[ACTION | Moorabella | OTA] Backdated to the 22nd

[the_cat]

[ It's a familiar itch that needs scratching or so Adelle thinks as she shifts from the back of her seat to the edge of it so as to better observe the aerodome workers running to and fro on the ground from the cabin window. From Rabanastre to Fluorgis and Fluorgis to Moorabella is a long time to sit idle. Well not idle per se as her mind has been rather active, but her feet are itching to scale the solid ground outside now that she's arrived at her intended destination. She's got a lot of ground to cover figuratively, too, what with clan matters, which includes certain missing persons, and this grimoire business afoot. Lezaford's due for a visit concerning the aforementionedand she's expecting Penelo sooner than later on account of their missing links. Given this, she really doesn't have time to sit idle, now does she?

As the announcement that traditionally precedes opening doors sounds, she's quick to hop out of her seat in her private cabin and stretch. Settling onto the balls of her feet again, she moves to find her bags, exit the cabin, and then the airship in its entirety. Once inside the aerodome, she disappears into the crowd, weaving through it expertly until she's outside in the capital of Magick proper and shivering just slightly despite her warm apparel for the fresh coat of snow that snugly hugs neatly rowed houses and lanes. ]

That's Moorabella for you!

[ With people coming and going despite the temperature, that is. The sages and other citizens who call the city home are visible amidst the hunters and adventurers. It's a busy day for Moorabella, but that suits Adelle just fine. She's a busy lady herself and stepping with purpose into the snowladen streets, bags checked and rechecked as her boots crunch snow beneath her feet.

First, she'll hit the pub to meet up with the clan and see if they've found any new leads through rumors or otherwise. It's time she bring them up to speed again with everything that's going on. They need to discuss their plans for Blackfrost, too. She'd like to keep Moorabella in case Cid shows for that ale, but it's something that merits discussing with all the other points in consideration. Then, she's got a letter to send ahead of herself to Lezaford. She should be heading to see him in the next couple of days. Perhaps Penelo would want to join her? She's hoping he can shed some light on this grimoire stuff.

Blowing a soft puff of white into the air, the hunter pauses and turns yellow eyes up to the sky for the soft flurries beginning to cascade down from the sky. Shifting her bags to one hand, she lifts the other to catch a flurry, bare fingers curling around it protectively for a sudden gust of wind from the east. ]

Zedlei, is it? Well, maybe later.

[ And with that, her fingers close around the still melting remnants of the snowflake and she strikes out again. That odd urge for the near beckoning wind is just going to have to wait until she's managed certain responsibilities. Still, it's not something she'll soon forget as such feelings are better heeded.

After all, one never knows what sort of prize one might find for the help. ]

Comments

[action] /23rd day

[cruentatafoedus]

[Today he's in the pub, a secluded corner all his own. He's thankfully less a mess than he has been in recent days, but it has taken a bit out of him in the process to be so...humbled, forced to strange ends (some of those shoveled walkways? his fault) to ensure even just a bath, not to mention clean clothes, a bit of food, and somewhere to rest his head (he'll forego the shaving as it adds to the image he wants to inspire even if his choice of words hints at more).]

[And again, he's playing with an assortment of pieces borrowed from the tender on a flat board, trying to keep his mind preoccupied, using physical objects to represent views, ideas, thoughts, nations - the entirety of four years still hitting home.]

[Larsa is 16, his rule only four years old (and it's survived, bless that damned Stray), so close to reaching an age where Vayne knows from experience marks one as an adult, and usually in a fashion most...unkind. He's also been dead for those four years, and the loss of time is unnerving. Certainly, little has changed, but he should be...31? 32? Ultima may grant life unbearable, unnecessary.]

[His usual arrangement of features is soured in the dark, worn thin by a lack of consistent sleep, food, and accommodations, but he managed to brush his hair? Little victories, Solidor - eh, Siegfried. Right, remember that one before the damn grimoire next to the board, half hidden under bits of papers containing news, does so for him.]

bless u for ur patience

[the_cat]

[ She saunters into the place like she owns it and owns it she does, what with the territorial claim Clan Gully holds over Moorabella at present. There's some pride to be had for that success she acknowledges is in part due to the clan and in part to its leadership, a little something she's still puzzling out given the relative novelty of her position. It isn't so bright, so new that she's unfamiliar with it, but it's an unwieldy grasp she exercises on occasion, one of someone learning how to lead a group as opposed to simply oneself, and that requires some consideration, some practice despite how oft she's seen it witnessed throughout her life.

Some things are easier than others to learn even for someone Gifted as she is.

Despite this and the volume of the weight upon her mind, Adelle is good and well aware of what she came for. She moves for the board first this time, keen to give it a good once over before she claims her seat. Work is what she needs to keep the clan busy while she decides their next course of action and there's bound to be something of interest to Clan Gully's members even if it doesn't quite inspire her in particular to action.

In approaching the board, however, her eyes catch sight of an unfamiliar man, the sort children are often shied away from. That would be relevant were Adelle a child. As is, she's an adult of seventeen and quite capable of making her own decisions, questionable or otherwise. In this case, that adjective is left by the wayside in favor of the simple fact that that man's hair is a fashion nightmare that does everything to offend. ]

Life treating you roughly? You look like she's been having a good time with you.

[ But he also looks like he's trying to work through it. The board on the table, the pieces atop it say something of that to the young woman, whose fingers find the back of an unoccupied chair as though to ask, 'Is this seat taken?' An eyebrow slightly raised is added in support. Yes or no, she'll be taking that seat, sir, her curiosity stirred for the look of the man, what she can read of him, and the fact that one way or another, she will be putting scissors to that hair today. ]

patieNCE is my middle name - Vayne Patience Solidor

[cruentatafoedus]

[If Vayne had known her perception of his hair, he may've laughed, dragged out from his rumination, exhaustion for a moment lifting from his face. As it was, those words were unspoken, and thus the man remained silent, head turning up to the voice -]

[A young woman, bright, invasive by his standards, and seeming unwilling to take any potential no for an answer. Though appearances could be deceiving and often were, her mannerisms suggested she was open, honest, well meaning, and unaware of who he was. She had his interest, to say the least. His mind grasped the repeating motif of a cat stitched into her clothing, and an old array of memories jumped to the forefront.]

[The man sits up a little, lips curling into a smile, gesturing to the chair as though it had been his intention all along to invite her to join him, and perhaps, after a fashion, he had expected her.]
"Pray, you do credit her unyielding touch overmuch, methinks. Is there but aught I may grant you this day?"
[He adjusts the papers and his board, taking care with the pieces before nudging his grimoire from the table and into his lap.]