel, but somehow couldn't. He hadn't had her in the old days and he didn't like the idea of exposing her to any of that baggage. No, Ben had been with him longer, was more a part of himself. He focused on the open, almost languorous pattern of his personal carbuncle symbol and absentmindedly pulled him back into form. He looked down at the eager creature before him and nodded before walking out. The eleventh bell would be tolling soon. As he approached the appointed area he could make out the girl's figure in the moonlight. He stopped and sent Ben scampering on ahead to sniff and snoop.

Don't want to talk about it? You brought it up! Lolo would have been happy to never have to talk about it again, but she had shocked him, forced his hand. He opened his mouth to respond when he saw a light over Joz's shoulder. It was Ben running back down the stairs. He heard voices and footsteps descending the staircase behind the familiar. "Aaand that's all the time we have for today, I'm afraid," he said, loudly enough that the new arrivals could hear him clearly. He snapped and Ben jumped into the air before him and the girl, flipped, and vanished with a flash and a pop. He grabbed her hand and tugged her gently, but insistently, towards the stairs and out. The others barely paid them any attention as they hurried out, eager to begin their own practice. "There's a deck on the walkway between the Wench and the Hyaline; meet me there tonight at eleven bells." He whispered urgently. Putting on a wan smile, he bowed slightly and stated plainly, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Joz." And with that, he turned on a heel and continued the rest of the way up the stairs.

Lolo's breath caught in his throat. There it was again, the suggestion that something, some rumor from his past had made it out of Thanalan, had followed him to Limsa Lominsa. Leaving his left hand firmly planted on his pocket, Lolo raised his right hand to his collar, tugging at it gently. He knew it made him look nervous, but everything was beginning to feel very constricting. He hadn't done this dance in a long time; he was out of practice and rapidly running out of patience. "Who says I'm not like the others? How do you mean?" He looked into her wide, wavering eyes, searching for any sign of what she knew. He hoped he wasn't beginning to sound as desperate as he felt. "You're so eager, I simply want to ensure that you haven't come to the wrong place by accident," he added quickly and with a weak smile, hoping to cover himself.

Lolotaru tried to swallow his frustration. She hadn't reacted quite as transparently as he'd hoped. She seemed neither particularly enthused nor clearer. He was beginning to feel as lost and out of his element as she looked. It had been a blessedly long time since he had been in a situation of this sort and he was not happy to be dragged back in. He wanted to excuse himself, refuse her, cast her out. But that's as good as confessing, isn't it? And what if she wasn't trying to trap him? What if she really was a prospective student in need? "Outside. You were telling me why you had to be my, and only my, apprentice." He still owed so much and he couldn't simply refuse on suspicion one who requested his aid. His fingers traced the outline of his pocket as he sighed, somewhat more audibly than he intended to. "So please, go on."

Patience. But gods, it felt like pulling teeth. He placed his hand over his pocket to ground himself. "As I mentioned before, it's not that simple. There are protocols and customs and tests and--," he interrupted his droning and looked her in the eyes, "you see, the matriculation process isn't quite so direct as--" He looked down and shook his head lightly. When his gaze returned to her, he was again smiling, more at ease. "I'm sorry, never mind all that for now. This whole situation is...er...unorthodox. And so, with so little precedent, you see, where we end up depends entirely on how we communicate with one another. If you were my apprentice, the first lesson I would give you is in clarity. The equations and symbols of arcanima are clear, they circumvent the rigid verbal formulae of other magicks and serve to directly express the will of the arcanist to the aether in and around him and, if there is correspondence," he paused for effect, "the aether responds." In conversation, Lolo had the habit of losing himself in his own words, letting technicality bleed into informality in a way which provoked either of two equally uncomfortable reactions in his interlocutors: those who attempted to meet him on that technical level, and so made fools of themselves, and those who laughed and exaggerated their own simplicity for the sake of their discomfort, mollifying him. Lolo, red-faced, had ruined many a perfectly serviceable interaction in just this way before. But how would Joz respond? When he first began to study, his reaction to just such a discourse would be one of limited awe and attempted engagement leading to an exhausting, though endearing, line of seemingly interminable inquiry. He hoped that she would react in just such a way. If not, he expected she would become much more direct. That was what he had observed and so that was what he expected. "And so, let us be clear with one another, Miss Joz. What was it you were saying upstairs?"

Lolo walked behind her to the bottom of the stairs, where she halted, staring at the floor. She either hadn't seen or was purposefully ignoring the shining Carbuncle seated before her, his head cocked to the side as it examined her. It was a curious creature, almost shaking with the urge to hop over to her and sniff and paw at her. But, it didn't. It waited, as Lolo had bid it. "Ben," Lolo said, stepping past Joz. The Carbuncle's gaze shot towards his face, its ears perked and attentive. Lolo tossed his head upward slightly and the familiar bolted past the two of them to the top of the stairs, where it sat and watched the hall. Turning to Joz, Lolo widened his arms and said, "Here, Miss Joz, we can speak more easily." Despite having escaped inside, Lolo's skin still radiated heat. Had he simply not cooled off yet, or was the situation simply keeping him uncomfortably warm? Ignore it. Focus. "You were saying before?" He stared at her and awaited her reply.

"Joz. Yes, nice to meet you, Miss Joz," he muttered as she stepped past him through the door. Her mouth was agape and Lolotaru remembered his own first visit to the Arcanists' Guild. It had been busier that day and the bustle of it all, the comings and goings of the learning and the learned had excited in him a similar reaction; he had stood for several long moments, mouth agape, wishing his eyes were wider to take it all in. It was a new day in a new life for which he maintained such very high hopes. He couldn't lose that. He tried to get the girl's attention. "Miss Joz?" He indicated the stairwell and stepped toward it himself. "Right this way."

The doors had barely shut behind him when Lolo kicked himself mentally. Idiot of an aldgoat! Bad things? He had no idea what she meant; she could have meant anything! No reason to assume that she was talking about then. This could all still be some sort of mix-up, a case of mistaken identities, confused names and faces. She said she couldn't even read! An easy mistake to make, and an easy mistake to clear up. But what if she wasn't confused? What if she wasn't wrong? What if she really did know what she was saying and meant it? He had to follow up, to see it through. He had to know or he couldn't sleep. There, in the stuffy hall of the Arcanists' Guild, Lolotaru Lalataru, soaked through with sweat and dragging his long robe, suddenly felt very cold. He glanced around hurriedly, taking in the lay of the room. It was mostly empty. The girl's shirt was big enough it might pass for a half-robe so long as no one paid attention too closely; unasked, unobserved, unmolested she could pass for an initiate. He walked swiftly over to the staircase and down, glancing into the demonstration room below. It was empty. Good. He hastily summoned Ben, his Carbuncle. It was his oldest, most practiced summon and the most comfortable, almost second nature. He stilled himself, felt the pull of the aether around him, and held in his mind the loose, looping pattern that summed up his relationship with Ben. He waved his arm, catching a corner of the air and with a quick tug upwards and a bright blue flash, pulled the coalescing figure into full manifestation. Ben flipped and landed before him with a squeak. Lolo held out his palm and nodded and Ben sat on his haunches and waited patiently. Once back at the top of the stairs, Lolo checked to make sure the main hall remained clear, then rushed to the door and peeked outside. The girl was still sitting there, just as he'd left her. He put on a smile and addressed her quietly as he stepped out. "I'm sorry about the wait. Please, do come in." He opened the door and motioned. "Now, I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage," holding the smile, hoping his voice would put her at ease, knowing it probably wouldn't," but while you seem to know my name, I didn't catch yours."

Thief? Lolo recoiled slightly and his hand shot to his pocket. "Bad things?" he chuckled as he turned his head purposefully to the door (closed, good), around the entryway (empty, good), and back to the miqo'te. His visage darkened. "Not here," he stated plainly before standing up and walking to the door. "Wait." Simple, final. He disappeared inside.

Sell her to the Yellowjackets? "Where in the world would you get that idea?" Lolo blurted in surprise. How old is this girl? he thought to himself as he stared at her. He felt a pang at the mention of her illiteracy and his face betrayed sympathy and...something less defined. "Y'know what it's like t'be. . .t'be. . ." she faded out. "To be what?" he finished.

"Er...why yes, that's me." This was only becoming more confusing by the moment. "Uh...ma'am, I'm afraid it doesn't quite work that way," he explained as he sat down on the ground next to her, unconcerned with further dirtying his poor robe. With a keen and furtive series of sideways glances he more closely examined his erstwhile companion. Her clothes were matted, but otherwise seemed clean, if ill-fitting. The heat would be responsible for that, and for her hair. A quick observation of the fur of her tail revealed a somewhat mussier state than the hair on her head; so she had washed but recently and partially. Her shoes fit better than her clothes, but showed more wear. They were hers, the rest must have been new. She reminded him of...but no, her eyes had wide, large pupils: Keeper, not Seeker. Realizing that he had become distracted, he continued, hoping she hadn't noticed the momentary delay. "I respect the urge to study, believe me, but there are far more qualified individuals than myself." He began to stand, holding out his hand towards her and sweeping it towards the door, gesturing with a nod of his head. "Please, step inside and we'll begin the requisite paperwork." Yes, yes, then they would take her for examinations of her latent aetheric levels, gather a history of her exposure to and affinity for magic and begin to assign her preliminary readings and a course schedule. And he could go to the library and continue his research, continue reading. He looked expectantly at the scrawny figure seated before him. But for her color, she really does look like her, he thought to himself.

Before he could fully experience his flattery, Lolo's analytical mind caught up to his pride. She's confused. After all, he was hardly the most noteworthy individual in the Guild. He showed great aptitude and promise, yes, and there was great curiosity concerning the potential of several of his theories. Even his personal and self-taught style had impressed his instructors, but he remained raw yet and his actual accomplishments and contributions were still few in number and under-circulated. The corners of his mouth pulled in and his wide eyes narrowed. He cast another glance around the entryway and directed himself once again towards the girl. Her pose was the very definition of pitiful and he leaned in, unknowingly, in response, hands raised slightly toward the scrunched up figure before him, stopping just shy of her knees. "Ma'am," he inquired, "just who do you think that I am?"

His eyes went wide and he took a half a step back as the girl began to jitter and stammer. "Sorry!" she blurted, apparently shocked. "No, I'm sorry!" he blurted back, definitely shocked. He watched her as she convulsed, contorted, and threw herself before him. It took him a moment to recognize the motion: a genuflection. A bow. Color immediately flooded to his cheeks. Her words sounded far away, as in water, but one word stuck. Did she just say...? "Did you say," he asked in a low voice, glancing around nervously as he gulped the final word audibly, "apprentice?" He was confused, only barely concluding that he was not suffering from some sort of brain fever brought on by the heat. If it can be believed, he instantly began to sweat even more profusely than before. He raised a sleeve to wipe his forehead and, unable to stop himself, let out an small, anxious chuckle. The smile appearing at the sides of his mouth, though, that was proud.

Finally, after an interminable struggle, Lolo cleared the crowd and passed into the open air of the final stretch to the Guild. He loved this particular stretch of the walk. Whatever else may be happening in the city, here it was rarely busy. The spacious covered hall leading to yet more (though less frequented) docks housed the thick salt smell and quiet, wet rock that was present throughout the city, but here there were no hawkers, no officers and captains and sailors and beggars. No one loitered here, no one but the studious. Small clusters of novices and apprentices were often seen discussing readings and lectures excitedly, exhaustedly. Masters and professors stood apart during their own breaks, smoking pensively. This was Lolo's place to breathe before stepping into his beloved Guild. He had been away for several weeks and so, under normal circumstances, would have paused to take it all in, to participate, perhaps, in the unofficial ceremony of it all. But today he simply wanted to get inside, to go to some secluded section of the library where he could fan out his robes and tend to his scrapes and bruises. And to read and take his mind far away from the heat and the pitfalls of the day. Staring down the front of his now wet, stretched, and dirtied robe, Lolotaru didn't see the miqo'te until he'd almost stepped on her tail and run into her knees. Startled, his hand reflexively moved to his pocket as he hurriedly mumbled a "pardon." He looked up and a pair of dark eyes looked back. Him standing, her seated, her gaze met his and their eyes locked.

Lolo opened his eyes and stepped up on top of a bench, leaning over the railing to see the ocean. It had been months since he'd relocated to Vylbrand and he still loved to look out over the sea. Maybe he really was just a tourist in residence, but the ocean reminded him of home in a way. The great expanses of water and sand were both things to be crossed, not lived upon, and from moment to moment the waves and the dunes changed their face. One used the sun and the stars to navigate both. But now wasn't the time to wax contemplative. The heat was too oppressive for that, and his mind thus too sluggish to think any thoughts to truly be proud of. No, he had dallied long enough. He looked up towards the Upper Decks and the Bismarck, thoughts of cool refreshments enjoyed in the shade and the breeze dancing through his mind, followed immediately by the realization that for exactly that reason the Bismarck would be particularly busy, and today was a day for pushing through crowds, not sitting amongst them. With a resigned sigh and a final glance over the bulwark, Lolo stepped off the bench, his foot catching on the edge of his soggy robe as he fell face first onto the hard stone below. Momentarily dazed, he rose to his knees, one hand immediately flying to his head, the other to the left pocket of his robe. His breath caught in his throat as he patted around his waist, only resuming when his hand came to rest on the familiar bulge. Thank Thaliak, he thought, I didn't drop it. He stood up, brushing off the front of his robe and wincing slightly at the minor scrapes and bruises on his knees and elbows, and began to cross the plaza in the direction of Hawkers' Alley, right arm clutching his shoulder bag, left hand hovering protectively over the pocket, tracing out the dimensions of its contents absentmindedly.

Lolotaru was always shocked by how hot it could get in Limsa Lominsa. Growing up in the desert, he knew heat, but it was different in Limsa. You couldn’t hide from it. It was wet, sticky,pervasive, and only the breeze offered any comfort. As he stepped off of the ferry he took note of the crowd and frowned visibly. The docks were crowded today; the lalafell would feel no breeze. He did not relish the thought of being jostled about by the sweaty knees of the larger folk of the city. He sighed and began to push through the forest of legs, pressing forward towards the ramp up to the city proper. As he walked, he became aware of,and increasingly distracted by, the stuffy, unpleasantly moist feeling of his skin beneath his scholar’s robe. He loved his robes, so full of pockets brimming with the associations of history. Nevertheless, the thought of spending the next several hours in the already dirty garments weighed on him and further soured his mood. And it was so stuffy in the Arcanists’ Guild! As he crested the top of the ramp a breeze rolled in and he stepped to the side of the crowd, over to the edge of the Aetheryte Plaza to better feel it. The crowd was sparser here. He splayed out his arms, closed his eyes, and breathed in the thick, salty air. Maybe today wouldn’t be such a disappointment after all.

Egads! I remember that scene and completely overlooked that bit. Well, that opens things up a bit, but we still lack concrete details one way or the other to make any sort of conclusions about the linguistic landscape of Eorzea (as Ildur has pointed out above). A grey area it is then!

I lean towards there being more or less one common Eorzean language (minus the beastmen tribes, Padjal, and fanon languages). There could be a number of dialects, but we don't really see anything amongst the playable races. -The Elezen have a French flavor to their names, but any sort of barrier to communication is never mentioned. -The Roegadyn language is specifically mentioned as being used exclusively in names, having otherwise died off. -The Miqo'te language apparently shared the same 26 letters as the Eorzean alphabet (with slightly different pronunciations), which they adopted. -And the Lalafell are mentioned as having once had vowels that they no longer use, implying to me that the language which used those vowels is no longer in use either. -We do see and hear reference to beastmen languages and, maybe, a Garlean language, but we are also explicitly able to understand them via the Echo, which your particular character may or may not have. In fact, the only language we ever hear (which we still understand via subtitles, but which we do in fact hear) is the Ascian language. It's frustratingly unrealistic to me as a linguist-to-be, but we really don't know how large an area the total geography of Eorzea occupies and they do have fast travel capabilities and a method of instant communication (the linkshells/pearls), so those would play a role, as they have in the real world, in wilting away a number of languages.

Personal Profile Character Name: Lolotaru Lalataru Gender: Male Race: Dunesfolk Domestic Profile Civil Status: Legal Resident Place of Residence: Wineport Occupation: Scholar, business owner, and Maestrom liaison Free Company: Mysterium Social Profile Originally from Thanalan (his mother still resides in Ul'dah), Lolotaru Lalataru is a recent immigrant to La Noscea, where he currently resides to study and participate in the rich academic life of the region. He does still do merchant business, but the majority of his company's activity remains delegated to employees and retainers in Thanalan. Unlike many who have posted so far, his business is legitimate, but the mindful sort might have heard rumors of a time when that wasn't quite so certain. Meta Profile I would love to get into Lolo a little more in a place where he actually spends time. He travels IC pretty regularly, but he is explicitly based in Limsa Lominsa. Anyone who would like to interact with him may do so about whatever they want: arcanima, aetheric studies, books, ancient civilizations, and merchant business. I'm mostly on prior to about 3:30 or 4:00 PM CST.

I've been following this thread on my phone and only just got home with the opportunity to post. I would love for Lolo to be a part of this. An invitation for Lolotaru Lalataru would be much appreciated.

Speaking of the lore in terms of personality, we see lalafell portrayed every which way in game: playful/cute, innocent, childish, mature, self-sacrificing, monstrous, sexual, naive, callous, calm, angry, etc. They're really just people like all the other races, albeit people who tend toward goofier ways of expressing themselves slightly more often than some of the other races. I tend to see other RPers play their lalafell one of two ways: like they look or juxtaposed to how they look. That is to say, they play them highlighting either their cutesy childlike qualities or they play up the darkness of their character in a way that clashes with their appearance. Lolotaru, my Dunesfolk, is a healthy mix of both, I think and I'm certainly not alone in trying to round out my lalafell in such away that takes advantage of his disarming appearance. He's definitely more openly goofy and excitable than brooding, it's just that he's got that in him too. Long story short, don't sweat how you want to play out Ruru's personality; however you play him, there are lalafell in game that justify it.

Oooh, good point. I love The Hitchhiker's Guide, but there's some gold to be found in the Dirk Gently books and The Salmon of Doubt is one of my favorite avenues to losing my mind in the best way possible.

It goes without saying (although I am saying it) that if I didn't arbitrarily limit entries, this list could become long enough to wrap around itself and break time. Dune by Frank Herbert above all else. I've read that book (and the main series) more times than anything else in my life. That being said, if any of you speak fondly or even forgivingly of Brian Herbert's "additions" to the series, I'll call you mad and call down curses and poxes on your household. Also, any among you who have not read Johnathan Strange & Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke need to call in sick for the next few days so you can do exactly that. And I'm a little shocked not to see any Tolkien mentioned yet.