[attr="class","itsover"]
Faris laughed. Even with the mood he was in, he couldn't help it. 'He had an air of formality around him,' she'd said. Faris had never heard anything more ridiculous in his life.

"Me? Formal? Why, I couldn't manage it if you forced me into a dress at the edge of a sword. And my days as a captain wouldn't do me much good. I'm a pirate, lass. If I'd've tried to lead the lot of them with anything but a round of drinks and a scowl, they'd have eaten me alive!" Faris shook his head, tracing a finger along the slick edge of the table. Still, the woman's words stuck with him like a knife wedged between his ribs. 'I can see that formality hangs about you even though you hate it.' Lenna would have said it was in his blood. His royal blood, as it turned out. Faris couldn't have dismissed it fast enough, but Lenna would have told it wasn't something he could run away from. He was who he was, even if he hated it.

'Well, the lass doesn't have a clue what she's talking about,' he thought grimly, 'I'm about as cut out for formality as I am for being a princess. It's all a bunch of nonsense.'

Still. How had she known?

The woman clearly hadn't noticed his turmoil, or perhaps she just didn't care. She was still smiling, though there was a bit of a kinder edge to it now. For some reason, Faris felt pitied. “Maybe we will get lucky and he did dissolve back into the Void," she said, and Faris laughed despite himself.

"Aye," he added in, though he wasn't sure if his heart was in it. His heart still raced with the thought of that day -- his blood still ran hot with that single word, 'Coward.' Even now, he wasn't sure which he wanted more: peace or revenge.

Eillien spoke highly of him. A little too highly, really, and Faris couldn't help but shift uncomfortably under the weight of her praise. "You fought him with valor and bravery. Songs and ballads can be sung about your actions alone.” Even after all of these weeks of demanding recognition, he still didn't like the sound of that. Valor and bravery didn't suit him. It never had. He'd fought that thing out of impulse, spurned on by a rush of adrenaline and the power of the crystals. He'd just wanted to save the poor people in the way of the beast's wrath. He wasn't some hero. Not really.

"Songs and ballads, huh?" Faris echoed. "Don't know if that really fits me. I could sing them though if I heard it. The crystal's got the power of a bard, if you can believe it. I don't think a one of us ever used it, though. What are you going to take to fight off fiends? A sword or a lute?" Faris snorted at the thought of it. In all honesty, Bartz had tried the bard class exactly once, and Faris was still convinced it was just to prove his own stupidity. By the time their battle was over, Faris had been ready to wallop the boy over the head just to get him to stop singing. 

He almost hadn't noticed Eillien's movements, not until he felt her hand on his arm. Faris blinked in surprise, glancing down at where their skin touched. He wasn't sure what it meant, really. It felt a little too familiar to be just a sign of friendship, but it couldn't have been much more than that either. She gave his arm a light squeeze as she told him about her battles and her travels. He was so distracted by her touch that he wasn't sure he caught a word of what she'd said. He felt his cheeks flush. Why did he feel so unbalanced by something so reassuring?

She squeezed his arm again and scooted closer.  “Just Faris I know I am just a stranger but..." She looked at him, still smiling. "I feel a chance at a budding friendship between us. I just want to let you know that I am here for you my friend.”

"Uh." Faris stared at her. He hadn't the slightest idea how to take her sudden surge of support, but he didn't like the way she was looking at him, and they were still touching. Faris coughed uncertainly. "Aye, I could always use a friend..." he tried, but it came off lamer than he'd meant it, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. His heart thudded against his ribs. 

He wasn't drunk enough for this. He found himself eyeing her ale longingly.

ulla

[attr="class","itsover"]
She recognized him.

Faris wasn't sure how to feel about that. Part of him had hoped that he'd been wrong -- that she'd turn him away so that he could go and sulk in peace. But maybe fate had a different idea in store for him. Sulking had never really been his style.

Surprisingly, she remembered him just on sight. “And you are the ninja that ran from the guards with such ease. Though I think you preferred to be called Faris instead of sir ninja.” He grinned a little sheepishly at that. He guessed he'd made an impression. Then again, it was hard not to when his typical day ended in bar fights, monster tournaments, or fleeing through a cloud of smoke as a ninja. 

"Aye, that name'll do good enough. Though I wouldn't mind the latter. Sir Ninja. It has a bit of a catchy ring to it, I think."

He pulled out a chair, uncertain whether to stay, but driven by habit nonetheless. He slouched into it, half awake and half uncaring while she smiled at him. He wasn't sure how to feel about that smile. On any other day, he'd welcome it, but now...

“So what brings you all the way up here to Sonora, Faris?"

"Eh?" Faris sat up, thrown off by the casual question, as Eillien continued.

"Still searching for information like I am about that lady in white’s words or for other reasons? Though no matter the answer I would like to say that it is good to see a familiar face even if it one that I only met in passing.”

"Uh." Faris traced a finger along the table. "It was just a whim that brought me here. I'd seen everywhere else, at least as far as I can tell. Haven't seen head nor tail of that yellow fiend from the city. I'm starting to think that maybe it fell back into the Rift." He shook his head. "Aye. A friendly face is always a welcome sight," he added, though he didn't really believe it. It felt right, anyway, and there wasn't much insight he could offer now with his head full of storm clouds. 

"And what of you, lass? Had any good fights? And what was that about a 'lady in white?'"

ulla

Douken's fight didn't start well.

Despite his lack of resistance and Faris' genuine hope for a new friend, the monk made it very clear that he did not want to be here. He didn't do much of anything once facing the earthy beast. In fact, he bowed to it, like the turtle was some kind of princess. The whole situation was so ridiculous, that Faris would have laughed if he hadn't felt so uneasy about it. 'If he didn't want to be here, then why didn't he say anything?' Faris thought followed by, 'Did I gave him time to say no?' Faris considered the events of the last hour, but couldn't remember any dissent from Douken's part. But then, he couldn't think of much Douken had said period. Faris stifled a groan, 'There you go, Faris, letting your impulses get the best of you again.'

The crowd wasn't pleased with the monk. They'd come for bloodshed and excitement from skilled monster hunters -- not displays of etiquette to reptiles. Faris winced at each slander. This was his fault. If he'd taken just a moment to listen to the monk, then he wouldn't be down there now, awkwardly staring down some kind of hell beast or another. Faris considered jumping into the ring himself. He considered calling down and telling the poor man that it was alright -- he didn't need to prove himself and he didn't need to be here -- but he didn't get the chance. The turtle had broken free before Faris could make a decision.

"Look out!"

The turtle charged with alarming speed, rushing forward and snapping immediately at the monk's legs. Douken was thrown backwards, one arm smashed in the monster's mouth. All he saw was that sharp mouth, Douken's pained expression, and Faris was running. He reached for his weapon -- a dagger! Not enough! -- before cursing and whispering to the crystals. "Damn it! Give me something! Anything!" They answered with a flash of light. Faris didn't know what class he'd taken. It didn't matter, as long as he felt the protective grip of armor and the familiar weight of a blade in his hand. He grabbed the weapon blindly as soon as it materialized and moved to vault over the ring.

"Hold on! I'm-!"

Douken punched the turtle so hard that it spat him out as it flew across the arena and skidded helplessly onto its back.

"...coming." Faris finished, leg still half-hoisted onto the ring's outer wall.

Douken argued something that Faris couldn't hear as the crowd jeered. Whatever it was, Douken didn't seem overly bothered by it as he turned and started towards the ladder. Faris pushed away from the wall before he climbed up, trying to look natural despite being armed to the teeth. He glanced sheepishly at the weapon in his hand. A longsword. A look down showed a red cape rustling by his boots.

Apparently his subconscious had asked for the power of a red mage. There were definitely worse classes he could have ended up with. Like a dancer. That would have left a few awkward questions...

Faris tried to slip back to his seat before the monk could know he'd left it. Douken came up casually with an empty potion bottle in his hand. If he noticed Faris' change of clothes, he didn't comment. He didn't say anything about his injuries or the argument either. No, he just gestured at the woman behind Faris and said, “I see you got company." Honestly, Faris had completely forgotten about the dark-haired woman, but it seemed Douken hadn't. “That hat you wear. It reminds me of the student Black Mages in the kingdom I am from.”

"Hat?" Faris glanced between them, unable to get a word in otherwise before the woman's eyes lit up in recognition. She asked if he was from some place called Cornelia. Then she introduced herself as Aria Canus -- a black mage, just as he'd thought. Faris tilted his head. "By all the luck," he said, "Isn't that the same place you were going on about before?" He grinned a little at his new friend's fortune, but he couldn't help the pang of jealousy that pierced his heart.

'You're not the only one missing home.' In that moment, more than any other, he longed for the cheers of his crew, for Lenna's smiles, for Krile's laughs, and for Bartz's idiot grins. 'Maybe some of your luck will rub off on the rest of us.'

ulla

There was a snarl, a whooping cry, and Faris shooting from the sky like a the world's thorniest arrow. His spear pierced the beast's leathery wing, trapping it in a downward trajectory towards the earth below. They crashed together -- the beast clumsily with its head gashing the rocks and Faris solidly with a metallic clang of his boots. He ripped the spear from its flesh, spun it around once, and then thrust it into the beast's scaled neck. It screeched, flailing its claws in futile resistance, but the damage was done. Faris planted a boot on its shoulder and heaved his spear from the wound. Warm blood flicked his hands and face as he stepped back, heart pounding. Without thinking, he gave his weapon a final spin and let it rest decisively against his shoulders.

The crowd erupted in wild applause. Faris grinned widely.

The invitation to an illegal beast fighting ring on the forested outskirts of Provo hadn't excited him much at first. In fact, he'd barely registered the offer between the warm haze of whiskey and the adrenaline of a good bar fight. It had taken until a particularly depressing evening at that same bar to drive him to a desperate point like this. There'd been a sad choice in company, a sad choice in liquor (that was to say none), and not a thing to do about it. Not until said company had sparked his memory about a particular offer Faris had half brushed off as a dream.

If he couldn't have alcohol, he could at least have adrenaline. And at that moment, still bloodied from pinning a dragon at forty feet high, he couldn't have said which was more potent.

"There's not a beast alive who can take the fight out of me!" Faris lifted his spear triumphantly and gave a sort of war cry. His audience followed suit, and Faris could have sailed on the waves of their energy alone. "Which  lot of you has the brass to fight? Which of you can even try? Lift your blades and say aye!"

They did not say 'aye' (no one did around here), but they did cheer again, and he supposed that was something. With his heart still racing and his mind still rushing with excitement, Faris tossed his spear over his shoulder and headed for the sidelines. There wasn't much to distinguish the crowd from the action -- just a pit, a ladder, and some boulders which did nothing against the flying enemies when unchained. But everyone here was some kind of warrior or another, and if they fell in a battle that wasn't even their own, well, that was on them, wasn't it? Faris hauled himself over the edge of the ladder and sauntered back to his companion. A monk, or at least, that's what he thought that man was.

"That was quite the spectacle, wasn't it, lad?" Faris crossed his arms casually, but couldn't remove the nearly crazed glint in his eye. His fingers itched with the fight. "I told you I had an idea, didn't I? Better than lazing around in old bars, anyway."

He did not mention that he had only left the bar because he'd been refused service. Nor had he mentioned that he'd never wanted to come here in the first place. None of that mattered now.

"So, is there a beast that's caught your eye? Or a man, perhaps? You told a grand tale of those punches!"

As Faris spoke, his eyes scanned the crowd, tallying up the other warriors as though they were fine ale. Each had a different flavor -- a different fight. He let his armor fade with the Light of the Crystals. His red dragoon helm dissolved to loosely tied hair and his plate mail returned to his usual tunic. His thumb twitched at the edge of the dagger he kept at his belt. His eyes blazed with anticipation.

"Are you a man of action or aren't you?"

ulla