Clouds of dust swirling behind them despite the stagnant air and unfortunate lack of wind, a man and his once pristinely coloured steed trot, their gait lopsided and irregular, into the bazaar. Wincing apologetically, he gives a weary wave to the few people still outside and milling about – their numbers diminished by the climate, both environmental and political. Dismounting as sprightly as possible, considering the sweltering, oppressive heat that bore down on the open plains of Thanalan, Arthur takes hold of Neige's reins; ushering her hastily under the cover of a cloth canopy.
He pats his bird's beak, grateful as his hands move to ruffle the feathers on the back of her head and neck, in the hopes of cooling her off and freeing her of the pelt of dirt she now wore. Lovingly, he scratches beneath her chin before giving the top of her head a final dismissive pat as he circles around to check the cargo he'd had her lug across the desert. An entire pallet's worth of logbooks and several fulms of blank parchment, all carefully bundled in an assortment of burlap sacks and fastened to Neige's saddle, was there. Thankfully, he notes, inspecting the wear of the fabric beneath his fingertips, nothing had been lost, although the ride had jostled cargo and rider alike.
His tunic's sleeves long since rolled up, Arthur sighs as he wipes the sweat from his brow with his forearm, steeling himself for what would likely be several trips to the makeshift office and back. Before he and Tani had begun the arduous task of managing Tsuwamono's books, he probably would have thought all of the supplies he'd fetched excessive. After all, the Au Ra was an up and coming businessman – he was by no means a household name, as he probably like to remain – how much of a backlog could he have? With a huff, he heaves a sack of journals from his bird's back, laughing derisively at his own thoughts. Quite a backlog, it turned out, though at the very least, it'd be unlikely that he'd want for work to do.
Shuffling as quickly as the weight would allow, he glances up at the sun, silently cursing Azeyma and Her persistence as She blazed overhead, uncaring of the plight of the ants that busily scurried under Her gaze. He fixes his eyes on the horizon as best as he was able, peering around the covered mound of books in his arms. Spotting the Hyur woman at work beneath the awning, Arthur calls out to her, his voice raspy and wavering. “Fancy seeing you here,†he jokes, a halfhearted attempt at levity.
He bends his knees, the leather of his boots creaking in protest as he sets the logbooks down beside Tani, only serving to fortify the wall of paperwork that surrounded her. Combing a hand through his hair, Arthur makes a quiet, disgusted noise in the back of his throat before wiping his hand dry on the front of his skirt. “How does our work fare?†He asks conversationally, tying his hair back again as he sits across from her.
He pats his bird's beak, grateful as his hands move to ruffle the feathers on the back of her head and neck, in the hopes of cooling her off and freeing her of the pelt of dirt she now wore. Lovingly, he scratches beneath her chin before giving the top of her head a final dismissive pat as he circles around to check the cargo he'd had her lug across the desert. An entire pallet's worth of logbooks and several fulms of blank parchment, all carefully bundled in an assortment of burlap sacks and fastened to Neige's saddle, was there. Thankfully, he notes, inspecting the wear of the fabric beneath his fingertips, nothing had been lost, although the ride had jostled cargo and rider alike.
His tunic's sleeves long since rolled up, Arthur sighs as he wipes the sweat from his brow with his forearm, steeling himself for what would likely be several trips to the makeshift office and back. Before he and Tani had begun the arduous task of managing Tsuwamono's books, he probably would have thought all of the supplies he'd fetched excessive. After all, the Au Ra was an up and coming businessman – he was by no means a household name, as he probably like to remain – how much of a backlog could he have? With a huff, he heaves a sack of journals from his bird's back, laughing derisively at his own thoughts. Quite a backlog, it turned out, though at the very least, it'd be unlikely that he'd want for work to do.
Shuffling as quickly as the weight would allow, he glances up at the sun, silently cursing Azeyma and Her persistence as She blazed overhead, uncaring of the plight of the ants that busily scurried under Her gaze. He fixes his eyes on the horizon as best as he was able, peering around the covered mound of books in his arms. Spotting the Hyur woman at work beneath the awning, Arthur calls out to her, his voice raspy and wavering. “Fancy seeing you here,†he jokes, a halfhearted attempt at levity.
He bends his knees, the leather of his boots creaking in protest as he sets the logbooks down beside Tani, only serving to fortify the wall of paperwork that surrounded her. Combing a hand through his hair, Arthur makes a quiet, disgusted noise in the back of his throat before wiping his hand dry on the front of his skirt. “How does our work fare?†He asks conversationally, tying his hair back again as he sits across from her.