2019-04-30: Though She Be But Little, She Is Fierce

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  • Log: Though She Be But Little, She Is Fierce
  • Cast: Racca, Gwen Whitlock
  • Where: The Moonflow
  • Date: May 01, 2019
  • Summary: A Crusader has a chance encounter with a girl from another world. Local threats and plans are discussed, if briefly.

<Pose Tracker> Racca has posed.

    The sky is overcast, as usual. Like stars, the pyreflies illuminate the enormous expanse of the Moonflow. But for the sound of the currents and the soft rustling of the grass, all is quiet at this particular expanse along the river's bank.

    Her left hand on her hip, the woman standing here seemingly watches the waters, her gaze hidden under the helmet that serves to cover her eyes. Only the lower part of her face -- the rest of her body hidden beneath heavy clothing and laquered armor -- can be seen.
    Her lips are curved in an expression approaching intent interest.

    She turns after a moment more, grass trod underfoot as she makes her way back towards the road.

    Soon, the date will be upon them.

<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

    It feels strange, writing in a nature journal without the constant whicker of your faithful equine companion. All there is to break the silence of Gwen's overwhelming thoughts is the rushing of water, the rustle of grass, and the soft scritch of her pen against paper, as Gwen begins the laborious, often-forgotten task of documenting this strange new world.

    Well, new to her and presumably Frea, that is.

    A pyrefly perches on the end of Gwen's pen, halting the courier's sketch briefly as she stares at it, briefly frowning in thought, before the sound of grass crunching underfoot draws her attention. "Mm?"

    Specifically, it draws her attention directly to the approaching figure of Racca, causing Gwen to fall back in surprise with a yelp. "Oh, uh, hey there, traveler!"

    The heavy armor would make Gwen suspect that this person is one of the many Lunarians here, though the fact that she's wearing so much armor and layers causes Gwen to look on interest. "Fancy get-up y'got there!"

<Pose Tracker> Racca has posed.

    "Traveler, am I?"

    She pauses there on the road, an amused smile on her lips. "Perhaps I could ask the same of you, little mouse. You're the silent one, I didn't even see you there."

    The syntax and cadence is certainly different, but something about the timbre of her voice may be strangely familiar to Gwen.

    She strides onto the road proper, dirt and sand crunching underfoot. "What brings you out to the Moonflow?"

    A small laugh slips from her next. "Perhaps I should introduce myself, hm?" She gestures towards herself with her left hand. "You can call me Racca. Of the Crusaders. I hope you're not traveling alone, little mouse? There are Fiends about."

<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

    "A traveler? I 'spose I am too. Probably look a tad too pale for these parts, even as sunburnt as I am." There are people with various tones of skin around, of course, but the people seem better able to handle the sun and humidity than she is.

    There definitely is something familiar about this traveler's voice, a pitch and quality that causes Gwen to squint her eyes, as if she could discern the identity of her voice through sight alone. Eventually, she seems to give up. "Ah, just documenting some things for my auntie back home. She doesn't get out that much, so I'm bein' her eyes, for better or worse." It isn't far from the truth, really; a continent, country, or world away, Frea needs Gwen to investigate.

    That is, assuming Frea is still in decent enough health when Gwen gets back.

    As Racca properly introduces herself, Gwen nods with an amiable smile, extending her left hand up for a handshake. "Pleased t'make your acquaintance, Racca. I'm Gwen Whitlock, sup- er, well, a courier, I 'spose." When Racca points out the very real dangers that could lurk about, the courier looks about casually, as if a Fiend could be lurking just nearby. "Ah, there are, aren't there?" Gwen considers this, languidly leaning back in her sitting position on the palms of her hands. "I figured that as long as I heard the birds singin' and the frogs croakin', I was set."

<Pose Tracker> Racca has posed.

    Racca's skin, by contrast, is towards the darker end of the wide range of color present among the population of Spira.

    It provides about as much a hint towards any potential identity for the speaker as the rest of her does, which is to say, 'not at all'.

    The warrior doesn't aid in this any herself. "Your aunt. Hm." Racca pauses, then takes another step forward, craning her head to one side as if to investigate Gwen more closely. "Dutiful. A long way from home, are you?" She pauses again, as if to wait for Gwen's answer a moment more.

    Before she closes the distance between herself and Gwen and extends her left hand to meet Gwen's own. "Gwen," she repeats, perhaps as if to commit the name to memory. "Oh, then you're a courier?" She again tilts her head, as if to regard Gwen carefully once again. "Quite the dangerous role of late, after what happened in Kilika. Well, you're likely ready for the usual, in that case." Her lips again curve in a secretive smile. "Though I must say, a Fiend can be upon you," and she reaches up with her gloved left hand to snap her fingers in front of her own face. "Just like that. So be careful, would you? I'd hate to have to come to the rescue. The frogs and the birds aren't as reliable as we'd like, little mouse."

<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

    "I can't lie. Too much 'bout me gives me away as 'not bein' from 'round here'." She tilts her head, looking over Racca's outfit now that the woman has come closer. "What 'bout you? You from 'round here, or some other whereabouts?"

    The handshake is warm, and firm, evidence of a woman used to greeting people as such. "Ah, and the usual would be, in this case...?" Gwen grins as she seems to nudge Racca along with a dip of her chin. She raises a gloved finger. "If it's danger, I have some tricks up my sleeve. And failing that, I'm pretty efficient at running the hell out of a tough situation."

    Let it be marked as a sign of overconfidence, if it means Gwen gets to learn a bit more about Racca from how she reacts.

    The stranger is friendly enough, as well as likable. But is that all there is? "Oh?" The courier leans in, chuckling. "Are you sayin' you're a Fiend? Or maybe just the other type of fiend that you see every day in the market?"

<Pose Tracker> Racca has posed.

    Racca lifts a gloved hand to her cheek, as if to regard Gwen afresh. "Oh, I see. You're an Outlander, are you?"
    It's a difficult thing to get a read on her expression -- or thoughts -- with the helmet covering half her face like that. Her inner state is completely obscured, but for the occasional amused tilt of her lips.

    "From around here, of course," the Crusader proclaims, briefly touching her left hand to her chest.

    As for 'the usual'?
    "Fiends," answers the armored warrior, inclining her head in a short curt nod. "They've been a little the worse of late, of course."
    The implication being that Sin's most recent appearance in Kilika -- to say nothing of the recent attack on Luca -- have shifted matters for the worse. "Mind where you go. ...Heh, but as long as you know when to fight and when to run, you should be right enough."

    Her apparent attention lingers a moment on Gwen.

    "Am I Fiend?" Racca echoes, drawing herself up as if in mock-affront. "Hardly. If I were, I wouldn't waste my time with words, little mouse. I'd eat you up right quick!" And as if to underscore that she chuckles, then shakes her head. "No, I'm here to defend people like you against such beasties. As long as you're quick enough and stick to the roads, you should be fine."

    She pauses a moment.

    "But be careful."

    Something will be happening, very soon.

<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

    "I 'spose I am. An Outlander, I mean. I prefer the term 'drifter' 'cause it's much more romantic, but that term hasn't really caught on here." Gwen slides her pen into a notch in the little hand-made journal, then looks back up to Racca with a smile. "A local, then, eh? So I'll be seein' more of you, then."

    The Fiends. The change in topic causes Gwen's expression to grow more sober in turn. "Yeah. I've been lucky t'mostly keep clear of what I can, but I think the time for my own fear n' hesitation may be nearin' an end if things continue to get worse like this. Though I 'spose that falls back into what you said, eh? 'Bout knowin' when t'fight and when to run."

    Something will happen, probably sooner than later.

    "Oh?" Gwen laughs, a flash of mirth in her grey blue eyes. "I'm 'fraid I wouldn't make a very good meal. As for you, you seem t'be in the mindset of a crab, with all those layers n' armor on. How do you keep from overheatin' in that get-up?"

    A defender. Well, Racca *did* say as such, in her introduction. "So that's what you meant, earlier. I wondered what sorts would volunteer themselves for such work, but if there's more like you in there, it sounds like y'all have a sense of humor 'bout it."

    Little mouse. It amuses Gwen, to be called such, in a way that would have irked her when she truly was small and mousy. "Then I wish you well in your noble quest. If I see anythin', I'll be sure t'let you know." She presses the index finger of her right hand to gently tap on one freckled cheekbone, near her eyes. "This little mouse has sharp eyes. Where could I possibly find you sorts if I come across somethin' useful?"

<Pose Tracker> Racca has posed.

    "'Drifter'. Hmm, as in one who wanders. I suppose you have drifted quite a long way from where you call home."

    Perhaps it's only a supposition, but it almost sounds like she means that as in a distance further than just the far seas.

    "I would think so! ...Though hopefully not because you need me, little mouse."

    Racca rests one hand on her hip. "Indeed..." Her lips thin. "Well, you'll know when you know, as they say, what you ought to do. Whether you'll be fighting, or running..."

    Crusaders, it's said, are those who hold the line even if it costs them their lives, so long as they can save a single life. As playful as this one seems, can it be that she...?

    Racca tilts her head. "A crab? Well, that's a first." She gazes down at herself, as if to take in all that she's wearing. "You get used to it. But if I can admit it..."

    She leans in close to Gwen. "It is rather stuffy."

    Then she draws herself back up, the picture of the elite warrior... well, if you ignore that playful half-smile on her lips. "You've got that right. We're all here to protect Spira against Sin." She turns her head, as if to gaze off into the distance. "To protect what we can."

    It's about as serious as she's gotten -- warnings aside -- since crossing paths with Gwen.

    Racca dips her head in a nod. "Of course. It'd be a poor little mouse that didn't have a sharp eye, no?" Racca tilts her head again, in a way that almost seems to be a suggestion of a wink... somewhere there, beneath the part of her helmet that covers her eyes. "But if you need to find me... come where other Crusaders gather."

    She is silent for a moment.

    "I don't think you'll need to wait long."

    With that cryptic word, she moves to walk past Gwen, hand lingering on the hilt of her shortsword for the moment.
    Before even drifting free, to dangle again at her side.

    "Be safe, Gwen," the Crusader says, as a sort of parting word, before she heads onwards down the road.