pyr min solemnly swears he is up to no good (twinclaws) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-09-20 11:46:00 |
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Entry tags: | !group thread, !thread, damia ravin, merrion priddy, peony min, pyr min |
hey yeah, welcome to the real world, nobody told you it was gonna be hard
Who: Pyr Min & OPEN!
What: Pyr’s punishment takes him all over town.
Where: All over Emillion
When: Today
Rating: PG. (This is Pyr, after all).
Status: On-going.
Ashwyrm Hall | 8:15 AM Lugging a suit of armor halfway across town wasn’t Pyr’s idea of a fun day out, which he supposed was the reason he’d had to do it anyway. Just a month ago, he’d have asked the armorer at Bahamut if he was pulling his leg, but at this point, he had resigned himself to his fate. It was admirable how, after a full month, the councilors still hadn’t run out of unpleasant tasks to assign him. The moment the armorer informed him he wouldn’t be able to use the teleportation crystals while lugging heavy objects, Pyr just nodded, defeated, and opened his arms to receive his burden. As he made his way to Ashwyrm, he held out some faint hope that if he got in anyone’s way, they’d be able to avoid him; it wasn’t like he could see where he was going. Not only were the pieces of armor blocking his field of vision, they were also piled in a precarious balance. If anyone walked into him in the corridors, he was screwed. Outside Ringwyrm Hall | Bazaar District | 10:50 AM Pyr left Ringwyrm Hall exhausted after a particularly grueling one-on-one lesson. He trudged through the Bazaar, hungrily eyeing the food on the stalls lining the main thoroughfare. He didn’t have that much money in his purse, but he was hungry; breakfast had been forever ago. He spotted a takoyaki stand and was about to get in line to order when someone behind him screeched, “You!” He whirled round and saw an elderly woman pointing a bony finger at him. A younger woman—her daughter, maybe—had an arm around her shoulders and was trying to calm her down, but it was to no avail. “I know your face! You’re the scoundrel that picked my pocket two days ago!” Pyr wanted to tear out his hair. Instead, he put on his best innocent face and said, “Ma’am, I would never do such a thing.” “You don’t lie to me, you! I never forget a face!” Everyone around them was staring now. The younger woman said, “That’s enough, Mother. This is no pick-pocket. He’s an acolyte. I’ve seen him at the Cathedral. Lower your voice.” The woman blinked, and her expression changed completely; now she was all smiles. She took Pyr’s hand in hers and said, “Oh, how wonderful, that there are still such upright little boys like you around. Not like that weasel pickpocketed me two days ago, you know.” After this sudden change in attitude, people were slowly going back to minding their own business. The woman’s daughter shook her head, and said, “Please forgive my mother. She meant no offense.” That was his chance, Pyr knew. He needed to get away now, before someone else mistook him for his brother. The takoyaki would have to wait. “May Faram’s blessings be with you,” he told the women solemnly, and walked away with a beatific smile. The moment he turned a corner, he began to run. He’d have to tell Sky to find a new area to work. Outside Morning Glory Café | Commoners’ District | 12:15 PM Pyr left Shieldwyrm Hall giving thanks that it was finally lunchtime. He would have eaten lunch at the guildhall, but the chances of meeting Juliette there were too high for his liking, so he made his way through the Commoners’ District looking for a place to eat. His steps led him to the Morning Glory Café. He’d heard wonders about this place—a group of fighters he’d overheard talking at Lindwyrm swore this café served the best brunches known to man. Perhaps it was a little late for a brunch, but the place was open, so he may be able to order something else. The only problem he could see, as he looked at the menu outside, was that everything seemed to be a little above his price range. The food would no doubt be delicious, but he wouldn’t be able to eat as much as he might have liked. He sighed, debating whether he should return to the guildhall after all. Mages’ Tower | Reception Area | 3:20 PM After kitchen duty, Pyr made his way to the Mages’ Tower. He had a letter to deliver—not terribly important, he imagined, since he had been assigned to deliver it—for some mage whose name he didn’t recognise, but he hoped to find help once he arrived at the Tower. He’d only been to the Tower once before, the evening he and Sky had had dinner in Peony’s rooms and met Ridley. It was huge, and when he crossed the big doors into the Reception Area, he couldn’t help being as awed as he had been the first time. The inside of the Tower looked as majestic as the outside did, with tall stone columns supporting the high ceilings and mosaics on the floor. Still, he didn’t have much time to stop and stare; he wanted to absolve himself of his task as soon as possible, so he’d have some time to rest before he headed to Fafnir Hall for a lecture. Letter in hand, Pyr looked around, hoping to locate a friendly face he could ask for direction. Outside Fafnir Hall | Theatre District | 5:00 PM Every unpleasant task begat another. After delivering the armor, Pyr had had to attend a Basics of Defense lecture in Fafnir Hall. It was one of his most hated lectures, and it didn’t help that the Sentinel who taught it seemed to be having a shitty day and was taking it out on his students. After an endless number of drills which would have been exhausting enough even if his muscles hadn’t already been giving him hell for the abuses he’d inflicted on them that morning, Pyr was about ready to find a spot of shade to nap. Luck was not on his side, though: the Sentinel assigned him another delivery, a small leather bag this time. Pyr wasn’t quite done being relieved at the size of the bag when he took it and almost fell forward. The bag was full of tiny, heavy ankle weights. Cursing everything cursable, Pyr made his way out of the Hall. Despite the burden he was carrying, rather than take a shortcut to Bahamut, he walked through the main thoroughfare of the Theatre District. There was one person who could make his day a little better, and she was usually around here. He wouldn’t even care if she called him Melvin again; it was a stupid name, sure, but somehow, the way she said it made it bearable. If she called him by his actual name, like she had once before, then he might be able to call this a good day, in spite of how much it had sucked right until then. So absorbed was Pyr in his daydreaming, he failed to see someone leaving one of the establishments. He stumbled back a step, but somehow managed not to fall to the ground. “I’m sorry!” he said. Warehouse area | Docks | 6:00 PM What a day he’d had—but at least it was over, and he was free to go. The first two weeks of punishment, Pyr would have gone to sleep right after his training, too tired to do anything but collapse, but lately he was finding his body was starting to get used to all that abuse, and he still had some energy left over. So he made his way to the warehouse Sky shared with his employer, Arwel. They had a big day coming up: Sky had finally located a map to the sewers, and if they wanted to get their hands on it, they needed to plan carefully. Someone bumped into him then—at least this time, he wasn’t the one at fault—and the first thing Pyr did was shove his hands in his pockets to check that their contents were intact. One could never be too careful. |