The freezing cold did not seem to bother Violette before, and with his stay in Eorzea proper the memories of Ilsabard feels nothing but a bizarre dream. And yet he walks, unshackled but bound by fate regardless. There is a clear intent to avoid big settlements, preferring the incredibly early mornings or the point of night where most of its denizens were deep asleep.
The sun was still yet to rise, but Vi hoped to make quick trade with the few merchants who rose just as early and be on his way. The beaten leather sack on his back displayed much of his intent, taking small jobs and preferring to keep a low-profile and simply existing. To be allowed to do so was a thing he probably would never get accustomed to, but this was better than whatever was before.
The ghost haunts, and walks the same streets as he does. His face is not known, but there is a certain skill that one learns when you need to memorize faces and the small details. The way your superiors talk, walk. The small signs that could indicate approval or your death.
The grip on his bag tightens. There is no rage, but the guarded apprehension. The unlikely meeting in the most unlikely of places, and yet his brain seems to flash helmeted appearance to the man he calls out to, silhouette bathed by dusk. It is familiar, and it is not something he should be seeing. Really, it is none of his business. Should have kept quiet, but it seems the years of respite loosened Violette's tongue quite a bit. His words are simply full of surprise, rather than hatred or resentment. It is also too late to hide. No, perhaps it was too late to hide the moment he stepped into Mor Dhona. Rarely anything escaped 'his' eyes, and this is a clear memory of his.
"You-- I thought you were dead--"
- @opalwilled let's get this bread