[ Quistis wasn't particularly pleased with anything that was going on here. When she'd been thrust into time compression, this isn't where she'd expected to wake up... Though quite frankly, somehow, being somewhere completely different felt like the least of her worries when someone was calling themselves mom only to send her off on her own with a strange creature in a ball. According to her gear, it was something referred to as an Emolga and perhaps reflected something about her, though she's not entirely sure what that might be.
Looking it up on her gear, at least it seemed they had speed in common. It seemed interested in her, but she wouldn't call it friendship at first sight; not warm, but far from an unpleasant companion -- all the warmer when she had offered it berries she'd found along the route. It sits perched on her shoulder, occasionally jumping off to float around and scope out the area. Though it's shocked her a few times, she figures it was nerves. Awkwardness, maybe? Maybe they had that in common, as well.
She's taken her time leaving town and heading down the first route, studying her gear and the map on it as well as she can along the way, but it's still enough to frustrate her. She's used to knowing what she's doing, being perhaps not an authority on a subject but having few questions about it. She doesn't like surprises (not of this sort, anyway). Needless to say, when her Emolga floats back with a few quiet cries like it means to tell her something, pointing forward on the cold path, she takes it as a reason to pick up her pace and follow it.
He's likely to hear insistent: Emol, mol, mol, molga, ems before he does her approach. Though without knowledge of his sight or lack of it, she acknowledges her presence a good few yards from him. Just a precautionary measure, even if it means he's a foe and not a friend. ]
Good afternoon. I don't suppose you're like myself and not a native of this place?
[ That's a better greeting than what she thought might stumble out. ]
action.
Looking it up on her gear, at least it seemed they had speed in common. It seemed interested in her, but she wouldn't call it friendship at first sight; not warm, but far from an unpleasant companion -- all the warmer when she had offered it berries she'd found along the route. It sits perched on her shoulder, occasionally jumping off to float around and scope out the area. Though it's shocked her a few times, she figures it was nerves. Awkwardness, maybe? Maybe they had that in common, as well.
She's taken her time leaving town and heading down the first route, studying her gear and the map on it as well as she can along the way, but it's still enough to frustrate her. She's used to knowing what she's doing, being perhaps not an authority on a subject but having few questions about it. She doesn't like surprises (not of this sort, anyway). Needless to say, when her Emolga floats back with a few quiet cries like it means to tell her something, pointing forward on the cold path, she takes it as a reason to pick up her pace and follow it.
He's likely to hear insistent: Emol, mol, mol, molga, ems before he does her approach. Though without knowledge of his sight or lack of it, she acknowledges her presence a good few yards from him. Just a precautionary measure, even if it means he's a foe and not a friend. ]
Good afternoon. I don't suppose you're like myself and not a native of this place?
[ That's a better greeting than what she thought might stumble out. ]