The grotto captured the wonder and whimsy of our adventurers within their first steps. The darkness of its depths washed over them, blotting out the warm rays of the sun upon entry. Dimly glowed a soft light from sea urchins overgrown and algae upon the rock, gently pointing the way into its cavernous belly. The roar of the tide echoed from deep below and, beside a narrow path leading further and further into some watery hell, a sea of white fireflies erupted from the waves, drifting lazily toward the ceiling, expelling the shadows they touched.

"It's so peaceful here," said Papaya, sighing contently. "It's hard to believe anyone could have spied ruffians in this place."

"You mustn't say such a thing, lass. Our pay depends upon it!" Eyrisunn grinned, then extended a meaty hand in way of the sandy path. "Besides! These are not merely the footprints of coeurls, you see? There are men's feet here."

Ser Archer nodded easily at this, then sat on his haunches. He did not offer any wisdom of his own. He merely tapped his chin, taking in the size of the print.

"They could belong to the Yellowjackets who came before," offered Ever. "Her assumption isn't implausible. Who would want to make camp where wild coeurls come to roost?"

Eyrisunn shook his head. "One might be tempted to think so, Miss Starfall, but we know better. There were sightings."

"Alleged sightings," said Ever, who was not sure herself why she contradicted him. She, of all people, hated contrarians and hated to be contrarian; but there was something about the paladin's enduring certitude that encouraged her baser indulgences.

"Indeed," agreed Eyrisunn, unforgivably cheery. "And it is precisely upon these allegations which an adventurer makes his wage."

I suppose I oughtn't criticize, sighed Ever, inwardly. We all need the coin.

She had spent too much of her gil on robes that would bestow upon her a more gentlemanly form. They were yet with the tailor, mid craft; but she was eager to wear fitted pants, and particularly ones that did not itch. No, a sane person would perhaps not spend five thousand gil on such a trifle; but of the fifteen thousand she had managed to flee with, it was the only expense that did not relate directly to her survival.

When nothing followed this, a nervous Papaya, rosy of cheek, interjected. "What have you got there, my dear?" came her saccharine query.

Happily, Ser Archer waved a parchment in his hand as he emerged from the shadowy depths. He had gone ahead without them!? Was this why he had not spoken, to sneak away? That made him a fair bit sharper of mind than Ever initially thought, needless though the effort was—but, upon seeing the goofy grin plastered across his plain-as-daylight face, she quickly discarded the notion.

"Here, lad. Give it here." Eyrisunn took the parchment in his sausage-fingered hands, looking every bit the essence of a Roegadyn as he carefully opened it. He must have been at least four or six times Papaya's height and more than double the archer's breadth. As he studied the note, his bushy brow furrowed and he scratched his thick, brown beard. He said nothing more.

"What does it say?" asked Papaya. Her pigtails bobbed as she tilted her head. "Is it serious?"

"Well…" Kneeling, Eyrisunn handed her the note. "Why don't you read it for us, Miss Papaya?"

Ever looked over Papaya's shoulder, taking care not to cast a shadow over the note. A single glance found the note almost unreadable. The lettering was too disparate; the ciphers did not always connect in the right places; and, to top it all off, it had the look of a note scrawled atop an excessively rigid surface. Papaya squinted, then turned the paper upside-down. For an instant, Ever found it marginally more legible, but soon came to realize she was attempting to read smudges of blood.

[ Feel… ]

"What?" Ever raised her head and wrinkled her nose. The voice did not reply.

"I didn't say nothin'," said Ser Archer, waving his hands. "It's a grocery list, ain't it?"

"What!"

The Elezen closed her mouth and shut it tight. There was no need to encourage him. She looked again to the parchment, seeking a socially-acceptable pause to soothe her temper. Her eyes and ears soon found a separate focus, for they told her in that faraway voice: [ The captain likes his cabbage green. ]

"All cabbage is green," spat Ever. She drew away and rubbed her temples. This was growing from a vexation to an infuriation.

"Oh, well, you would think so," said Papaya, "but that isn't always the case, you see… It depends on the variety as well as the season, and the purpose, too, of the seed in question…"

"Aye," agreed Ser Archer, "but the Capten lykes his cabege green."

It sounded almost like gibberish—almost, until Ever recalled the matter of the archer's rough tongue. The note was likely written by an illiterate, which, upon first glance, could be attributed to half the populous of Eorzea. However, a Yellowjacket was unlikely to be quite so illiterate, given that he was likely charged with the writing of reports as to his findings for the day. And what sort of captain would employ men who knew so little of writing, that they wrote such jumbles?

"This is a code," said Ever, coolly.

"Oh, aye," nodded the archer. "They're down here."

"You—You both could read that?" Eyrisunn stared in jaw-dropping bafflement. "Miss Starfall, of course, is an intellectual, and there is no reason to doubt her ability, but…"

With a deep scowl, the archer puffed out his chest. "What's that supposed t' mean?"

"Naturally, he must mean that intellectuals have terrible writing! Isn't that so, Ser Eyrisunn?" This helpful, if equally offensive, presumption came from the petite lady Papaya, who smiled as though the sun were leaking from her eyes. "I've seen too many examples of it myself to count. You must be quite intelligent yourself, my dear, to recognize the scrawl."

"I don't know whether or not to feel insulted," mumbled Ever, crossing her arms. "My handwriting is remarkable, thank you very much."

"Oh, ah… I did not mean…" Papaya tenderly clutched a handful of Ever's robe. "I do not doubt that, my lady."

"Don't call me 'my lady'." Ever snatched back her robe. "Not everything can be smoothed over with a smile and an apology. Don't think I don't know your type."

A silence passed. Papaya stepped back, clutching at her sleeves. Eyrisunn and Ser Archer exchanged glances. Ever, turning away from the lot of them, let out a heavy sigh. Idiots. She was surrounded by idiots and fools.

"I am truly sorry," said Papaya, softer than before.

"Oye," said Ser Archer, if one could call it speaking. He slapped the back of his hand upon Ever's arm. "Cut it out. We've got work t' do. An' say yer sorry while yer at it."

"Why should I?" spat Ever. "You side with her because she is so pink of face and delicate of gait. You can't stand to see a proper lady slighted."

Eyrisunn shook his head. "This is a waste of time. I won't let the others catch up with us. Come, my friends. Let her stew in the dark by herself. We have our lead."

This was a somehow worse outcome than she had anticipated. She knew not what she had expected, but it was the first she'd ever allowed herself any sort of outburst. She was confused by the affair herself. She tried to puzzle together her dizzy thoughts and heavy feelings, but by the time she had turned again toward the party, Eyrisunn and Papaya had charged ahead. Ser Archer lingered, bow drawn, brow lined.

"She didn't mean nothin' by it," he said. His eyes locked with hers. They were warm and deep, like a lake in the summer. She had forgotten to breathe—then quickly caught a breath.

"I… understand." The cross of her arms tightened. "Go with them. I will join you shortly."

"Ye've gotta come along now," he urged her. His voice did not harden, though rough it was by nature. She heard the care in it. She wanted to pull away, to turn around and run, but her feet would not move. If they did, they could take her back to that prison. Back to that endless torment. That endless loneliness.

"They're quite unhappy with me," she squeaked.

Ser Archer tucked the bow under his arm and extended his opposite hand. "They don't know better. We're stupid fuckers an' we'll be lost without ye."

The gears of her mind had ground to a halt. Only one thing could change that. Though her arm trembled, she joined her hand with his. He pulled her toward him, then began in a haste further into the dark, tugging her along the whole way.