#vazaymir

Commission for @vazaymir of Roka and Vaza.

@vazaymir asked this too! I could just make something up, buuut- wouldn't it be more fun to just ASK people? I'd find that more fun. Let's do that!

Here are the responses from the people Malika has known the longest. @herowren (Mae):

Mae would prod the suspected-fraudulent-Mal about her full name without giving it, ever, because NO and about STRICTLY FAKE memories that are so anti-Mal or anti-Mae that if it WERE Mal, she'd immediately reject them. Following those, she might prod about their "adoption ceremony" date WHICH MAL DOESN'T -HAVE- TO REMEMBER BECAUSE IT IS ENGRAVED ON THEIR RINGS. If Malika answers with the correct date when she takes off the ring to look or just makes up a date with absolute confidence then it's definitely Mal.

If she either doesn't answer or she answers correctly with absolute confidence without having to take the ring off then it's NOT Mal. Malika: First Sun of the Third Umbral moon. I remember that day like it was yesterday. We stole the shoelaces from every Maelstrom officer's boots and part of your speech to me during the ceremony was about how much you admire and respect me as your elder. (This is all clearly made up- but the shoelaces thing sounds fun) @dumb-hat (Evander) If Evander thought someone was impersonating Malika, he'd probably offer to take them on a very expensive shopping spree, but he'd make sure to mention stuff like how much money he was going to spend, how expensive everything was, stuff like that. If she's impressed by the cost of things or seems greedy, it's not Malika. Malika would rather they spend money on something cheap and fun, then steal the fancy stuff.

But I think he might suspect an impostor and be like "Ah, okay, reverse these values and… Yup. Okay. They think she steals because she wants stuff. Definitely not her. Malika: Ugh. The see if you can agitate me by talking about gil strategy is valid, but uuugh. Quick, We both need to take a drink from an expensive bottle of alcohol and then I need to throw that bottle hard against a wall.

@kestrelvylbrand (Kestrel)

Ok, so my first instinct to the question is that Kes would be oblivious and try to heavily makeout with Malika. And in that process she'd figure out it wasn't her.

Malika: Good detective work there, Kes. Just to be on the safe side, you'd probably better make out with me everytime you see me. You know, just to make sure I'm the real deal.

@argentrenard (Argent)

Argent would ask her to do something, like, anything he can think of right off the bat like "Malika, go steal something off that desk." If she does it without comment, it's not Malika. If she refuses to do it, it's Malika. If she refuses to do it, but then when he leaves or his back is turned DOES do it, it's Malika. Unless he tells her this plan, then if it's really Malika it might be hard to figure out if it's really Malika. Malika: This wouldn't work. Unless it did. But then I'd pretend it didn't anyway. Unless I thought you expected me to pretend that it didn't work in which case I'd.... Uh. I need a drink. Wish I hadn't thrown the bottle against the wall.

@suzhuazheyal (Suzhua) She would ask the nickname that Malika gave her. Malika: I don't remember it in your language, but how could I forget Annoying Sheep?? Affectionately though, right? ...Right?

@the-wanted-man (Roman)

With clamor and clang, the rusted iron grates of his cell door slid open out of schedule, for the first time in moons since he’d been put into them. A set of old clothes are tossed into his lap and with little pre-tense, the fugitive cowboy is informed by the looming Torch to get dressed and that the conditions of his sentence had been adjusted on the heels of a generous benefactor’s timely donation.

The journey back to the city was long, arduous, and quiet. In the time it had taken him to shuffle from his cell in Marasaja back to Ul’dah, a slow and simmering despondency had settled within him, dampening a mood that was typically more excitable than what it was. Not that he would have been particularly chipper with his escort anyways, a city Blade who had met his previous captors about half-way and  reminded Lawrence as every guard ever had done before, that escape was not an option.

The cowboy might have felt compelled to remind in turn that despite popular belief towards the contrary, the option had a tendency to make itself known anyways but in truth, he couldn’t much muster the strength. Too weary to even consider food let alone a proper escape, he took to his small room with one way in, and one way out and found it far more appealing. Collapsing into the sheets of a cheap cot, he settled there for the remainder of an uneasy night of rest and stole some additional comfort in the fact that the Blade guarding his door would likely get very little sleep keeping an eye on him.

His dreams nevertheless were born of a fretful state of mind, full of the things he hated most. Rusting, rattling chains. The dull thud and clink of pick-axes digging into stone echoed about his skull like the ricochet of a bullet kicked off course. Monstrous rasps and shrieks haunted him, while the disembodied laughter of cruel men and the steady pacing of boots against hard stone chased him in his sleep. He relived every beating, every gut punch and busted lip in his restless, fitful slumber and felt no better for it come the morning.

THUMPTHUMPTHUMP! He awoke with a jolt to heavy knocking, body reacting on instinct to tumble and flail onto hardwood in a heap of blankets and aching bones. A strange sense of delirium followed him into that hurtling consciousness of which he found hard to shake, the  incessant thumping upon the door doing little to ease the splitting migraine that caused his head to throb. He’s told to make himself known, no doubt with concern that he’s somehow flown the coop. 

"Roman Lawrence Wyld! Declare yourself! You have twenty seconds."

The quiet splash of water was the only other company the pair of makeshift adventurers had. Syla adored it that way. Resting his hair back onto the miqo’te lap, as Vaza expertly wove her fingers through his soaked hair. Lathering a pleasantly scented mixture through long, auburn locks. She had picked it, of course. Syla smelled how she wanted him to smell...and honestly? He didn’t mind too much. Whatever pleased her.

Especially if she was willing to wash him like this. A bit more intimate than he had expected the first time, but this was almost routine at this point. Letting her hands play with his hair and lather the soap among it. Closing his eyes with a sigh as he rest back on her. Comfort and trust, and only for her.

Phoebe hated being in the forests of Gridania, especially at nightfall. It was bad enough she was plagued with the broken voices of the Green Word here, let alone trying to listen for any creatures lurking out of sight. She shook her head abruptly as if it could magically clear her ears of the perpetual onslaught of elemental voices. If only Buscarron hadn’t cut her off so early, she could be blindingly drunk AND lost in the forest.

Perhaps that was how she missed the shadowy figure stalking her on the rocky ledge above. It wasn't until a pair of boots hit her square in the back that Phoebe would realize someone else was present. She was knocked to the forest floor, face full of dirt and molding leaves. She sprang back to her feet reflexively, katana drawn and ready to attack.

She hadn't expected to find a Miqo'te huntress facing her, an arrow pointed right for her forehead. Phoebe slowly sheathed her weapon, then raised her hands slowly to show she meant no harm. She had heard of the Moon tribes in these areas but had never encountered one before. Perhaps in her idiotic stumbling, she had crossed into their territory.

"Forgive me, I meant no harm. I seem to be lost. I'll just.... be on my way," Phoebe attempted to sidle back to the path. The eyes of the huntress burrowed into her as she walked back the way she came. Perhaps Buscarron wouldn't mind letting her sleep on the porch just this once.

The first character that came to mind was Shunbai.

While he doesn’t want first impressions to define his relationship with a person- they usually do. He’s the type of person who can get in his own head about how he might come off to people and what people think. If you run into him and immediately clash, he will remember that for a long time and maybe even get pissy about it.

Making a good first impression with Shunbai isn’t too hard if you’re chill or interested in the same things he is interested in. Hunters and crafters who respect the trades and are not abrasive tend to leave good impressions on him. Don’t tease or bully him too much out of the gate or else he will not want to talk to you. Only good friends can do that. Otherwise, he will genuinely get mad.

I’m sure there’s more since he’s such a multifaceted personality, but I’ve rambled enough.

The first character I thought of for this silly thing is a young Baatu

[picture of Baatu shirtless holding a huge fish that he just caught] Baatu, 23 📍Lives in Ul’dah 2 miles away Looking for: A Good Time About Me Always down to clown. Love to fish and fight! I can cook you a home cooked meal, baby ;) Interests [Fishing] [Sparring] [Parties] More About Me [Solider] [Foodie] [New in Town]