It has, so far, been the third worst day of Lulua's life. They had awoken next to a gigantic hole, ushered into a strange chocoboless magitek carriage, dropped off at a strange building with a strange key and strange toylike nouliths, and to top it all off, it appeared that all of their worldly possessions had simply vanished from their bag. Whoever, or whatever, brought them here hadn't even had the decency to leave them Carby. All they had left were the clothes on their back, the key ("312"?), and a baffling smooth metallic device with a single black glass face that vaguely resembled an Allagan tomestone. So, fueled by a sudden burst of spite, instead of performing what was surely the expected action and entering the building to figure out which door their mysterious key opened, they simply turned on their heel, boarded what appeared to be a communal version of the magitek chocoboless carriage that opened their doors to them, clambered aboard a seat that was absolutely not made to accomodate one of their small stature, and rode the carriage until they fell dead asleep.
When they awakened, they were surrounded yet again by completely unfamiliar architecture, distinct from the area they had been unceremoniously dumped. In contrast to the more mundane brick-and-mortar of their previous environs, this place featured structures reminiscent of goblin creations, all wood, brass, copper, iron, and too many pipes to count. As the communal carriage slowed to a stop, Lulua caught wafting in through the window the acrid smell of tobacco smoke, and was seized by a sudden impulse.
They've been trying to quit, truly, but some days on the road were simply too stressful, and no day had been more so than today.
As the doors of the metal carriage opened, they stepped out, and promptly began briskly walking in the direction of the scent. No need to seem too eager. It wasn't long before they discovered the source: a dark-haired individual more than twice their size (oh that must be so incredibly convenient, think of all the shelves he must be able to reach under his own power without the aid of a levitation spell!) wearing a brown apron, leaned up against the wall of an alley next to what looked like a very busy establishment. In his mouth was a wonderful, glorious, slightly crooked from gnawing tobacco stick, in the style popular at the Studium. They began to walk even more briskly, speeding into the alley, until they were forced to come to a stop craning their neck staring right up at him (annoying. aside from everything else about it, clearly the theory of divine design could be disproven alone by the fact that none of the majority of Spoken people were ever at a sensible height.).
"You there!" they started, before remembering that people generally tended to be more receptive to requests if you made them "politely" and "without shouting," "Ahem. Apologies. I have had somewhat of a rough day. May I have one of your tobacco sticks. For smoking."
@punisheye woe little guy be upon ye
