Goodfellow

"An' 'ow the 'ells should I know where that is?" the roegadyn asked, a hint of jocularity on his voice. "'S yer neighborhood, ain't it?"

"Don' look so shocked, girlie. 'S not the firs' time he'll 'ave bought us food, either one o' us. An' we'll not spend so much gil he'll be missin' it," he said. Then, rubbing his hands together and gazing back down across the cramped expanse of Barnacles' Reach, "Now, where to?"

Styrm continued up the stairs apace, clearing three or four with each step. As he got closer, he spoke. "Nah, we've had enough letters fer t'day, we 'ave. I thought ye might be 'bout as 'ungry as ol' Styrm, what with workin' 'at brain o' yers so t'day. So, wha's she say, then?" he said with a chuckle and a ruffle of her hair. Then, patting his pocket, "C'mon, Taru's buyin'."

He looked around him a time or two and barely caught notice of the girl before she disappeared from view up the stairs. He jogged heavily over to the bottom of the stairs and took the first few steps quickly. Just as she crested the top of the stairs, he called out, "'Ey! Jozzie!"

Where to, where to? Styrm thought. Why hadn't he asked Jozzie? Hells, why didn't he just see if she wanted to go too? With that thought he climbed back up to the window and entered the room once again only to find it vacant. He exited the window once again and ascended to the rooftop to try to catch her before she'd run too far off. Then, with or without her, he was going to eat. And drink, like as not.

Also, it bears repeating that you have no obligation as an arcanist to work as a customs official or cargo inspector. It is one thing that the Guild does, but hardly means that every member of the guild does it. In fact, in the class and main storyline it never comes up once. Now, people can certainly rp their characters as Limsa's version of the TSA, but nobody will call you on not doing the same because the game's lore never implies that you have to. Arcanists work as cargo inspectors, but not all arcanists are cargo inspectors. Any implication to the contrary is a false tautology. If you're character doesn't care for Limsa, have her go through the Guild to learn the basics and then bolt. The SMN job comes out of the ACN, sure, but the SMN trainer isn't even in Limsa, but rather in Gridania. The Arcanists' Guild doesn't teach the sort of summoning that the SMN does; that's recovered ancient Allagan knowledge, if I remember correctly. The Sons of Saint Coinach are more heavily involved in summoner business than any of the guilds or city-states (excluding Sharlayan, the Sons themselves being Sharlayan).

My personal opinion is that while certain personalities may gravitate towards particular classes and jobs, anyone can be anything and interesting and well-realized characters can result from almost any composition. The same goes with the city-states. My main is neither rude nor actively criminal, yet he loves the variety and the vistas that Limsa and its port offer. Each of the cities has its reputation, but let's not overgeneralize either. I'm sure not everyone in New York is a jerk, for example. As for giving your authority over your character, we can't do that. The reason being that the only person who ever had, has, or will have authority over your character and the course that you decide to take her on is you. Most everyone I've spoken to on the RPC is supportive of individuals and their creativity and are willing to give people wide, wide berth in their personal decision making. Play the character that you want and that you'll enjoy; people will play with you. If you build it, they will come. So have fun!

Styrm smiled and nodded. "Aye, ye'll see me tomorrow. 'Til then, Jozzie," he closed with a wave and then hopped out the window. Instead of climbing over to the level above, he descended to the alley below and walked out into the wider street in front of the building. He paused and looked around, sniffing at the air, hunger, thirst, and indecision driving and holding him. "Hm..."

If you're worried about working as airport-security-writ-large for the city-state, don't be. Arcanists are employed as customs officers, but that is an ancillary function of Mealvaan's Gate. Mealvaan's Gate is just as much the Arcanists' Guild school as it is the immigration and trade bottleneck. As for arcanists being rarer amongst NPCs, there's an explanation for that as well. My understand is that the conjurers and thaumaturges have a long history with Gridania and Ul'dah respectively, as do their guilds. Arcanima is a school of magic developed amongst the islanders of the south seas and the guild was only opened in Limsa Lominsa in recent years. Arcanists are not new to Hydaelyn, but they are relatively new to Vylbrand and so quite new to Eorzea as a whole. Think of it like yoga. In the West, people knew about the existence of yoga and yogis in the East for centuries. The practice itself is several millennia in the making, but it was not familiar or widely practiced in the West until recently, historically speaking.

The roegadyn's stomach chose that moment to rumble. Styrm moaned in a low tone and looked to the window. The day had advanced significantly and, his professorial reverie momentarily broken, he began to feel the absence of food and alcohol. "Ye'll 'ave t'tell me. Keep the book, 's yers, an' keep writin' words an' names what got the letters ye are knowin'. I'll be back by tomorrow an' if ye've got a grasp on 'em, I'll learn ye the rest an' we can watch Taru's socks jump right the 'ells off 'im!" he said, closing with a wink. "But jus' now I'm off. Be needin' anythin' 'fore tomorrow?" he asked as he rose slowly up from the floor.

"Pfff," Styrm barked. "'At's cause ye don't know half 'em, Jozzie. An' once ye do, may decide 'ere's a few more t'yer likin', ye may." He shrugged and added, "'Sides, 's the loopy one what hisses."

"Nah," he responded with a grin, "no breathin' 'ere; 's jus' the first'un. As fer the other'un, she's up 'ere near the front." He turned to the first page and tapped on the B. "Right 'ere, letter number two. She's called B an' she says buh, buh, buh."

"I got two, girlie," he grumbled good-naturedly in response. He raised one finger. "Styrmsthal," he said, "and Tyrbsyn." He raised a second finger.

Styrm cocked his head in an exaggerated pantomime of Taru and stated, "'Ells, all th'letters are a sort o' breathin', ain't they?"

Styrm nodded once as she shot a glance at him after each letter. S. Nod. T. Nod. A... "Eh, hold up a tick, Jozzie. Ye missed a letter. 'Tween T an' A 'ere's an H. Listen: Styrmsthhhal. Hear it? Hhh..." With a smirk and a wink he added, "'S a heavy name, ye've gotta breathe in the middle." He added more, and quickly, with a wave of his hand and a gentler smile on his lips, "All the rest's good, though." His hand continued over to ruffle Joz's hair.

Styrm watched her write. He nodded as she painstakingly traced the S, seemingly committing it to memory. He nodded once more, and smiled, as she appended the T. As she quickly continued to E and R he cleared his throat to halt her advance. "'At third'un there, E, 's not quite right." He turned more fully towards the girl and motioned for her to look at him. "Watch me mouth, an' listen. Really listen. E goes like so: eeehh. Or ee here an' there. Me name, an' loads o' roegadyn words, use a longer sound." The edges of his mouth stretched back into a squinty exaggeration of a smile. "Eeeee," he droned. "'At's 'ow Y sounds." He flipped back to the last page of the alphabet. "Right 'ere, Y," he said, tapping lightly on the second to last letter. "Jus' before the Z."

If she didn't know, she didn't know. He flipped the page and pointed to a letter. "'Is'un 'ere? She's S; looks like a back'ards Z, but sof'er. She hisses: sssss. 'Styrmsthal' starts with 'er."

Styrm didn't frown or deflate. "Not quite, Jozzie. 'S like I said, us Roegadyns've got tough'uns," he repeated, his smile maintained but his voice more neutral, less gruff. "Can' expec' t'get 'em right the firs' go 'round, nah." And then, with a conspiratorial tone, "I'll give ye a hint: mine's got no Zs."

Styrm's smile grew wider, toothier. His shoulders pulled back and his chest swelled proudly. His voice deepened and became more guttural, almost a growl, but with no malice. He spoke only two words, but they were long and thick with consonants and intention. "Styrmsthal Tyrbsyn."

Styrm's hand cracked like thunder once against his knee and he rolled back. "'Ey, some'un looks mighty pleased with 'erself, she does! But when yer right, yer right," he said with a shake of his head. "Aye, an' the second name's almost the same. Swap yer Os fer As. Ye can write 'er out later." He grinned broadly and his words took on a sort of slow and heavy thickness. "Now," he said, his hand against his chest, "ye'll spell mine."

Styrm's reply was a wagging finger. "Not so fas', Jozzie. What sort o' teacher'd Styrm be if 'e jus' spelled it all out fer ye?" He shook his head, "'S only got," he paused and counted on his fingers, "sixteen letters. The firs'un, L, makes an el sound, an' ye already know O," he pointed to her name written on the page. "So, how's she go then?" he asked with a smirk.

Cute smile. "'At 'un righ' there?" he responded, "'S called L. Whole heaps'n'loads o' that'un wha's in Taru's name."

He looked long and hard at the scratches on the page before him. "Aye, jus' so," he said with a nod and a laugh, slapping Joz (very) lightly on the back. "'Atta gal, Jozzie! Jus' so!"

Styrm raised his left eyebrow high. "Wha's 'at fer? Already know t'write yer name, I do," he said. "Ye jus' spelled 'er; ye write 'er," he added, gesturing to the letter on the page.

Styrm grinned in return and nodded. "Aye, Z she is." Then, his glance darting around the room, "Now where's 'at notebook; we're gonna write 'er out."