Alisaie Leveilleur (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alittlerampage) wrote2023-12-11 02:30 pm
alittlerampage) wrote2023-12-11 02:30 pm
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Darrow'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.”
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Safer, he is starting to believe, than Eorzea itself, though undoubtedly with plenty of secrets.
"Not the adventure either of us expected when we first left home, is it?"
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