[holy shit why did a tonberry break my writer's block wide open.
this is a rough retelling of Stormblood's Samurai questline starring Rogberry, the tonberry of light! obviously, spoilers for that questline, though there aren't any in this chapter since it's focused on scene setting and fleshing out headcanons I have about how tonberries work.
I don't think there's any hard trigger warnings on this, but there are mentions of violence and prejudice towards tonberries and lalafell within, so now you're warned.]
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Rogberry sat in the shade near the bustle of the Sapphire Exchange, gleefully drinking in the atmosphere of merchants enticing passersby. It had been months since he found himself stuck in this fun-house version of Kijoyo calling itself Eorzea, but even now he was still tickled by the novelties of living in one place for extended periods of time. The daily routine of the city was soothing to someone so used to change and chaos.
Tonberries like Rogberry weren’t as despised in his own world, but even there they rarely stayed in one place long. They had friends or family they’d travel with, but too many tonberries in one place was always risky. Still, he had no reason to dwell on such depressing things at the moment. He was probably the only tonberry in the city-having the warrior of light vouch for you opens up a lot of doors-and besides, he was going to be late for Vateli’s performance at the Celestium.
As Rogberry starting slipping his way through a sea of shins and knees, he was once again thankful for the heavy robes and hat of his profession. Not only did they hide the fact that he’s not a lalafell from random passers-by, but its aetheric charge also blocked out most of the emotions of the crowd, which is what made living in a city as large as Ul’dah possible for him in the first place. Of course the hat also made it near impossible for him to look up high enough to see where he was going, so he just had to follow the flow of the crowd for now and hope he popped up somewhere closer to his destination.
Ugh, of course he’d end up in the worst part of the city, and with that paladin nearby too. He never caught her name, all the Eorzeans speak too fast for him to worry about details like that. She was going on and on about some competition, and before he could even say anything she picked him up under her arm and carried him in. Thal's balls.
Now, Rogberry wasn’t against the idea of violence on principle. Any place that would let lalafell run around freely could be considered lawless at best, so he’d been in a fair number of scraps by this point. the problem was the crowds. The Bloodsands were as crowded as the Gold Saucer on a good day, and no matter how cheerful they were, there was always a pungent undercurrent of bloodlust in the air. Violence is addictive to all races, ones that can sense others emotions especially so. Bloodshed begets bloodshed, until a Grudge has taken hold in even the most stalwart of berries’ minds.
While Rogberry was trying to sink further into his robes for extra protection, he caught wind of something very different than the crowd pressing around them. A man stood down in the sands. Not only did he give off no emotion at all, but he gave off a lack of emotion, creating an eye in the storm of anticipation. He wore no armor, but his sword meant he wasn’t a mage either. His opponent already charged, cocksure and hungry for fame, but the strange swordsman simply stood there. He hadn’t drawn his blade by the time the younger fighter was upon him and then-
The fight was already over. In the time it took to blink, the strange swordsman had stepped past his opponent’s attack, unsheathed his sword, and delivered a blow that by all accounts should have shattered the slender blade in his hand, knocking the younger fighter to his knees and ending the match. Every movement was perfect, smoother than the very air currents blowing through the arena. But none of that matted to Rogberry. It was the man’s implacable calmness that he took most notice of. In any other fighter, he would have seen some sort of tell-a flicker of anger, or a burst of pride. But this man’s calm was ever present, as though his opponent had simply tripped in front of him. While the rest of the crowd cheered or groaned, depending on who they bet upon, Rogberry knew one thing for sure.
