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Apr. 7th, 2025 09:01 amAlisaie hates working at Stickyroll. Swirlybun. Swirlyroll. Whatever it’s called, they make her stow her rapier in her employee locker, and she has to wear this ridiculous visor, and ‘non-slip sneakers’ and ‘employee uniform’ instead of her usual attire. But needs must, and they require money for their apartment, small though it is, so here she is, dressed in her finest food service garb and lamenting to Alphinaud how frustrating it is to constantly repeat ‘Thank you for shopping at Swirlyroll, have a swirl of a good day!’
“It’s demeaning is what it is,” she’s saying, not for the first time even this week. “And what even is a swirl of a good day? It’s nonsense. We need to find other work.”
She’s still going, her visor pushed up so it doesn’t squash her fringe to her brow, when she sees the creature up ahead. It looks similar to the Voidsent that Abby had killed, knife and all, and Alisaie gasps and grabs Alphinaud’s arm.
“Look! It’s another of those creatures.” They’d each seen one before, though they’re still so unlike the Voidsent they know from Eorzea or the Sin Eaters of the First. Seeing it lumbering and stumbling towards a shimmering rift has Alisaie’s sense of adventure stirring. She looks at Alphinaud, her eyes sparkling.
“We should follow it,” she says. She doesn’t wait for his response. In her horrendous black non-slip sneakers, she gives chase, drawing her rapier as she goes.
The creature vanishes ahead of her, the rift rippling with its passing, and Alisaie leans into her sprint. The shimmer ripples around her as she passes through it as well, and as she steps through she sees…
The exact same thing she’d seen a moment ago.
No, not exactly. The creature is still there, yes, and so is Darrow, but it’s… different. Its mien is utterly filthy, broken and ashy, cut through with tentacles and heavy motes not unlike those they’d seen on Valentine’s Day. She skids to a stop — nearly pitches forward when her non-slip sneakers hold fast against the ground as intended — and lifts her crystal and sword, ready for anything.
“It’s demeaning is what it is,” she’s saying, not for the first time even this week. “And what even is a swirl of a good day? It’s nonsense. We need to find other work.”
She’s still going, her visor pushed up so it doesn’t squash her fringe to her brow, when she sees the creature up ahead. It looks similar to the Voidsent that Abby had killed, knife and all, and Alisaie gasps and grabs Alphinaud’s arm.
“Look! It’s another of those creatures.” They’d each seen one before, though they’re still so unlike the Voidsent they know from Eorzea or the Sin Eaters of the First. Seeing it lumbering and stumbling towards a shimmering rift has Alisaie’s sense of adventure stirring. She looks at Alphinaud, her eyes sparkling.
“We should follow it,” she says. She doesn’t wait for his response. In her horrendous black non-slip sneakers, she gives chase, drawing her rapier as she goes.
The creature vanishes ahead of her, the rift rippling with its passing, and Alisaie leans into her sprint. The shimmer ripples around her as she passes through it as well, and as she steps through she sees…
The exact same thing she’d seen a moment ago.
No, not exactly. The creature is still there, yes, and so is Darrow, but it’s… different. Its mien is utterly filthy, broken and ashy, cut through with tentacles and heavy motes not unlike those they’d seen on Valentine’s Day. She skids to a stop — nearly pitches forward when her non-slip sneakers hold fast against the ground as intended — and lifts her crystal and sword, ready for anything.
(no subject)
Dec. 11th, 2023 02:30 pmDarrow's Home for Children. That's what the strange pamphlet of information says. She's meant to live there, like an orphan. The entire matter is an insult. She isn't a child — that she isn't even an orphan is beside the point. She's been taking care of herself since leaving Sharlayan with Alphinaud! But no matter her arguments or her insistence, she's sent along to Darrow's Home for Children. The problem is that it seems by the law of this place, she's considered exactly that. A child. The number of her years has limited her in privileges compared to Eorzea and Norvrandt both. It's awful.
The kindly woman who greets her only serves to incense Alisaie further. She is not a child, and yet the woman talks to her as though she's a youngling in the midst of a tantrum.
“I don't even have my own sleeping quarters?” she asks a bit disdainfully when the woman's shown her to the bedroom holding four beds. The woman smiles at her as though she's just said the cutest little thing, and Alisaie clenches her hand into a fist.
Behave, Alisaie, she thinks to herself. Losing your temper will get you nowhere productive, and indeed, may only prove her point.
She takes a breath and thanks the woman, waits until she's gone, then growls and throws the packet of information onto the bed. It bounces lightly before settling in place and Alisaie sits beside it with an annoyed huff. Well. At least the bed is comfortable…
She reads through the packet of strange papers and small cards, because for the moment, it’s easier and more actionable than worrying about where her friends are, if they aren’t here as the person she’d met when she’d arrived had suggested. One of the cards, a small, stiff thing, bears her likeness, painted with singular clarity and detail. There’s another card with her name on it and a string of numbers, and some strange papers that seem to be some sort of currency. No gil, it seems. Still, she rolls up the currency and tucks it into a pocket in her coat, then adds the strange cards with her likeness and name on them to the same pocket. It seems important, even if she doesn’t entirely understand it.
By the time she’s finished taking in everything, there’s another voice passing by the corridor on the way up the stairs. Her interest piqued, Alisaie leaves the rest of the papers on the bed and pokes her head out the door, just in time to see a familiar white braid disappear around the corner leading to the next floor up.
Pleased and not a little relieved, Alisaie follows them up the stairs quietly, listening to the very same kindly woman speaking to her brother with the same condescendingly cloying tone she’d used on Alisaie herself not so long ago. Once the woman is gone, Alisaie sidles up to the doorway in her stead.
“Settling in alright, are you?” she asks casually. “It took you long enough to show up.”
The kindly woman who greets her only serves to incense Alisaie further. She is not a child, and yet the woman talks to her as though she's a youngling in the midst of a tantrum.
“I don't even have my own sleeping quarters?” she asks a bit disdainfully when the woman's shown her to the bedroom holding four beds. The woman smiles at her as though she's just said the cutest little thing, and Alisaie clenches her hand into a fist.
Behave, Alisaie, she thinks to herself. Losing your temper will get you nowhere productive, and indeed, may only prove her point.
She takes a breath and thanks the woman, waits until she's gone, then growls and throws the packet of information onto the bed. It bounces lightly before settling in place and Alisaie sits beside it with an annoyed huff. Well. At least the bed is comfortable…
She reads through the packet of strange papers and small cards, because for the moment, it’s easier and more actionable than worrying about where her friends are, if they aren’t here as the person she’d met when she’d arrived had suggested. One of the cards, a small, stiff thing, bears her likeness, painted with singular clarity and detail. There’s another card with her name on it and a string of numbers, and some strange papers that seem to be some sort of currency. No gil, it seems. Still, she rolls up the currency and tucks it into a pocket in her coat, then adds the strange cards with her likeness and name on them to the same pocket. It seems important, even if she doesn’t entirely understand it.
By the time she’s finished taking in everything, there’s another voice passing by the corridor on the way up the stairs. Her interest piqued, Alisaie leaves the rest of the papers on the bed and pokes her head out the door, just in time to see a familiar white braid disappear around the corner leading to the next floor up.
Pleased and not a little relieved, Alisaie follows them up the stairs quietly, listening to the very same kindly woman speaking to her brother with the same condescendingly cloying tone she’d used on Alisaie herself not so long ago. Once the woman is gone, Alisaie sidles up to the doorway in her stead.
“Settling in alright, are you?” she asks casually. “It took you long enough to show up.”
