30 Day WoL Challenge 16: Hello
It starts off as a day like any other day. For assessors, mornings in Mealvaan’s Gate mean a hasty breakfast, double-checking their assigned patrol routes, and setting off to the docks with their carbuncles. As an aetherophysics student, Ritanelle technically shouldn’t be out on assignment without a senior assessor, but they’re short-handed at the moment—something about a bad stomach bug going around—and so she’s trudging down the pier alone. Her emerald carbuncle trots along behind her, proudly displaying the collar that marks it as a creation of the Arcanist’s Guild.
Her first ship is a tall Lominsan galleon, the crates of cargo stacked neatly on the docks. The captain, a wiry hyuran man with a downright explosive beard, nods politely at her approach. Her gaze is on the cargo.
He sounds half-asleep. The sun is warm enough that she really can’t blame him. “Aye.”
She pulls out her clipboard, frowning at the unopened crates. “Hmmm…” The ship’s declared two dozen crates of Ul’dahn wheat, and she waves a hand to set her carbuncle on alert. It leaps into action, sniffing around in a sparkling blur, while she tries to figure out if she’s going to need to open anything. It looks alright so far, and she relaxes a bit at a good start to the day. Maybe her streak will hold until her lunch break.
And then the carbuncle freezes, tails slowly rising up as it focuses on an unassuming crate near the back, and she sighs. Well, so much for that. “Sorry, sir, it looks like—“
The crate springs into the air. She has a moment of terror before realizing it’s launching itself behind her, making a break for the rest of the docks. “Mimic! After it!”
The sailors and dockworkers don’t need to be told twice; mimics are more than capable of wreaking havoc anywhere they can camouflage themselves, and the longer they hide the bigger (and hungrier) they get. She’s heard of mimics large enough to swallow a roegadyn whole. Somehow, she finds herself at the head of the furious pack chasing after the bouncing crate, legs pumping and lungs burning as she tries to keep it in sight. Beside her, the captain is hurling some spectacular insults; she tries not to let it distract her as she frantically attempts to pull out her grimoire and run at the same time.
“Get—back ‘ere—ye great bloody bastard!” Her carbuncle is keeping pace with her for now, but she can’t even think of commanding it; if only the mimic would slow down so she could breathe! She prays it’ll head into the alleys. If she can get it against a wall, they have a fighting chance of subduing it.
She sees the flash of sunlight off steel a moment before the knife finds its mark, and has just enough time to stop herself from tripping over the suddenly inert mimic. The miqo’te who springs down from an upper story window to retrieve it is a head shorter than her, dark-skinned and dark-haired, and his face splits into an easy smile as he picks the mimic up. (With his hands. Granted, it’s at arms’ length, but is he insane? Really?)
She blinks down at him, feeling distinctly wrong-footed. Her heart is still pounding painfully. “Well. Uh. Technically it’s his…I guess…”
Unphased, the man holds the mimic out to the captain—who by now has caught up, and is eyeing them both with a sort of horrified suspicion. “Congratulations, you have a mimic.”
“I don’t want it!” Grumbling, the captain turns to stomp off, leaving Rita looking from him to the miqo’te in despair.
“So…I’ll be leaving that out of my report, then?” Gods, I hope I don’t get in trouble for this. This is gonna look so bad on my grades! He ignores her. “Hey, wait!”
Belatedly, she realizes the miqo’te is looking at her with clear concern, ears twisting this way and that. “Are you alright?”
She’s still a little out of breath, but she’s not telling him that. “Oh, aye. Thanks for that, mate. You’re with the Little Sisters?” They don’t have anything like a uniform or a badge, but after living in Limsa Lominsa she’s learned to recognize the Little Sisters of the Edelweiss by their stance. And their eyes; like every one she’s met, this miqo’te’s eyes are never still, always scanning the area around him.
After a moment’s hovering around her left ear—he probably wasn’t expecting to be marked out—they focus on her. “…Ah…yeah. I am. Name’s Eirk’a.”
“Rita.” She’s sure to bow before he offers a hand to shake; the uniform of an assessor doesn’t include full gloves, and she’d rather not have another attack. She’s gotten good at predicting what will trigger them by now, and unexpected skin contact seems to be a big one. She does not want to ruin a decent first impression by passing out on the boardwalk. Accordingly, she smiles at him. “You free around noon? I’ll buy you lunch, I owe you for that.”
