ARRIVAL/CASTLE THORNE— [ G’raha never learned how to swim.
True, he was born on the isle of Corvos, but his upbringing took him to Sharlayan, a place where the waters were too cold to really learn, and besides, his days were spent reading and mostly keeping to himself as a youth; there was no time for swimming. As such, his first instinct, upon opening his eyes is to gasp, and what little breath he had left is replaced by water. When the hand reaches down, he snatches at it eagerly, coming up out of the fountain with a series of unattractive coughs, hair plastered to his forehead, tail drooping with the weight of being soaked.
He looks up at the people before him, and then back down at himself as the man speaks—
Oh, saints, he’s naked.
G’raha flushes bright pink as he looks up again at the sound of the man’s book closing, doing his best to scramble to protect whatever dignity he has left. He looks like a drowned cat — he is a drowned cat.
The sight of clothing is a relief, and he hurriedly puts them on, standing up and shaking out his hair, undone from its usual braid. He takes in the info as they walk, committing each name to memory as best he can, though his ears prick up at the reason why he’s been summoned. He’d laugh at the irony, if the situation didn’t seem quite so dire. Him? A hero of great renown? That’s the most laughable part of all, he thinks.
The apprentice leaves him to his own devices at the North Wing, and G’raha pauses outside the door which is, apparently, to his room, and turns to look over his shoulder. The palace is much nicer, he thinks, than what he’d offered people. So lost in his own thought about the absolute coincidence he’s been placed in, he doesn’t notice that he just might be standing in someone’s way… ]
THE BANQUET— [ Well, he’s dressed as well as can be, all things considered. He’s never been one for too much finery, though he cleans up nice, if he says so himself. He, at least, is no longer feeling quite so waterlogged, and that has done enough to boost his moral to the point that when he arrives at the banquet, he’s smiling to himself, slipping into the crowd in a not quite practiced manner.
It’s the music that grabs his attention, however, and he looks around with a small plate of cheese and fruit in his hands, ears twitching as he tries to locate the source. He glances over to the person next to him, raising an eyebrow. ]
Where do you suppose the players are?
NOCWICH MARKET— [ Oleuni Square is brightly lit, despite the everlasting nature of the darkness, and this he’s used to, at least. It reminds him of The Last Stand at midnight, after pulling an allnighter and needing a latte to keep him awake to finish reading his books. Only this time he’s not dozing off every step he takes, and he’s taking his time to take in the sights and sounds. The market is busier than Sharlayan at night, and there are all types of people, of smells, of sounds. His ears twitch slightly at it all, his tail following suit, and his nose leads him towards a stall selling baked goods, none of which he recognizes, but all of which smell better than the last.
He pays for one vaguely danish looking pastry, a beautiful bright red center mixed with what he hopes is cream cheese, and a smaller loaf of bread smelling vaguely of garlic, tucking both into the bag at his side. The sound of music and laughter hits his ears, and he turns towards the sound, and subsequently, the stage, and he makes his way over, at what seems to be the start of an intermission, and he settles down in a seat near some people, taking the ‘danish’ out of his bag and holding it up, examining. After a moment, he tears it in half, and turns to the nearest person. ]
Would you care to share? I wouldn’t want my coin to go to waste if it’s not to my tastes!
g'raha tia | ffxiv | the lovers
[ G’raha never learned how to swim.
True, he was born on the isle of Corvos, but his upbringing took him to Sharlayan, a place where the waters were too cold to really learn, and besides, his days were spent reading and mostly keeping to himself as a youth; there was no time for swimming. As such, his first instinct, upon opening his eyes is to gasp, and what little breath he had left is replaced by water. When the hand reaches down, he snatches at it eagerly, coming up out of the fountain with a series of unattractive coughs, hair plastered to his forehead, tail drooping with the weight of being soaked.
He looks up at the people before him, and then back down at himself as the man speaks—
Oh, saints, he’s naked.
G’raha flushes bright pink as he looks up again at the sound of the man’s book closing, doing his best to scramble to protect whatever dignity he has left. He looks like a drowned cat — he is a drowned cat.
The sight of clothing is a relief, and he hurriedly puts them on, standing up and shaking out his hair, undone from its usual braid. He takes in the info as they walk, committing each name to memory as best he can, though his ears prick up at the reason why he’s been summoned. He’d laugh at the irony, if the situation didn’t seem quite so dire. Him? A hero of great renown? That’s the most laughable part of all, he thinks.
The apprentice leaves him to his own devices at the North Wing, and G’raha pauses outside the door which is, apparently, to his room, and turns to look over his shoulder. The palace is much nicer, he thinks, than what he’d offered people. So lost in his own thought about the absolute coincidence he’s been placed in, he doesn’t notice that he just might be standing in someone’s way… ]
THE BANQUET—
[ Well, he’s dressed as well as can be, all things considered. He’s never been one for too much finery, though he cleans up nice, if he says so himself. He, at least, is no longer feeling quite so waterlogged, and that has done enough to boost his moral to the point that when he arrives at the banquet, he’s smiling to himself, slipping into the crowd in a not quite practiced manner.
It’s the music that grabs his attention, however, and he looks around with a small plate of cheese and fruit in his hands, ears twitching as he tries to locate the source. He glances over to the person next to him, raising an eyebrow. ]
Where do you suppose the players are?
NOCWICH MARKET—
[ Oleuni Square is brightly lit, despite the everlasting nature of the darkness, and this he’s used to, at least. It reminds him of The Last Stand at midnight, after pulling an allnighter and needing a latte to keep him awake to finish reading his books. Only this time he’s not dozing off every step he takes, and he’s taking his time to take in the sights and sounds. The market is busier than Sharlayan at night, and there are all types of people, of smells, of sounds. His ears twitch slightly at it all, his tail following suit, and his nose leads him towards a stall selling baked goods, none of which he recognizes, but all of which smell better than the last.
He pays for one vaguely danish looking pastry, a beautiful bright red center mixed with what he hopes is cream cheese, and a smaller loaf of bread smelling vaguely of garlic, tucking both into the bag at his side. The sound of music and laughter hits his ears, and he turns towards the sound, and subsequently, the stage, and he makes his way over, at what seems to be the start of an intermission, and he settles down in a seat near some people, taking the ‘danish’ out of his bag and holding it up, examining. After a moment, he tears it in half, and turns to the nearest person. ]
Would you care to share? I wouldn’t want my coin to go to waste if it’s not to my tastes!