Clyde didn't want to be here.

It had taken him several labor-intensive weeks of navigating a foreign world's closest anchor of civilization, this being the merchant city of Provo, for him to finally start feeling a sense of personal equilibrium, like how a seafarer regains his footing after a month out in open waters. He never had any issue finding jobs that paid well enough, and most people were content to leave him alone as he committed time and energy into earning his income. On the rare occasions he felt capable of tolerating the general public, Clyde would pick out the closest dive within a stone's throw and indulge in a pint of their cheapest available bar-swill. Sometimes, they'd even have shepherd's pie. It was passable, usually.

For all intents and purposes, Clyde was ordinary in every respect; a fly on the wall, hardly worth considering as being important or special. He didn't mind it, though. A civilian's life had its perks, tough as it could be in places, and nobody pays attention to people that mind their own business, which is how he preferred to go about his in the first place.

Which is why he found it particularly disquieting to receive a parchment letter at the break of dawn from the mail carrier two days earlier. On it were details about some kind of promotional event taking place near the Pale Coast southwest of Provo, offering recipients a "luxury cruise" aboard a magic-powered boat; apparently, it's bound for an island sanctuary where chocobos are bred and raised. Clyde had almost considered throwing the letter into his fireplace for kindling, until he'd caught wind of a much more jarring inscription scratched onto the back of the parchment, consisting of only four underscored words: "I'm always watching you."

At first, paranoia crept its way back into his mind. Who was always watching him? From where? For what purpose? Was this an elaborate ruse, or merely a cruel joke by some clown wanting to cause trouble with him? The thought of it being either of these possibilities left Clyde feeling deeply suspicious and concerned about the mysterious sender's identity and motivations all the same, but one thing was certain: someone was trying to lure him into the open, away from safety and shelter.

Unfortunately, the plan worked. And Clyde hated clowns.

-----

This event was supposed to last over the course of two days, so Clyde arranged for the tailors to outfit him with a black padded doublet and leather jerkin alongside a pair of trousers stitched from robust hides and a smoky gray cloak, while a cobbler made him some sturdy cuissardes to wear on his feet. Given how tough and rugged his ensemble looked, one could have easily presumed Clyde to be another adventurer, or even an experienced fighter; those curious enough to ask questions were given short, scripted replies and no further attention. He dressed for both comfort and practicality's sake. Everyone else could piss right off about it.

Getting to the Pale Coast was easier yet, courtesy of the chocobo rental services at Provo's borders. Generations of breeding and training result in birds that require hardly any effort to handle and control while riding them, and a steady rate of fresh-cut gysahl greens kept them nourished for the occasional sprint or two. Once he had arrived, Clyde was summarily corralled by one of the ranchers affiliated with the event's organizers, the Hero's Haven, and promptly guided to where this so-called "cruise boat" was moored alongside several others that showed up to take part.

Initial impressions of the liner were cynical, to say the least. Such an opulently furnished vessel, impressive as it looked, would attract thieves on the open waters, he surmised, even as Clyde's feet mechanically carried him up the wooden ramp and onto the polished deck. Glimpses here and there showed him that most of the passengers were adequately capable of protecting themselves in the off-chance things went dramatically south, redundant as it seemed in the moment. Combined with an abundance of leisurely activities all around the boat, Clyde had fully expected this to be little more than how it was advertised on the flyer: a meaningless diversion from his quiet life.

To demonstrate his wordless opinion of the situation, Clyde chose to spend a vast majority of his time in one of two places, either at the bar halfway into a flagon of whatever passes for ale on this boat, or at its stern gazing out into the horizon. In the former cases, Clyde made sure his body language translated into a lack of interest for casual conversation. In the latter, it was much the same, too, although his expressions and mannerisms, however subtle, were closer to those of a man lost in thought, rather than one who openly showed hostile contempt for being in proximity to others. Both cases usually yielded the solitude he desired.

Save for one exception.

-----

Enter: some woman calling herself "Renitra". Just like everyone else on this cruise, she looked forward to exploring this "Choco Island" while fully immersed in the comforts of a luxury getaway experience. Unlike a good majority of participants, however, she took the initiative to wear a full suit of leather armor dyed in yellows and blues, and also carried what seemed like two weapons on her person, one of which Clyde vaguely recognized as a halberd with far too much ornamentation; the other seemed closer to the sort of objects that Owzer liked to collect for his ridiculous art gallery, or a nautical sextant that also had far too much ornamentation.

Interactions with her were sparse and brief, like they were with anyone else who spoke to Clyde, mostly because he declined to speak with people on account of the message that had been scrawled on the back of his letter. "I'm always watching you"... The implications were clear enough. He didn't need others getting close to him, or involved in his affairs. Not while there were vermin on the prowl.

-----

Once the boat had docked at the island's harbor, the crowds slowly departed the vessel in single files while clamoring amongst themselves about how to best spend their time here. Clyde was among the last of the group to disembark, having allowed considerable space to form between himself and the rest so that he could observe events unfold in hawkish silence. Offering proof of invitation was a simple matter of showing the letter he'd received to the appropriate chaperones. There was no need to reveal the message written on the back. The last thing he wanted was to be the center of undesired attention.

But, not everyone gets what they want these days.

In the process of trying to break away from the group so that he could find some kind of vantage point and begin his investigation, one of the island's event managers had stopped him in his tracks to announce that, as a recipient of an invitation, his name would be entered into a random drawing that would result in his being partnered with another participant. "Clyde" was all they were given to work with, as he fully expected to abandon the festivities outright so that he could search for whoever sent him the threat.

He hadn't counted on the drawing taking place so quickly, though, and before he could even so much as excuse himself, another organizer cheerfully lent their assistance to the person whose name had been called out as Clyde's partner and, against his better wishes, pointed him out for easy identification.

When he recognized who it was, Clyde could do nothing but let off a drawn-out sigh.

-----

Which leads to the present moment. Renitra was offered a crude map outlining a network of caves scattered across the island, being told of a treasure that had been hidden inside prior to the boat's arrival on Choco Island. The rules were simple: find the treasure, and it's theirs to keep. Between the two of them, Renitra was the only one that felt any genuine eagerness to enjoy themselves and get lost in the festivities, whereas Clyde just wanted to get this over with so he could return to Provo and go back to his quiet life.

Besides, someone has to keep their cool, especially considering the warnings of sahagin activity in the area.

As Renitra questioned Clyde's capacity for conversation, he answered her by giving no reply at all. No, he wasn't much of a talker. At the very least, her next question was tangibly more useful and relevant. How would he go about finding a treasure in a cave teeming with dangerously territorial fishfolk? A quick glance at the cavern's gaping maw yielded nothing worthy of consideration, meaning it would require him to venture inside in order to determine how bad the danger really was.

Which also meant he had to do this stupid treasure hunt with Renitra.

The plan seemed obvious enough, even if she hadn't reached that conclusion by her own merits. “Avoid the sahagin,” Clyde spoke, at last, in a half-quiet tone, fearlessly walking into the cave's opening with no shortage of casual disinterest for the treasure they were tasked with finding. Compared to Renitra and her ostentatious weaponry, Clyde was every bit a civilian in terms of appearance alone, and visibly without a means to defend himself if the worst case scenario came to pass.

But that other girl in Provo, Yuna, said it herself once: appearances can be deceiving.

And 'unarmed' isn't always synonymous with 'defenseless'.

Renitra Starspear