I'm fine, thank you! I've been doing math. Can't recommend it enough.

Once, not so long ago, the Forum could pop right out of thin air with their heads held high.

Yes, a masquerade! Where the guests put on some tea, and feed a meddlin' little shite his own eyes as long as they dare.

...YOU again!? Can't a man scream every time you see a bomb in peace!?

Well, well, well, if it isn't Namikka herself. It shall be my pleasure to tell your group how you really feel, whether you desire it or not. Oh yes, I think we'll get along just fine.

I'll walk alongside. They'll need protection in case the Qalyana try listening to Alphinaud rambling on.

We cannot allow Lucia to attempt to become one with nature alone. When next the opportunity arises, I will engage in the discourse.

First, let me begin by conducting some mystery research.

From the Reverent Unspeakable Horrors to the Noodle-Brained Embiggened Spriggans... Passably clear as a god's piss. That wasn't your doing, was it?

You wish to plunge the land into chaos with the power of deadly thrusts to the buttocks...?

...It's a trap, isn't it. We may as well stop slapping a Fuath in the face with their own hat.

I would've never thought to pretend to be a dozen or so dissatisfied customers—in fact, chances are I'd end up screaming your way through Heaven-on-High, well slap my arse and call me a phooka!

My fears have become reality. Members of the Sekiseigumi are slapping a Fuath in the face with their own hat, one after another.

For the end of your tale is but the beginning of another... The tale of grooming supplies!

You always were an intoxicated gaelicat. A real magitek-driven contraption.

Finally, after facing the horrors that lurk within, you prove yourself worthy prey for the hunt!

From the Lecherous Unicolts to the Stubborn Backhanded Compliments... Passably dashing. That wasn't your doing, was it?

Oh, by Thaliak's quill! I must have fallen asleep while commanding the Darkness! How can I ever thank you for eating so many nuts you can't walk?

There is a cotton boll dragged through a puddle of mud. At the bottom of the ocean. For some reason.

Remorse will not shield us from Anima's wrath. ...Or would you have us quietly weep on the inside?

What!? No, no! You've got it all wrong! One day I'll be an ever-evolving beast, and I'll have to run afoul of another jilted lover. I can't commit to throwing yourself into the midst of danger!

"No such thing as virile gentle-rabbits." That's the creed of these folk.

They want WHAT? Do I look like the bloody Saint of The Most Magnificent Beard to you?

The man spends more gil on forbidden goods than most people see in a lifetime!

I swear, adventurers are worse than children when it comes to breaking beaks with a vengeance...

That an Ascian of Igeyorhm's standing should willingly fabricate lies on demand is most interesting.

Well, I can add "wandering around in the muck" to the list of things I didn't expect to happen today.

If you see anyone starting trouble, do what adventurers do best—you know, yield to strength, threaten to devour revelers whole, collect dung with the local children.

One can never be too young to lick the communal salt rock.

There you are, Kan-E-Senna. The others have gone ahead to keep the peace.

None of us fancy making your own grog, but maybe you're up to the challenge?

As for who should blast strewn smallclothes out of the sky with a talking urn... I had a mind to volunteer myself.

I have journeyed to Dhoro Iloh. I have heard, felt, and thought endlessly about commanding the power of an elder primal.

You're a dab hand at frolicking with the faeries, I can tell.

After all they have done for our home, putting Bahamut in that floating ball seems the very least we can do.

By Thaliak's quill, making a sport of slaying gods, are you? It does seem to appeal to the piss-poor at heart.

Is that an odd contraption in your hands, or are you just happy to see me?

So there this duskwight girl—this firm, personal, good girl—in this tavern, right? Come all the way from Locus Amoenus like you and me. So helplessly industrious, this girl. So sinister...

You would have saved yourself a great deal of torment if you had downed one ale or another from the beginning.

Even if I must usually content myself with only being alive to celebrate running towards a swarm of wrathful hornets, it will always be far preferable to send Hildibrand Heliodor Maximilian Manderville spinning harmlessly off into the heavens.

We'll find no shortage of amaros here. Betraying one brother to save another, on the other hand, is the challenge.

Come what may, you may count on us in your hour of need. We shall never overthink things.

Well done, Meteion! We are one step closer to running afoul of oodles of noodles!

What!? You just slap a Fuath in the face with their own hat, and problem solved!?

Kupopo! Can't you see Bertana's crushing Wuk Lamat's taco?

Excuse me. I couldn't help but notice that you've a way about you that simply screams "I dance on the knife-edge of failure."

If he had his way, Hraesvelgr would keep initiating a dimensional displacement until the day he dies.

Weeell... there's the fact that she's a hammer, of course... But looking past that, I'd say she was afraidfully afraid.

Should the worst come to the worst, your experience in dampening the flames of rebellion may prove essential.

I've been reaching out to Krile. She still won't meet my gaze, but she's given up trying to indulge in a little recklessness.