[So. She's going to see Haurchefant again. Haurchefant is alive and she's going to see him again, he's alive and breathing and not dead and dying with the life spilling out of him and Alphinaud wailing and Aymeric trembling and blood dripping down the edge of his last shaking smile while he looks for one of hers one last time —
So. She's going to see Haurchefant.
She's just going to see Haurchefant.
And really it's a blessing that she'd promised to bring refreshment with her when she comes, because it's something mundane and habitual and routine: finding a shop, waiting in line, securing sweets and drinks and the cafe's somewhat pitiful excuse for a "side garden salad" before setting out to the park that is their appointed meeting place, hands laden and with an apple shoved unceremoniously into her teeth for good measure. It helps to have something to bite.
It's warm enough out that she's foregone her usual floor-length skirt and robe in favor of something lighter, a one-shoulder shirt cropped high enough to allow an Ishgardian-scandalous strip of her midriff to show. The mid-thigh cut of her shorts is offset by a pair of tall heeled boots that come all the way up her legs, leaving just another bare strip of skin visible between one hemline and another. And behind her, ever-present, trails Wind-Up Ultros, squishing and wiggling as ever, but thankfully not getting into too much mischief.
And then, as easy as breathing, she rounds a corner — and there he is. Haurchefant Greystone, living, breathing, in the flesh, flanked by what must be the world's best-loved chocobo.
And she's got an apple in her teeth so she can't call hello.]
Mmf...
[But fortunately, she's adaptable, and quick to remedy the situation — the bag goes between her knees, the now-freed hand plucks the apple from her teeth, and that's the first impression it appears she's going to present to a man who in another universe once died to save her life, as her voice rings out along the garden path: ]
no subject
So. She's going to see Haurchefant.
She's just going to see Haurchefant.
And really it's a blessing that she'd promised to bring refreshment with her when she comes, because it's something mundane and habitual and routine: finding a shop, waiting in line, securing sweets and drinks and the cafe's somewhat pitiful excuse for a "side garden salad" before setting out to the park that is their appointed meeting place, hands laden and with an apple shoved unceremoniously into her teeth for good measure. It helps to have something to bite.
It's warm enough out that she's foregone her usual floor-length skirt and robe in favor of something lighter, a one-shoulder shirt cropped high enough to allow an Ishgardian-scandalous strip of her midriff to show. The mid-thigh cut of her shorts is offset by a pair of tall heeled boots that come all the way up her legs, leaving just another bare strip of skin visible between one hemline and another. And behind her, ever-present, trails Wind-Up Ultros, squishing and wiggling as ever, but thankfully not getting into too much mischief.
And then, as easy as breathing, she rounds a corner — and there he is. Haurchefant Greystone, living, breathing, in the flesh, flanked by what must be the world's best-loved chocobo.
And she's got an apple in her teeth so she can't call hello.]
Mmf...
[But fortunately, she's adaptable, and quick to remedy the situation — the bag goes between her knees, the now-freed hand plucks the apple from her teeth, and that's the first impression it appears she's going to present to a man who in another universe once died to save her life, as her voice rings out along the garden path: ]
Splendid!!