(no subject)

[tothelastbreath]

Who: Allen Walker; OPEN
What: Getting lost.
Where: The Valhalla Inn, Mog Hill, outskirts of Bonetown.
When: Thurs Givdi afternoon.
Notes: Feel free to run into him at any of these locations♥
Warnings: Allen's crap sense of direction. Also, I am a slow tagger.

Ever since he was let out of the arrival room two days ago, it's unlikely anyone would have seen Allen around the city, or even at the Valhalla Inn. God knows what he's been up to, and he's not about to tell, but other boarders at the inn will see a new face joining them for breakfast this morning. He has traded his prisoner's garb for something more respectable ― a long-sleeved, high-collared shirt, dark gray vest over it, matching trousers, a tie knotted with practiced precision, and gloves. A little old-fashioned, perhaps, especially for one his apparent age, but well put together. Shame the same can't be said of his demeanour. His movements are laden with the stiff, creaking tension of the really bloody tired (but also really bloody obstinate), eyes bruised from lack of rest, the corners of his mouth frayed by stress lines. All of this is eclipsed by the way his entire face lights up when he's served. It just might explain why he eats so slowly in contrast, chewing well and pausing every few swallows, as though worried going too fast will make him throw up.

Once his plate's clean―almost spotlessly so―he heads straight for the inn's exit, pausing only to give the Burnworth pamphlets outside the main office an unreadable look. The rest of his morning is spent methodically exploring Mog Hill. By the time noon approaches, though, he's looking a lot less focused and a lot more baffled. It only gets worse with every corner turned, until he's left stranded somewhere in the outskirts of Bonetown, looking like he would really appreciate an adult. Instead of asking for directions, however, he turns to the sky, the gesture habitual enough to suggest he's looking for something that should be there, but isn't.

That's how he comes to notice the crows, and some mixed emotion makes his expression twinge ― that is, until one of the creatures take flight, revealing itself to be not quite... Right. And it's probably telling that the boy's first reaction is to frown and look around for other passersby, relaxing only when the street seems deserted of potential marks for the birds. Not that he has reason to suspect them, but he's not about to let his guard down after Balthier's talk of eelsharks. Shooting the creatures one last look, he turns, reluctantly, and starts backtracking. He thinks he's backtracking, at least. Who knows if he'll find his way back by nightfall. Probably not.