Phye stared at Cliaux. Hard. Those brown eyes of hers burrowing into the Elezen's own with a fiery intensity of a proud Ala Mhigan woman.
"Are you... trying to get Ori to punch me?" A tense beat, and then she burst into raucous laughter and slapped Cliaux firmly on the back. "Ha, I knew I liked ya! I hope the little nutkin takes you up on your advice! I've been trying to toughen her up for years! She would hardly even talk when I first came across her crunchin' numbers at the Arcanist's Guild, y'know."
"I... I was actually just cataloguing the various--"
"You're squeaking again, nutkin," the Highlander intoned, motioning to the very tendon Cliaux had not moments before, "when you should be paying attention! Did you see where she pointed? Good punch here'll drop me, apparently. You should give it a go!"
"B-but... I... I don't..."
"Pah!" Phye let out a disgusted sigh and shook her head as she returned her attentions to the Elezen, wrapping her arm roughly around her and drawing her close. "See what I mean? Trembling little thing. Took a lot of prodding to get her to come out here in the first place. I had to practically drag her here."
Given the way she cracked her knuckles before folding her arms over her well-toned chest after letting go of Cliaux, the Highlander's tone easily implied that it she may have meant what she said quite literally. Of course, given their size difference, it wasn't all that hard to imagine the taller woman picking up the little Plainsfolk bodily and carrying her along underarm like a parcel meant for delivery. On foot. From Limsa all the way here.
Speaking of here, the rain was starting to pick up some, hammering down with a little more intensity. At the location marked on all the flyers, there was quite a lot of commotion going on. At least a dozen small figures darted about trying to toss tarps over things and pull down any of the more flimsy decorations to avoid them getting ruined by the rain. Each one was draped in a heavy brown robe, with their hoods pulled down low to both protect the wearer's face from the rain... and obscure their features. They were mostly quiet in their endeavor, save for a little squeak of concern here and there as they sought to batten down the hatches until the storm passed.
Meanwhile, though he couldn't see the chaos at the ruins, Stout Pillar simply smiled and whispered a small thanks to the Twelve for aiding him in his righteous quest. He snagged a hip flask from his belt and took a victorious nip from it before shoving it back into place with a contented sigh. Maybe the Twelve would be so kind as to wash away the problem for him entirely, then he wouldn't even have to bother trudging over there in a couple bell's time to put those miscreants and their deluded sycophants in their place.
"Are you... trying to get Ori to punch me?" A tense beat, and then she burst into raucous laughter and slapped Cliaux firmly on the back. "Ha, I knew I liked ya! I hope the little nutkin takes you up on your advice! I've been trying to toughen her up for years! She would hardly even talk when I first came across her crunchin' numbers at the Arcanist's Guild, y'know."
"I... I was actually just cataloguing the various--"
"You're squeaking again, nutkin," the Highlander intoned, motioning to the very tendon Cliaux had not moments before, "when you should be paying attention! Did you see where she pointed? Good punch here'll drop me, apparently. You should give it a go!"
"B-but... I... I don't..."
"Pah!" Phye let out a disgusted sigh and shook her head as she returned her attentions to the Elezen, wrapping her arm roughly around her and drawing her close. "See what I mean? Trembling little thing. Took a lot of prodding to get her to come out here in the first place. I had to practically drag her here."
Given the way she cracked her knuckles before folding her arms over her well-toned chest after letting go of Cliaux, the Highlander's tone easily implied that it she may have meant what she said quite literally. Of course, given their size difference, it wasn't all that hard to imagine the taller woman picking up the little Plainsfolk bodily and carrying her along underarm like a parcel meant for delivery. On foot. From Limsa all the way here.
Speaking of here, the rain was starting to pick up some, hammering down with a little more intensity. At the location marked on all the flyers, there was quite a lot of commotion going on. At least a dozen small figures darted about trying to toss tarps over things and pull down any of the more flimsy decorations to avoid them getting ruined by the rain. Each one was draped in a heavy brown robe, with their hoods pulled down low to both protect the wearer's face from the rain... and obscure their features. They were mostly quiet in their endeavor, save for a little squeak of concern here and there as they sought to batten down the hatches until the storm passed.
Meanwhile, though he couldn't see the chaos at the ruins, Stout Pillar simply smiled and whispered a small thanks to the Twelve for aiding him in his righteous quest. He snagged a hip flask from his belt and took a victorious nip from it before shoving it back into place with a contented sigh. Maybe the Twelve would be so kind as to wash away the problem for him entirely, then he wouldn't even have to bother trudging over there in a couple bell's time to put those miscreants and their deluded sycophants in their place.
~