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IT seems that exhaustion has finally caught up to her, she notes, sitting in the gold saucer for a much-needed respite. her entire body felt heavy, the very act of sitting up draining her beyond belief. every time she tried to focus on her triple triad deck, setting it up for the next match, she found herself zoning out, eyes glazing over, until she was snapped out of it by one of the many games in the saucer.
it was odd to actually feel tired. caeda had compartmentalized it since she was a child. taking care of moogles took a lot out of you, so you tended to need all the energy you could get. perhaps she really had been running herself ragged with all her duties, but even then she could usually get away with a nap or two.
has the stress caught up to her?
lost in thought, she blinked heavily, and couldn't help herself as she almost drifted off, and immediately sat up when she realized she had actually fallen asleep for a few precious seconds on the person next to her. mortified, caeda stretched and hurriedly scooted away from the miqo'te.
He did not much care for the Gold Saucer. While he could appreciate Godbert Manderville’s earnest attempt at bringing some light, justice, and goodwill to the Syndicate, the manner of the place was just... unappealing. Unpleasant. At least, for one such as himself, with preternatural senses ever at the brink of overexposure. The lights were too bright. The sounds were too loud. The smells were too... smelly. Sweat from the visitors and the overabearing ( at least, to him, they were overbearing... ) fragrances of the bunny maidens was much by its very definition and he could feel his head start to spin.
He was starting to question why he had come in the first place--to babysit, he’s certain, but he’s halfway through a tall mulled drink and decided to let his charge have their run of the place. Perhaps his sloppily written report back to the Conjurer’s Guild would make them think twice before sending him to this cesspool of vice and sensory overload. A seat at the Triad Tables seemed like the best place to be, at an unmarked table next to one that was active that housed a young woman that seemed just ilms away from passing out herself.
Rham’ir could empathize, and it’s what allows him to relax his position next to her and not stir when she very passively lays her head against his shoulder. He’s thankful his glass is situated on the table before him, for her sudden start merely seconds after making contact startled him in turn, and the fur on his tail stuck up straight along the spine. Ears up and pupils dilated, he looked to the young woman as she seemed to scoot away from him. It’s a milisecond he ponders if perhaps he had offended her in some way. He had only been there for a short while, and he wasn’t quite that deep in his cups--he didn’t smell, that he was aware of.
But his senses could very well be addled due to the overabundance of stenches and further dulled by the alcohol already in his system.
❝ You need not be sorry, ❞ he says finally, smoothing the fur out on his tail, ❝ Are you well? You seem as though you’re about to keel over. I can order some water if you are in need. ❞
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