Who: Larsa and [OPEN] What: Day one of the festival! Where: Balamb Square When: Saturday afternoon Warnings: TBD
Getting accustomed to Balamb Garden hadn't been quite as difficult as he'd imagined in some ways, and far more trying in others. The instant he'd walked within the walls of the institute he was quickly pegged as something new and different, his Dollet accent and style of clothing making him stand out like a sore thumb. All of the reactions had been pleasant, whoever, the curious questioning of cadets his age who simply hadn't traveled much. He wasn't that exotic either, as there were students and staff from all over the globe attending. In the end, he was certain that the novelty would wear off. He'd been introducing himself as simply "Larsa", which had staved off any further commentary on his lineage, family, or the tension in Deling City. His room was much smaller, but that was expected, and the food available in the cafeteria both lacked a certain amount of class, and gained an immeasurable amount of charm and heart. In the end, it easily evened out. He missed Dollet, he was certain of it, but there was still something new and fresh about the area that left behind any desires to return.
He'd been unaware of the upcoming festivities in town, but was not one to miss a chance at absorbing a little of the local flavor even in past travels. Being unaccompanied was new, but in both an unnerving and freeing way. Autumn in Balamb wasn't entirely different than autumn in Dollet. The scent of dried leaves mixed with the ocean salt, creating an aroma in the crisp air unique to the coastal towns. Even the cobblestone streets reminded Larsa of home, though that was where the strongest of the similarities ceased. The smell of food was predominant in both areas as well, but it was an entirely different mixture of savory and sweet. Mostly sweet, at the moment, as Larsa passed by a cart selling a variety of fried bread he'd never seen before, shaped like what he could only assume was the fabled Balamb fish, and dusted with cinnamon and sugar. He moved to pass it by, paused a few steps down the path, and then turned after convincing himself that a little indulgence was suitable for the festivities.
The kind woman behind the cart beamed brightly down at him like a second sun, cooing a little once she heard his voice and accent, placing him easily as an out-of-towner. He'd gotten used to that over the past week. He merely smiled in returned, politely thanked her, and reached out to take what was likely the largest dough-fish on the holder. It was still hot and fresh, even through the waxpaper that held it. He remained nearby after the first bite, letting the sugar and cinnamon flutter down over the front of his thick, fine coat as there was no delicate way to eat such a thing. And it was delicious. The smile came again once he offered his compliments to the chef.
The treat was nearly halfway gone by the time he made his way through the crowded square to examine the entries for a local pumpkin carving contest. Many of them had obviously been by younger citizens within the town, or those who had simply joined for fun, but several were rather remarkable. One had a particularly recognizable rendition of Balamb Garden, another the Archway of Deling City, an ode to tonberries, a portrait of the Fated Six.