For Ravnur: Does your OC plan ahead? (from @wandererxiv)
Thank you for the ask @wandererxiv!
Ravnur plans just enough and lets his instincts guide the rest. He's generally in tune with his body's internal state and his core value of personal freedom. His self-assuredness can sometimes come across as cockiness but he's someone people want around during a crisis. The calm in the storm when things get messed up unexpectedly, he can pivot quickly to make an imperfect situation work.
He's also got ~75-80 years of life experience to know that you can only plan or predict so much, so he doesn't worry too much beyond a general structure-- the gist of who, what, when, where, why, and how. If he fully plans things out, it's usually because his plants / animals need specific care or it's one of those days where he overworks himself by lining up job after job.
@wandererxiv's March prompt: It had been a short amount of time since Ala Mhigo had found freedom. The nation was rebuilding, people celebrating, and everyone putting in the work to reclaim their homeland. But this was not understood by all. A child, ignored for the most part, remained teary eyed, looking at everyone who quickly moved around them. Their hands cupped their ears, eyes closed while they tried to understand the chatter around them. They looked lost... confused... worried. Had no one explained what this meant to the child? Was this youngling left behind in the chaos of war? Was it, perhaps, no one knew how to communicate with the young Ala Mhigan?
Freedom is not the end. It never is. Even as the voices of Ala Mhigo rang out, casting the Garlean banners to the wind was only the first step. Even as Commander Hext led a chorus from the top of the world, the city was burning still. Tensions high, the city torn, the work of the Resistance was far from over.
A’rhiko Kizha, a strategist of the Resistance, was made very aware of this fact as they surveyed the war-torn mercantile district. Just a few days prior, this was the point of ingress for the Warrior of Light and their party- their route of infiltration towards the palace. The resistance was given a single order: ensure they arrive, no matter the cost. To ensure their passage, drastic measures were taken. Buildings were collapsed to bottleneck the Garlean forces, resistance forces were strategically placed to make interference as difficult as possible. All of which came at a cost, as those same forces now had to haul the cracked and broken rubble out of the way again days later. Scanning the area, the scarlet-eyed Miqo’te focused on something- someone who should not have been there.
Right in the middle of the main street, a child stood with tears welling in their eyes. They looked around frantically as resistance members carrying supplies wove in and out, a veritable torrent of soldiers. The child dropped into a crouch, their ears cupped by dirty hands and eyes shut tight. Gesturing for the crew to disperse, A’rhiko approached the child carefully, kneeling down quietly and tapping the ground near them, taking care not to touch them directly.
As she knelt, she was able to get a much closer look. The child was dirty, their clothes torn and ragged, and they were rail thin. After some time, the child’s breathing calmed, they opened their eyes, and they fixated on the Miqo’te with them. Eorzean sign language is not the most common skill even in the highest educated areas, but figuring it was worth a shot, she moved her hands- slowly, carefully, distinctly.
Pointing to the child, then forming her fingers into an “o”, and finally forming a scissors shape with her index and middle finger, her thumb placed between them: [Are you okay?] Her sign was complimented by their best expression of concern mixed with compassion.
The child watched each movement carefully, though not with eyes of understanding. Communication would be difficult, she knew that, so A’rhiko tried a second strategy; she took her canteen off and pulled a ration from one of their pockets, and slid it to the child. With some hesitation, the child unwrapped the rations, scarfing them down quickly before downing the canteen-full. Simply watching, the tactician outstretched her hand with a warm, crooked smile. The child handed back the canteen to the woman, and, after she clipped it back onto her gear, they took the Miqo’te’s hand and lead.
As they walked, the child took in the ruins of war. Garlean sigils on destroyed automata cracked and worn away, homes and businesses destroyed beyond recognition. With every step, the grip on A’rhiko’s hand grew tighter as the child’s hand began to tremble. Looking into the eyes of the child, the soldier saw naught but fear and despair. How could you not be afraid? Liberation was a great thing, there is no denying that, but to see this happen before your eyes- A’rhiko knew what that confusion was like. She knelt down beside the child again, placing a hand on their shoulder. Guiding their gaze, not all that lay in the wake of war was destruction. As they continued to walk, she showed the child a vision of the future to come:
A soldier excavating rubble by hand, retrieving a photo and handing it to a woman, clutching it tight to her chest in tears. A group of weavers working to patch up a torn Ala Mhigan banner, beaming with pride and laughter as they banter back and forth. Each sight took the child’s mind off the horror, and they didn’t even notice A’rhiko continuing to lead them until a hot bowl of stew, filled with nutrients to sustain the recovery efforts, was held out in front of them by a kind-eyed man in a pink apron.
The man in the apron invited the child to take a seat and eat, showing them to a small, almost picnic-like area. The child looked up at A’rhiko with tears in their eyes once more. Behind them, however, was not the sting of loss and despair, but instead the shine of hope. Gesturing to go on, the child took their bowl and headed to take a seat.
The tired tactician let out a heavy sigh, their shoulders dropping as tensions left them. To the man in the pink apron, she signed and explained the situation. Entrusting the child unto him, A’rhiko gave a salute and went to bid farewell to the child. As they sat and ate, other children had come to join them. A smile on their face, the child waved goodbye to their day’s companion, a new light in their eyes.
Freedom is not the end. It never is. Even as the people of Ala Mhigo toil away, casting the bronze of what would form the rebirth of a nation, it is only the first step. Until every child can live free of the shadow of war, the work of the Resistance was far from over.
@wandererxiv's March prompt: NYM had been quiet, the rare customer throughout the day making simple requests before seeing themselves out. Perhaps it was luck that landed a work request upon the counter for Audra to look over. There was no conversation to be had, the hooded person who'd left the bill quickly escaping the cafe after their delivery. While the parchment read as any other assignment would, mentioned was a singular, familiar name. One Audra hadn't seen in a long while...
((Thank you for this prompt. I'm sorry for the delay in responding (life has decided to go full speed ahead and I'm struggling to keep up). I didn't go too in depth with this, but I hope to have time to continue it soon.
Word count: <400
The paper was embossed, with filigree and - she sniffed it - the faint scent of Althyk Lavender.
With a heavy breath, she confirmed no one else remained in the cafe and flicked the lock closed with aether. Her face scrunched at the residual nausea after the magic use, and she continued to look the work request over.
The request was "normal": the typical minimum payment on offer, the list of requested details, the offered timeline of said-person's schedule in case she needed it... Audra rubbed at her eyes and heaved another sigh, trying to mentally process what she was seeing before her.
Someone wanted information on her ex. Or well, he thought he was her ex.
Back when Audra worked at night clubs, back when she dabbed more in the court scene, she would find herself making contacts and flirting on dancefloors with anyone who even showed a hint of interest. One couldn't make gil if they were being picky, not until they gained some form of notoriety.
Leea loved monopolizing her time with none of the pay off. He'd join her on the dance floor, he'd offer to buy her drinks, and he'd say line after line after line in an attempt to affection bomb her. After giving him the required attention, Audra would move onward, and find someone else who would actually pay. Their conversations were brief and troublesome, and Leea would pressure her to leave her courtesan jobs, leave the night clubs, and demand loyalty.
There would be no loyalty if she joined him. He had a harem, which was consistently growing. He would get bored with the latest woman and then go find a new one, but Twelve forbid any of the women to decide they wanted something more.
But now Audra needed to find him? To gather information on him?
Fuck.
She buried her face in her hands and fought the urge to scream. It didn't matter no one was in the cafe, one of the patrolling guards would undoubtedly hear her and come check.
