[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.]

The latest of late things ever

[strayspride]

[ Noah is a quiet corner of the pub, doing his best to remind him all of the reasons that drinking himself solid drunk is not a good idea. It is working, for the most part, and the slight aura of menace that he projects, with his legs split wide and one hand very obviously resting on the hilt of Highway Star, keeps most company from intruding on his table. At the moment, he is deliberating over a hunt notice. Nearby there are a few others gathered for what appears to be a clan meeting.

Eventually he gives up pretending to care about the hunt in front of him, and tunes his focus on the talk about the can. He shifts to looking slightly less murderous and more interested.

It's not a bad idea, joining a clan. There is the security a team provides, out here is so far from most of the rest of Ivalice that knows him that he could do well in establishing himself as someone new. It isn't like he would have any difficulties with the martial requirement for recruitment, and he needn't even worry about the distinctiveness of certain portions of his fighting style, so far from the Archadian Empire.

So he'll definitely approach the bright pink leader he keeps glancing back at curiously. Right after he finishes this drink. That he is most determinedly not drinking. Yeah. ]