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"I understand." Olruggio likely won't listen to Qifrey when he's like this. He knows winter best out of the two of them, being from further up north, and he's witnessed much since he was a child. Too much. More than a child should have to see.

So much he blames himself for. It's no wonder he's panicking.

"One moment," Qifrey murmurs, rising from his seat on the balcony and retreating into the apartment. He returns only a moment later with the throw blanket that had been tossed over the couch. Gently, he drapes it over his friend's shoulders.

Then he settles back down. "Did you have any ideas? You were always best at making sure the atelier was prepared for the colder months, after all."

"We don't...Really know what to expect, though, don't we." He appreciates the comfort, the weight of Qifrey's hand on his shoulder, but he finds it hard to shed his concerns, looking back over his notes. The temperatures fluctuating during the day, and then the drops at night. Often at least halved, and more oft recently more.

All indicative of Winter. Not a temperate one, but a chill one. So far no solid evidence that it would be nearly as catastrophic as what he was used to, but...

"Our captors are like magic run amok."

"Unpredictable, and leaving us on the backfoot with the ability to only react. With us at a fraction of our abilities, we'll need to be ready in case your apprentices come back."

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The days remain mild, temperature wise—but the nights are getting colder, the ocean breeze biting. Qifrey turns his gaze over to his friend, blinking, and then smiles. Knowing and sympathetic.

"You know, I've been looking in some shops recently," he says, voice light. "They sell all sorts of clothing for the colder weather. Much different than our usual fare, of course."

Things have been mostly quiet. His student's sudden disappearance had been weighing heavily on himself, too. Reminding him any of them could disappear at any point. He already has, once before.

Right now, they have each other. And right now, his friend needs someone to pull him out of that dark place in his head before he falls further into it.

He reaches over, placing a hand on Olruggio's shoulder.

"Really, I would like to believe our benevolent captors wouldn't force us to fend off the winter ourselves. This place does not appear to be wanting for resources. Have you not been warm enough during the night?"

"It's getting colder..." He murmurs, mostly to himself, the anxiety that the chill breeze brings apparent on his person. Brow furrowed, he holds a hand up, feeling the cool breeze from the ocean, indicating the shifting weather.

"There's a chance this island experiences catastrophic winters." And with Coco's recent departure, it's been weighing on his mind that any of those kids could appear at any moment.

"We should make sure we're prepared. We don't know what kind of winterproofing they have here."

@conjuringink

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He's pondering a rather tall decorative skeleton; a good head taller than him, he thinks, with some sort of contraption causing its dark eye sockets to glow red.

Qifrey snaps his fingers in front of it—the movement makes the decoration activate, letting out a tinny cackle with the sound of thunder and howling in the background.

"...What an intriguing holiday, isn't it?"

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"Well, I have no issue with leading, if you would be more comfortable that way."

Without waiting for a response he takes a step forward, gentle hands reaching out toward his friend. One rests on Olruggio's waist, the other scooping up his hand. Dancing wasn't any sort of required skill for a witch, but he did like to indulge from time to time.

And despite his occasional clumsiness, he's rather graceful on his feet.

Qifrey feels a callus on Olruggio's thumb brush over the top of his own. He squeezes his hand lightly.

"You're not that bad; give yourself more credit."

"You said it first, but I didn't expect to see you either. I wanted to make sure Coco was doing alright if she was here. Looks like I didn't have anything to worry about."

"I'm not really much good at dancing, but I'm pretty sure you know that." And unlike dancing with Qifrey's apprentice, letting her stand on his feet to make sure she had fun, this was definitely different.

"Can't just let you stand on my feet while we spin in a circle."

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"I didn't expect to find you here; then again, it's not the type of event I'd typically find myself at."

"We should make the most of it, then. May I ask you for a dance, my friend?"

@searedpath

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here's the fit<3 pretend the dagger is his sword

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Something is troubling her, and she won't say what; it's plain as day on her face, just like that injury. Qifrey sets aside his own unease for now to make quick strides towards her, closing the distance between them in no time at all. The forest is dark, darker than it should be.

And it's starting to rain.

"What is it?" He lifts his robes up to drape around her, bringing her close to his right, to protect her from the ever-increasing downpour that the thick canopy of leaves above does little to shield them from. It's cold on his face. They should find their way out of here—but if she's running from something, the ought to go in a different direction. "You can tell me; I can help you."

The forest floor turns thick with mud as they walk. His breath fogs up in front of him.

Around them, the trees are twisting into familiar, willowy shapes. They're black as the ink he uses to draw his magic with. Dead. Every part of them. The stench of rotting wood is thick among the smell of wet, tainted soil. It makes him feel nauseated.

This is something he doesn't want her to see. They need to get out before it gets worse.

He's only vaguely aware of the wet warmth on the right side of his face. He can't see her from that side, but he keeps his robe held around her and guides her closer. Using their sylph shoes may be their best means of getting out even if it means getting absolutely drenched, and—

Oh... goodness, that hurts.

Qifrey's hand flies up to his face, nearly knocking his glasses right off, to cover where his right eye should be. He doubles over with a gasp. The rain hitting his face runs red. The pain is piercing, sharp and throbbing in his skull. There's little he can do to keep himself from stumbling forward and falling to his knees in the muck.

✦✧ It was scary how quickly something good could become something bad. The power to manipulate your dreams sounded good on paper. Coco had definitely had her fair share of fun with the mechanics that had been presented to her at the time, but things had gotten... bad. Once beautiful dreams had been distorted and, fearful, Coco had fled into the forest depths. She hadn't meant to follow anyone through the fog, but eventually the sound of footsteps in front of her were all she could hear.

"P-Professor!?" A familiar fragrance had tipped her off just moments before he'd spoken to her, bringing into plain sight this person she had been tailing her. It was obvious that Coco had been spooked. That wasn't an expression that she normally made. Perhaps most striking about her appearance was the re-emergence of a wound on her face, however.

"I... Um. I had to get away... from something." She was a little worried about admitting what. She was afraid of getting in trouble, even if it was just something she had dreamed.

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It's... quiet.

He doesn't hear any birds. No rustling of critters in the bushes or trees. None of the brilliant blue butterflies the forest of Airaisal offers. It's hard to tell just where he is in consciousness, how much of this is real, if any; because it feels hazy, distant.

Damp. Foggy.

Footsteps behind him, small and light. Familiar. No. Qifrey turns around in their direction.

"Coco? What are you doing out here?"

What are either of them doing out here? He can't say he even remembers coming here. Even though he has his frequent jaunts through the Cotes ward, he doesn't venture too far into this part of the forest. Now he thinks he may have gone in too deep.

@preciouswitch

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hii planning to do some event stuff soon. my bones

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going to otakon, i'll be back on monday. will pop in on mobile every now and then. 💕

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What an interesting contraption! Naturally he finds himself drawn to it, alongside that woman in pretty pink—she doesn't look as puzzled by it, which makes him wonder if she's familiar with whatever it is. Qifrey has a lot of questions, plenty of things he'd like to ask before he tries to open it up, but...

"What kind of magic is this?" Wind, perhaps, to keep it suspended in the air like this. Or maybe a kind of magic that he's never seen before, from a completely different world. Maybe not even magic at all. "I've never seen anything quite like this."

Still, she's looking expectantly, eagerly, and he figures that the surprise factor makes it all the more exciting... so, he won't speak any further just yet. Instead he reaches out and gives it a hard smack over the top.

And what pops out is... a small, but long, furry white creature with four tiny legs. It looks around with big eyes and then puffs itself up, back arching in what it thinks is a threatening gesture, hissing out a 'nbiii!'

"Ah, a brushbuddy!" Qifrey holds his hands out to it, but it turns to jump onto the woman's shoulder instead. "Not something I would have expected."

"You see it too, right?"

There's a lot to imagine and enjoy on her own (almost to an overwhelming degree), but she decides she wants to share a bit of home with others, too. The "it" in question is a question block, suspended within arm's reach and drawing the attention of another with its bright yellow luster.

She supposes she should decide what's in there, eliminating any risk of it being something unfortunate for the sake of a first-timer... If she wills it to just be "something good", maybe that'll work? A coin, a mushroom, a super leaf--things like these come to mind, but perhaps it could even be something the other person wishes to see? What would a stranger to her world expect to come out of something like this?

This is turning out to be more of an experiment than anticipated! But Peach continues as planned, watching expectantly to see if they'll take her up on her offer.

"It's like a mystery box. A...pinata, almost. Go ahead, give it a good hit!"

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This city really was strange. How they had a ward that felt so similar to his world, and then a ward that seemed the complete opposite. He still gets a bit of— ah, what is it, culture shock? Yes, a bit of culture shock when he ventures anywhere else, but it isn't exactly unpleasant. He's a fast learner, he adapts quickly, and he's learned how to pass the time with every new thing he comes across here.

Others may struggle more with it, like this man here.

"Yes. It feels like every part of this city is a whole separate world from the others," Qifrey replies. "And when we are already in a whole new world, that just makes it all the more confusing. ...You know, there are many different tales of golden cities, but all the ones I know of meet a tragic end."

A horse-drawn carriage makes its way down the street. Qifrey steps aside, letting the beast of burden pass. He places his phone back where he had been carrying it prior; he knows the way back home from here well enough, but this man...

Well, he must need some help. He must have been wandering for a while to just happen to end up here, unless their captors had assigned him this ward to stay in. And even then.

"But that's an aside; is there somewhere in particular that you're trying to go?" He asks, his voice warm and pleasant as can be. "I can do my best to point you in the right direction."

Fascinating, this communication device is a pocket database the likes of the terminals in Azys Lla. Tomestones are never this accommodating, acting more like digital books than a versatile, all-in-one point of reference.

Dirge ignores how materializing out of thing air unnerved the man at first. He's always had that effect on people—that prideful part of himself, the Garlean before the fall of Garlemald, is glad he continues to inspire fear in others. It's not something he's meant to indulge anymore, according to all those therapy sessions by the Eorzean Alliance, but still, it's nice to know he hasn't lost his touch.

Accessible maps complete with real time pinpoints. Incredible. Either the powers that be are idiots, or they are so cocksure about their abilities they do not think providing their victims the resources they need to escape will lead to just that. Dirge isn't sure which conclusion he likes least yet.

If the device has maps, then it likely has a simple text function. It doesn't take him long to find it, his throat raw from the previous exertion, a hundred razors scrapping along its walls.

Very lost. This city makes little sense from the bottom.

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moe through helplessness

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The Opalarian Market Town has quickly become one of his favorite places to visit. There are shops he can't find elsewhere in the city, people that are so much like the ones he knows back home, and he's even begun to do most of his grocery shopping here. It's a bit of a commute from home, but everything's still much fresher, more organic. He's found out aout a little farmer's market on Saturdays. It's become a routine.

He has a bag with an assortment of ingredients looped over his elbow, and he's stepping over one of the overgrown roots crossing over the pathway on the way towards the train. Except a man appearing before him quite suddenly almost makes him take a tumble out of surprise.

Thankfully, he recovers quickly and regains his bearings.

Oh, is he new here? Qifrey's still learning his way around, too, but he thinks he knows this ward well enough by now to be of some help. He makes a mental note of the strain in the man's voice in that single word, the way that vocalizing seems to cause him discomfort.

"Oh, we're in the Cotes Fantasci ward," he supplies helpfully. "Just a stone's throw away from the Opalarian Market Town."

There's a map on that "phone" contraption that everyone gets. Qifrey fumbles around with the pouch at his hip to pull his out, minimizing the multiple applications he still has open to open up the map. He turns the screen towards the man, tapping the little blue circle showing Qifrey's location.

"Here—and the train is over this way. Are you lost?"

To be underestimated was better than the opposite. Dirge learned early in his tenure as an Eorzean that, regardless of how scary he might seem, inciting pity upon others was an emotion he could manipulate. Safety or advantage, it didn't matter—few thought a half-mute dangerous, capable of fighting eikons toe to toe. Sometimes he hated it, other days he welcomed it. An ambivalence common to the maimed, he was told.

This man resembles an Elezen. Half-Elezen? Lanky limbs, aethereal vibes—some sort of caster, surely, the clothes mark him as such. Dirge's never known a magic user who wasn't knowledge-hungry to a fault, an insatiable curiosity if they were baited just so. Exploitable.

Luckily he doesn't do that sort of thing anymore. Right hand on his throat, massaging it for a bit, Dirge materializes into Qifey's path, wraith-like, asking in a similarly haunted voice, "Location?"

It hurts to talk. He makes it obvious it hurts him. That, of course, makes people all the more interested. And isn't it nice of their captors to grant them a tomestone-like communication device? If this man asks for clarity can use it to ask a specify. He really does want to know where the fuck they are, and this man seems nice. Looks nice, certainly.

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