#withdrawn drifter

IT’S TECHNICALLY @locke-rinannis ‘s BDAY NOW. AT LEAST IN HIS TIMEZONE.

i insulted his tiny gun and he gave me this look

Having successfully snuck away from her companions, newly settled within the safety of the Reach across the Fringes, Aedwen found herself back to the Timmon Beck, just north of Dimwold. Opposite from her on the eastern bank, loomed Bittermill, its houses all in ruin and the shadow of something grave hanging over the place. So too, did it seem to haunt the woman as she stood, eyes fixed towards the path that wound up from the loam and into the settlement's long-abandoned center. She'd called for the courier to meet her but two suns ago, her instructions short and poignant; prepare for the worst, and bring your weapon.

The dusty stranger trudged along the road leading toward the destination. He wasn't sure what to expect, aside from worst. He chewed on his lip thoughtfully. His revolver was always hidden away at his hip, but the weight of it was more apparent to the man, due to the ominous circumstance. He found Morning--looking up wistfully, as seemed to be the trend--and gave the bush beside him a small rustle to announce his presence.

The rustling of the bush at her back gives pause to her thoughts as she turns, a brow arched and lips pursed. "There you are," she says, stepping down off the rock. Her usual cheeriness has fled her this eve; no cooed 'darling's or coy snickering as was typical of her. "I've learned a few things, since last we met. Namely, confirmation of your investigations." She cants her head towards Dimwold to the south but does not move her eyes from him.

"I found his regiment's station in the mire. At least, I'm certain it was his. Patient documents were found, but I've yet to review them thoroughly. I'm hoping they'll provide us a further lead; otherwise, it was naught but a gruesome and somber dead end." Clearing her throat, she continues.

"I've friends among the Resistance who say to stay away from this place. Something wretched befell the settlement in the war's infancy, but they would not tell me any details. I imagine whatever we find here will not be pleasant, and may prove dangerous. You're prepared as I asked you to be?"

With a cigarette successfully procured, the courier rummaged through his pocket again, and this time he pulled out a piece of paper. Getting straight to the point of their meeting. He passed it her way before returning to the next important matter: finding his matchbook. The contents of the letter contained a written report of his time in Ala Ghiri.

Aedwen's posture straightens immediately as he passes her the letter, her eyes widening ever so slightly. For a long moment, she merely holds it in her hands which shake gently. Her brows furrow and a heavy breath parts her before she carefully unfolds the paper to read it. Another moment passes, and she reads, rereads, and rereads once more the report he'd written up for her of his findings.

While her eyes remain glued to the paper, the courier had time to find his matchbook and strike a match against the friction. The fire flares with a satisfying sizzle, and he carefully touched it to the cigarette in his mouth. Then he tossed the match into the river to be swept away. Despite being in close proximity, he allowed her privacy by being completely disinterested in her reaction, keeping his attention outward instead.

Parting with a thin noise, Aedwen folds the paper back up and tucks it into the folds of her tunic for safekeeping. "I suppose that is.. More than I was expecting, in truth." Lifting a hand, she removes her hat briefly and runs her hand through her hair -- being mindful not to displace the bandages wrapped around her head. "If you didn't find anything more, then I'm left to fear the worse that he has been missing since his post in Bittermill."

Shaking her head, she replaces her hat and looks aside, eyeing the burning ember at the end of his cigarette. "..But I'll not give up so easily. Tell me, darling," she says. "Are your services requested elsewhere, post-haste from your departure this eve? I may still have work for you yet."

— COURIER

The courier’s mouth twists with a distasteful grimace. With arms crossed, he shakes his hand dismissively, wafting smoke from his cigarette away from him.

Flirting isn’t really his thing. He doesn’t seek out relationships, and instead keeps to himself or sticks to professional contacts. With his constant traveling and loner attitude, he doesn’t seem keen on attracting anyone. His priorities lie elsewhere.

However, should he one day feel the need to get someone’s attention, he may try to amuse them with some card tricks or serenading with his guitar. He has the potential to have a magnetic personality, if he applies himself.

— COURIER

The courier digs through the heavy satchel at his hip, pushing aside parcels and tightly bound letters in a flurry of careful chaos. Then, exhaling a soft ‘ah’, he pulls out a worn wooden box, rather flat and roughly the size of his hand.

He opens the box. Small baubles and souvenirs—a collection of interesting items he’s gathered throughout his travels across Eorzea—lay nestled inside. His brows furrow as he skims the contents, and he picks one out. A slight smile touches his lips. This would do nicely.

Having spent much time on the road, going from place to place, the courier has a knack for finding interesting things that the receiver might enjoy. He’s also more observant than others might think him to be. Gifts are his specialty.

— COURIER

The courier’s head cants to the side. His eyes squint as he thinks for a moment. Then, he shakes his head and shrugs with an uncertain twitch of the corner of his mouth.

Growing up, he didn’t exactly have opportunities for close relationships. Romance was the furthest thing from his mind, and even friends were hard to come by. Not that he minded; he was always somewhat of a loner.