Original Ao3 chapter summary:

Another one that ended up way longer than I originally meant! Oh well! At least I had fun, haha.

I mixed in some stuff from other quests too. I hope it's enjoyable!

This one's set after chapter 27 of the main fic!

With the fight against Leviathan coming to an end so early in the morning, Joker, after wearily cleaning himself up enough not to stink quite so completely of sea brine and blood, had flopped directly into his bed. He'd woken up after sleeping straight through to the next day with half of his face stuck against the pillow. And then the sight of an envelope on his bedside table slowly coming into view against his blurry vision.

He yawned as he peeled himself from the sheets— he must've been completely out of it, hadn't heard the mail arrive at all.

After groggily changing his bandages from a kit by his bed that the Scions had learned to keep well-stocked, Joker snatched the letter up, bringing it to his blinking face.

He frowned at the ink upon the front. He still hadn't entirely committed all of his Eorzean letters to memory, but he was almost certain none of the characters on the envelope matched with any of his names. Far too many consonants, by the look of it.

Shrugging, he took it with him when he exited his room, very gratefully accepting a hearty and congratulatory breakfast from Tataru— complete with a lemon tart from the Bismark that had been conspicuously left at the side of the plate when he went to fix himself a coffee.

Which now left him with some mandatory free time (per Minfilia's insistence, of course) and a letter he wasn't entirely sure belonged to him.

"Oh, not again! Those damned furballs, I swear to the Navigator!"

The Roegadyn woman near the door to the Seventh Heaven was grumbling aloud as he walked out. She wore a simple work uniform with a leather coif, and was frowning deeply at a letter she clutched tight in her hands.

Sensing a kindred spirit, Joker gave her a brief wave with his own ill-gotten envelope.

"Moogles mess up your mail too?"

She looked over at him, tutting.

"Yes, and not for the first time either. I know Sea Wolf names can be confusing for some folks but this is just patently ridiculous!" She growled, shoving the envelope furiously into his face, "Does this look like it says 'Klynthota Skarnfruskwyn' to you?"

Joker raised his hands defensively, "No?" He squeaked, uncertain. It wasn't like he could properly read whatever was written there regardless.

The Roegadyn apparently named Klynthota snapped her fingers, "Exactly! They've gotten it wrong again! I've been responsible for significant correspondence on behalf of the Sons of Saint Coinach regarding recent major developments in a new expedition, and thanks to those useless fuzzballs it may all go awry!"

On a hunch, Joker awkwardly presented the disgruntled woman with the envelope he had received this morning, "So, um, does this say 'Klynthota Skarnfruskwyn'?"

Her eyes widened before she roughly snatched it from his hands, reading the name upon it with disbelief.

"Good gods, what a cockup!" Klynthota snorted, shaking her head. She held up her original letter, waving it back and forth as she sighed loudly. The contents within rattled a little with the act.

"So you got my mail and I've got... Jandelaine's, whoever that's supposed to bloody well be… wherever the poor bastard is, he's probably got something belonging to you. Maybe."

At a loss for what else to do, Klynthota handed the mislaid package to him. He could feel something hard beneath underneath the paper as he took it in his hands. Joker fiddled with his bangs.

"…Who do you go to about the mail anyway? Is there a Moogle post office or something?"

And an amused Klynthota directed him to Gridania, where most of the more… 'domestic' Moogles of the realm took up residence as part of a pact with the Seedseers. Likely Raya-O-Senna's influence, if the way she had corrected the errant Mooglesguard had been any indication.

"I mean, you can find the buggers all over the place, if you look real hard, but the Twelveswood's probably the place to go if you wanna take it up with whichever one of them's in charge."

Deciding he might as well use his time off to sort this out now, Joker had taken an airship, wanting to enjoy the scenic route — and save on teleportation fees.

Scouting for Moogles was far easier for him than it was most people, given that they simply couldn't hide from his eyes (Third or otherwise). After questioning a startled Moogle that had been trying to bum a swig of wine from an oblivious patron at the Carline Canopy, Joker made his way to a conspicuous spot — a tree stump by a waterfall near the central amphitheater.

There, slumped atop said stump, was a particularly decorated Postmoogle — in that he wore an adorable lopsided peaked cap with a badge pinned on it, alongside the signature overstuffed red satchel Joker was familiar with. The bag, filled to the brim with envelopes and packages, dragged on the ground as the exhausted critter barely managed to keep his head from bobbing with each breath.

Though he felt a little bad to bother him, Joker wasn't sure who else to turn to. He cleared his throat to announce his presence.

The Moogle hardly so much as glanced at him, the faintest flash of annoyance in his squinted eyes the only indication that he acknowledged his invisibility had failed to hide him from a dissatisfied customer.

"Are you the deputy Postmoogle?" Joker tried cautiously. It earned him a squeaking grunt of vague affirmation.

"Um, apparently your guys sent this to the wrong address? It was supposed to go to…" Joker squinted uselessly at the letters written on the envelope's front before deciding to just give the name he'd heard from Klynthota. "A Jandelaine, I think it was…?"

The deputy Postmoogle gave a great sigh, a paw on his furry forehead. He turned around slowly, "Look, it's a tumultuous time, and we're understaffed, kupo. I can't be expected to keep… track of… every…"

The Moogle trailed off as he took in Joker properly. His hand dropped and his squinted eyes somehow seemed agog. He gulped as Joker tilted his head.

"M… My Liege…!" The chief Postmoogle squeaked.

Joker looked over his shoulder. Turned back to the astonished critter, pointing a finger at himself quizzically.

"Y-yes, you! You're the one who absorbs Primals, right, kupo? Eats their aether right up like Kupo Nuts? They say you defeated Good King Moggle Mog the Twelfth, may he rest in gracious peace — and then you became one with him!"

"Oh," Joker nodded awkwardly as he felt the intensity of the fluffy creature's gaze in him, "Yeah, I guess I did do that."

"O-oh!" The deputy's pom wobbled. His frantic wings seemed to struggle to hold him as he desperately lifted himself off the stump and up to Joker's face, "A hundred, a thousand─ no, a hundred thousand apologies, my king! I am most profusely, profoundly sorry for the terrible inconvenience I have caused, kupo!"

Attitude now a complete 180 from before, he bowed his head frantically and nearly struck Joker's face with his swinging pom, "You have my word that we delivery Moogles shall redouble─ retriple, even!─ our efforts to ensure that no precious parcel or missive ever again goes astray, kupo. Behold, for I shall now perform for you the Moogle dance of inimitable integrity!"

The deputy attempted a little twirl in the air that was abruptly cut off when his wings seized up. He tipped sideways, hissing. "Kupow-ow-ow…!"

"I-it's good, it's fine!" Joker steadied the Moogle against his arm, wincing, "I think you need to dial it back a bit. A lot."

"O-of course, your highness…" He sucked in a pained breath, dropping a little lower. Joker helped bear the weight of the hefty satchel as he lowered the tuckered creature back to the stump.

"I apologize for my impertinence. T-things have been so hectic of late, and we've been running ourselves ragged, kupo. Doesn't help that those idiots of the Mooglesguard just made a tenfold more work for us— and got us into trouble with the Seedseers, kupo!" The Moogle stiffened suddenly, waving his paws, 'N-not that I would deliberately besmirch those of your most loyal servants, my Liege!"

"Doesn't offend me, I kicked their asses." Joker grinned, "So basically, what I'm hearing is you desperately need more hands."

"That would be ideal." The deputy sighed, "But we've got Moogles all across the realm putting in as many extensive epistolary hours as they can, kupo. Where else could we possibly get more—?"

And the Moogle trailed off as an idea lit up his fuzzy face. He whipped back around to stare at Joker with a speed that cracked his sore back.

"Ow! I mean, S-sir! That is, my lord, my king— you are a Hyur, but you are now also part Moogle, are you not?" He asked, paws curled into tiny fists.

And Joker blinked, "I mean… sort of?" He certainly sneezed like one when he had a cold, that was for sure.

"T-then could I possibly impose upon you for your assistance? Just for today! Just to get this staggering number of letters down to something more manageable, kupo. I'm certain you'll make a splendiferously fine postal Hyur-Moogle hybrid— t-that is if his most magnificent of esteemed royal sir would be so inclined…?"

The deputy trailed off, a hopefully gleam to his little peepers. Well, Joker supposed he didn't exactly have anything else planned today,

"Uh, I guess so…? Oh, but there is one thing…"

Joker was almost always willing to offer help when people needed it. But an idea was occurring to him, and he also knew when and how to leverage a bargain.

"In return for my help…" Joker added, eyes narrowing slyly, "There's something I want you to do for me."

The deputy shivered a little at the intensity of his tone. He gulped down a rising dread.

"S-sure." He breathed out, "Name your price, kupo. Your, um, most humble servant will endeavor to achieve your wishes to the best of his capacity."

Joker nodded seriously, "When I've finished my share of the work, what I want…" He leaned into the little triangle ear, voice growing low as he whispered, "Is to send a letter. Free of charge."

And the Moogle paused. He tilted his head.

"That's it?"

"That's it!"

"That's… a lot more pedestrian than I expected, kupo." The deputy frowned, confused, "Why that, specifically?"

"Because I have very little money and I don't know how much it'd cost to have it delivered — since I also have no clue where the person I want to send it to even is right now." Joker threw his hands up, "Literally no idea where to post it to! But if you owe me one, then it's all good, right? You guys have your resources."

The deputy nodded slowly, "We always do our best. Well, usually..."

"Oh and I also want a hat."

"I'm certain we can cobble together a fitting custom uniform." The deputy Postmoogle extended a proud nubby hand, "Having recognized you as an honorary and most noble Moogle of sorts, I hereby waive the stringent screening examination typically administered to those who would join our ranks. Welcome aboard, kupo!"

"You've got a deal." Joker grinned as he took the tiny paw between his fingers, "For just today, I am officially a Postmoogle."

How exactly Tataru had managed to acquire his exact measurements, Joker didn't know. There was only so much she could possibly glean from mending his coat, after all. But he didn't really care to ask lest the answer terrify him.

Regardless, it was with her delighted assistance and deft hand, plus the eager co-operation of a small flurry of Moogles, that Joker strolled boldly forth into the realm of Eorzea in the trappings of his new vital role as a postman. Adorned in a navy blue coat, firm white gloves, and a wonderfully fluffy jabot, he added the final touch —- the proud peaked cap upon his head that matched that of the deputy Postmoogle's, sans badge, of course.

He clipped his mask to his shoulder much like Thancred did his Aetherometer. Hefting the stuffed-near-to-burtsing signature red satchel across his soldiers, Joker turned to his new guiding Senpai in the world of mail delivery.

"Ooh, this is so exciting! I've never had an apprentice before, kupo!"

Kupipo happily fluttered between Joker's new blue coattails, his own carrier's bag strapped in place. Recognizing that Joker was a veritable babe in both the literal and metaphorical woods, the deputy had granted him an assistant to shadow him on his assignments for the day. And Kupipo, being the Moogle he was most familiar with — and one eager to earn a promotion by way of formally training an underling —- had been most excited to offer his aid.

"I have to warn you," Joker said, fingers playing at the brim of his cap, "I can't really read. Which might be an issue for a postal worker, I don't know."

"Not a problem, kupo, not a problem! We are already aware of your functional illiteracy and have made adjustments!" Kupipo placed a proud little paw on his fluffy chest, "I can read out the names and addresses and teach you the delivery routes, kupo!"

Surprisingly, they didn't linger in the Black Shroud. Kupipo instead decided their first destination for today should instead be across the sea.

"As your new superior," The Moogle declared proudly, waving one particular postmarked letter high in the air, "I firmly believe that these deliveries to Limsa Lominsa will serve as the best starting points for a novice!"

A sentiment that soon saw Joker strolling into the Drowning Wench, the home of the island nation's local adventuring guild, and also its most popular pub and inn. He gave a covert, knowing nod to I'tolwann the Miqo'te waitress — and informant to the Rogue's guild, when she wasn't waiting tables. She flashed the briefest of smiles his way before returning to busying herself with a wet rag and a particularly stubborn puddle of ale and vomit and maybe some blood.

"Well, well! If it ain't an ordinary Hyur of no particular repute, come to deliver us the mail."

Baderon was Momodi and Mother Miounne's La Noscean counterpart, facilitating jobs for novice adventurers in Limsa Lominsa. Standing at his usual post behind the main desk, he raised an eyebrow as he looked Joker up and down, "Not to disparage ye, lad, but what exactly happened to the usual ol' fluffy variety?"

"I'm here too!" Kupipo cheered, evidentially manifesting himself before the Hyur with pom wagging happily, "I'm training my new apprentice!"

Baderon smiled, "Ah, what a day for unusual sights! Don' often see one of ye lot in the flesh. Yer rather adorable, ain'tcha?"

"Indeed I am!" Kupipo trilled happily as the man scratched his fingers under the Moogle's chin, "Ohhh, how wonderful, kupo! If I wasn't so sure the deputy would flog me several times with a large harbor herring for it, I'd be visible on deliveries all the time."

Leaving the Moogle to bask in the attention, Joker drew the letter he had been told was addressed to this very tavern.

"Do you know a Tylswaen?" He asked, giving the name of the sender that Kupipo had shared with him.

And the proprietor scoffed loudly, withdrawing his hands from the Moogle's fur to toss them into the air, "Know 'im? Why, he's just the lousiest excuse for a sellsword that's haunted me for well over a decade now! And if I'm right, that right there," He added, pointedly nodding to the envelope in Joker's hand, "Is yet another colorful excuse for why said 'patron' won' be paying off 'is Auroch-sized tab for th' third reminder in a row."

Kupipo's hair frizzed with awe, "How did you know the contents of the letter before opening it?" He gasped, "Are you a mind-reader, mister Baderon sir?"

And Baderon snorted loudly, "I bloody well wish! I'd be a lot richer for it, if I was. Nah, I jus' know because our good man 'imself's right over there."

He jerked his thumb to the far end of the counter. There, perched upon a wobbling stool, was another Sea Wolf Roegadyn, sound asleep and snoring with his head against the desk and an empty mug dangling precariously from the limp fingers of his drooping arm.

"Y'know, mister mail carrier… If it's not too much trouble, ye'd be doing me quite the favor if ye'd give 'im a little wake-up call for me." Baderon said airily, eyes bright with concealed glee.

"Oh! Will you be needing water from the tap?" I'tolwann asked sweetly as she lifted an empty mug.

Joker smirked, "No thanks." He replied, raising a hand. A bubble of fresh water pooled from nothing in his palm as he drew upon Leviathan's power, "I've got my own."

And the Roegadyn shot upright, gasping and sputtering and spitting as cold tidal water was spontaneously dumped upon his head in the middle of a bar.

"W-whu—which— who—?" He gibbered, mouth puckered like a fish's. He rubbed water from his eyes, squinting at the blurred shape in his vision that was the bar's keeper.

"Oh, B-B-Baderon, me ol' mate!" Tylswaen stammered from a mixture of cold and surprise and sheer drunkenness, "Whashish abou'? Closin' time already?"

"It's not even noon ye lousy layabout!" Baderon called from the other end of the counter, a hand to his mouth, "No more 'xcuses! Pay up, ye old bastard! I know yer good for it."

The drunken man scoffed, "Ye've not changed a whit, Baderon. Shtill a thanklesh bloody bashtard!"

"Thankless? Me?! Says the insufferable sot who won't be content till 'e drinks 'is so-called best mate out of 'ouse and 'ome. Mark my words, Tylswaen: if ye conveniently forget to pay yer tab this time, I'll 'unt ye to the seventh 'ell!"

Baderon let out a long-suffering sigh as Tylswaen fumbled in his shirt pocket for a pouch of coins, squinting in confusion as he withdrew a knob of wood and some lint.

"This'll likely take a good while. Might as well see ye get on with yer job, man-whose-name-I-surely-don't know." Baderon winked at him, "Oh and if ye see ol' Slafyrsyn again then be sure t' let 'im know the barrel o' Blackbelly whiskey 'e ordered came in. Think 'e's of a mind to down the lot with th' legendary Warrior o' Light 'imself sometime, or so I hear."

Baderon winked at him, smirking. Joker gave a casual shrug.

"Sounds like an important guy who certainly wouldn't be out delivering mail right now."

Their next stop took them just outside the city proper to yet another alehouse— this one close by to the Grey Fleet mills.

Kupipo had withdrawn another envelope from the satchel, clearing his throat before reading out a name that Joker was surprised to have heard before. And not particularly enthused to hear again.

The creaking door of the low-class establishment swung upon awkwardly on rusted hinges. And Joker leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms as he recognized a certain obnoxiously boisterous laugh.

Kupipo hovered by Joker's head, slightly puzzled at the pause. Joker raised a hand to halt him before he could flitter his way inside, "I think I wanna hear this."

Seated at a dimly lit table, watched over by a very exhausted looking barkeep, was certainly an odd couple. A broad-chested millworker, slapping the back of a young Maelstrom private – both of whom were probably supposed to be working right now, or at least not imbibing drinks quite as tall as they were. The wide-eyed and slightly buzzed soldier was hanging tightly to both his mug and the thundering speaker's every word.

"Never let it be said that ol' Trachtoum ain't a generous soul." Chortled the familiar Roegadyn in a leather harness and leopard-print subligar, "Now prick up yer ears, 'cause I won't be repeatin' meself. Too modest, see? Besides, there's only so much epicness a man can take in one sittin', ye ken?"

The recruit nodded eagerly as the other man cleared his throat theatrically, "The tale of Trachtoum's epic victory over the dread primal Leviabeetus!"

Joker stifled a snort against his hand.

"Now, Leviabeetus's huge, make no mistake." Trachtoum waved his mug of ale as he carried on, "To give ye an idea how big, each of his scales is about as wide across as me member's long─ an' that's no mean feat, let me tell ye!"

"When I fought him, I could barely see fer all the brine he was peltin' me with. Must've been a lagoon's worth at least." The large man shook his head as he set down his drink, "He even knocked me trusty axe out of me hands at one stage…"

Oh, he did not just appropriate the loss of dear Gunblade-kun, the bastard…

"'Course, that proved to be a grave mistake, heh heh heh…"

"Wh-What happened next!?" The Storm private leaned in, breathless and flushed,

"Why, I grabbed him by the tail an' tied him up in knots!" Trachtoum thumped his chest triumphantly, standing up, "But not wantin' to take all the glory fer meself, I let me good mate the Warrior o' Light handle the rest. Like I said, I'm modest as well as heroic! Mayhap too modest…"

Joker cleared his throat loudly.

Trachtoum lifted his head. He looked at Joker. Then turned his head back to the young Maelstrom recruit. Then back at Joker.

And then he squealed.

"It… it's you!"

"It's me." Joker said chipperly, "Hi, mate."

And the Storm Private jumped in alarm as the large Roegadyn suddenly threw himself from his stool, bowing in a contrite heap at both their feet.

"I'm sorry!" Trachtoum wailed as his head struck the floor, "I didn't mean it! I was just enjoyin' the attention, is all! I take back everythin' I said!"

Several eyes across the pub turned their way as the drunken man howled a stream of personal confessions into the wooden boards, "I was never part of the Company o' Heroes! I'm no marauder! I'm actually a complete coward! I'm nothin'! I'm chocobo dung! No, I'm the maggots ye find wrigglin' in chocobo dung! I have to lie to women to tumble 'em, an' that don't happen much! Me member's tiny, it's pathetic!"

Not the first time he'd brought a man apologetically to his knees, confessing all his sins. Kind of nostalgic.

"Thank you very much for your honesty." Joker said tonelessly, shoving the letter under the man's sniveling nose as the Storm soldier scoffed in disgust, returning to his drink.

Trachtoum sniffled loudly. He swiped at his nose with the back of his hand, "W-wha's this?"

"A letter." He shrugged, "For you." He wasn't particularly interested in affecting a cheerfully Moogly attitude for this guy.

Trachtoum took it in a shaking hand. Tore the envelope open, tear-reddened eyes scanning the page.

"Oh." He turned the parchment around. Joker couldn't read much of it, but it seemed official and terse and stamped with red ink, "'S from the mills. I've been fired. Again."

"Ah." Joker readjusted his bag, "Well. Bye then."

The sad man let out a whimper as Joker pushed his way back through the tavern door without another word. His lips curled a little. Ah, sweet schadenfreude…

The postal pair were met with a pleasantly gentle sea breeze as their next delivery took them to the gilded shores of Costa del Sol. Less pleasant, however, was the sight of the lounging Lalafellin owner, slouched upon his usual deckhair in an open silk shirt as he was attended to by an entourage of beautiful Miqo'te women in outfits that could be mistaken for undergarments.

"Titan's Bane, a messenger boy?!" Gegeruju gasped as he recognized him, "Is the adventuring life truly so unprofitable these days?"

"You'd be surprised." Joker shrugged, handing over the small man's delivery, "This should be yours."

And Gegeruji brightened, "Ah, at last— a reply from none other than the esteemed Master Guillaunaux, whom I have enlisted to train my next generation of dancers! A great honor I bestow upon him, yes?"

He cleared his throat as he flipped open the parchment.

"Master Gegeruju, " He read aloud, "'While you present a compelling offer, I would rather live out my days in the Navel than spend even a moment instructing empty-headed, ample-bosomed strumpets with as much passion and aptitude for dance as a pack of three-legged shrews'... "

The Lalafell's tone slowly dropped with each word until he was simply staring mournfully at the paper. And then he waved a hand.

"Well, it seems the poor, misguided fellow values the integrity of his art above coin." He said airily, as if describing a character flaw, "Oh but what's this? — 'That said, I know of another whose particular school of dance─ though somewhat experimental─ may suit your purposes well'..."

"Ooh," Gegeruji crooned as his eyes swiftly scanned the rest of the letter, "Apparently this up-and-coming artiste is called Bugaal Ja. A Mamool Ja all the way from the New World, no less! How intriguing!"

He crumpled the letter and tossed it aside carelessly, grinning.

"Our guest should be here any moment! Come, Titan's Bane! Enjoy the show! Consider it a tip from yours truly for all your services rendered."

Well, it certainly made for a nice break from all the walking he was doing today. Joker sipped gratefully at a cold drink, enjoying the shade of the terrace from the beating sun — while Kupipo immersed himself in the pleasures of being petted and cooed at by several adoring women.

"Ah, here he comes now! Gather round everyone, gather round!"

Gegeruju waved a hand to call Joker and his dancers over, as one of his assistants led a striking Mamool Ja to the edge of the boardwalk overlooking the sea. Bugaal Ja looked much like the one Joker had seen in the depths of the Wanderer's Palace—Though unlike the one he had fought before, this one did not have two heads. He was tall and lanky, with two-toed digitigrade legs holding up wide hips. He bore decorative golden ornaments that jangled as he walked, each step swaying the billowing cloth folded over his front.

He came to a pause before his new prospective employer, dipping his singular head into a bow.

"Master Gegeruju, yes?" The beastman spoke reverently, "I am delighted for this chance. Other smoothskins shun Mamool Ja tradition, but you welcome us with arms open. Bugaal Ja will not forget this kindness. If my demonstration so pleases you, Bugaal Ja promises— will be greatest dancing master Costa del Sol ever knew."

And Gegeruju adjusted himself in his chair, leaning forward eagerly.

"Of course, of course! Under my guidance, I intend for Costa del Sol to become the forefront of an artistic revolution! I can see the tourists flocking in, hear the clinking of their ample coinpurses…" He cleared his throat before he could drift off too far into opulent fantasy, "Please— demonstrate for us your acclaimed skills!"

Bugaal Ja nodded eagerly, hands upon his hips, "Traditional Mamool Ja bathing dance is dance of pleasure, dance of life-giving! Every lift of leg, every sway of hips is sacred. When you dance Mamool Ja bathing dance, you must summon vitality from the very depths of your soul."

Gegeruju beamed, "Did you hear that, girls? I'm paying good coin for this─ don't be shy, come closer and learn from a master!"

The Lalafell waved an eager hand at his small troupe's worth of Miqo'te dancers, who crept forward with cautious curiosity.

There was a beat of anticipatory silence. Then, with a dramatic flourish, did the Mamool Ja throw his hands wide, tossing aside his loincloth.

Joker casually reached his hands out and covered Kupipo's eyes. The little Moogle protested with squeaks and wiggles as he kept his fingers firmly interlocked.

And wearing nothing but the considerable gifts the gods gave him, Bugaal Ja began his dance.

And oh. Oh, that was… Hm.

Well, it was certainly impressive! A most excellent display of testicular torsion.

Joker kept his face entirely neutral. The same could not be said for the other dancers, however. Several of them shrieked in fright. There was a flurry of pricked ears and frizzed tails. More than a couple up and ran away.

At least Gegeruju seemed impressed. He clapped his little hands together, cackling with delight.

"Brilliant!" He crowed, "Utterly brilliant! Now this is a dance to delight even the most mature and discerning of─ hm?"

The Lalafell glanced over his slight shoulder, baffled at how much emptier the platform by the sea had suddenly become.

"Now where did everyone run off to?"

"Alright…" Joker gasped as he leaned against a wall, having ascended and descended the stairs and ramps connecting the Upper and Lower Decks of Lominsa at least seven times in rapid succession, "Where to next?"

Kupipo dove headfirst into Joker's sagging satchel, protruding legs kicking as he sorted through the missives, "Let's see… One, two, five, nine… Oh, it seems all of these ones are to the same person, kupo — And he has the same address as you, mister Joker!"

Joker took one of the offered letters into his hand. Eyed the cursive on the front of an envelope adorned with paper frills, squinting to make out the shape of letters between the elaborate loops. He smirked as he began to slowly discern the recipient's name — Ah, now this sequence of characters he recognized.

Joker soon strode confidently through the Rising Stones, having once again disentangled himself from the excitedly grabby hands of Yozan and the other Doman children that had accosted him as soon as he'd crossed the threshold in his crisp new getup — an act that had required he forefeight some honeyed candies he'd been intending to stow aside for later, but at least the kids were happy and distracted. He made his way to the table where Thancred and Y'shtola were enjoying their respective beverages, the latter barely glancing up from the extremely fine print of the thick tome in her hands.

"Delivery, kupo!" Joker trilled cheerfully, hefting the red satchel across his chest. Kupipo trailed behind him.

Thancred looked up from his coffee, studying Joker up and down with a bemused raised eyebrow.

"Well now! Quite a sharp look. Love the hat. It rather suits you, friend." Thancred grinned, "But may I ask why you're dressed like a common Postmoogle?"

"Because for today I am one, kupo." Joker replied, hands proudly upon his hips, "Long story. But that's besides the point — Ta-da, kupo!"

And with an extremely accurate imitation of a Moogle's signature cry (Courtesy of the power of Moggle Mog, of course) did he upend his bag, dumping an assortment of sealed papers directly into Thancred's lap. They fell like water from an overturned jug, a couple tumbling to the floor.

"Thirteen individual deliveries for Thancred Waters." Said Joker, a sly smirk on his lips. Kupipo hovered above his shoulder, nodding approvingly.

Thancred blinked down at the heap of envelopes, several of them packaged in pink or frilled edges or else adorned with hearts. He squirmed awkwardly, trying not to spill any of his coffee on them as he set the mug aside— a lightly customized Leblanc special, brewed up just this morning by Ren and F'lahminn, which had swiftly become the Rising Stones' new drink of choice.

Y'shtola clucked her tongue as she tapped a fingernail against her own steaming mug.

"I see your various paramours are presenting a united front in vying for your affection." The Miqo'te muttered dryly, "And to think we've already long passed Valentione's Day."

"Yes. Well. Ahem." Thancred cleared his throat, awkwardly scooping up the fallen envelopes from the floor until he'd amassed them all into a pile on the desk, "Thank you, Ren. And… Kupipo, was it? I'll be sure to look these over in due time."

"Excellent, kupo!" Joker nodded, looping the strap of the satchel back over his shoulder, "We thank you most ardently for your continued support of your local Postmoogle services, kupo! Please contact the nearest branch via one of our many fine representatives if you have any issues, kupo — and do consider leaving a tip."

"Uh, indeed. But I must ask…" Thancred added cautiously, studying Joker again as the trickster preened triumphantly, Kupipo flittering in joyful circles around his head, "Precisely what has compelled you to undertake this newest temporary vocation? And with such… full-throttled enthusiasm?"

"Why that's simple, kupo," Joker grinned sharply, fingers playing at the brim of his cap, "I've been wholly indoctrinated, kupo!"

And with that did he call the Good King Moggle Mog himself to the forefront of his being, his mask blazing blue, "I am now one with the Moogles, kupo!" He declared, a small crown appearing atop his mailman's cap, glowing pom perched on a wobbling antennae included. He spread his arms wide, a chorus of fluffy dandelion puffs manifesting behind him in a burst of gentle pinks and whites, "And together we shall wreak a beautiful, pom-filled vengeance upon mankind for their hubris, kupo!"

"And what hubris would that be?" Hummed Y'shtola, uncowed. She kept her eyes on the page before her, casually swiping away a puff of pollen that had settled atop it.

"The lack of respect, for one thing, kupo!" He cried as Kupipo nodded vigorously behind him in agreement, "Do you know how hard these poor guys work, day and night, kupo? It's outrageous, kupo! There must be justice, kupo! Revolution!"

Thancred and Y'shtola looked at each other.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say he'd finally been tempered."

"I think this is his way of having fun."

"I do suppose he's earned it, after everything." Said Thancred, shrugging.

Pointedly ignoring them, Joker continued on, his arms raised to the ceiling as a dramatically swelling trumpet sounded from nowhere to accompany his grand speech, "Our vengeance shall come in the form of swift and efficient postal services! Mankind will tremble at our same-day delivery options!"

Thancred smiled pleasantly, "You forgot a 'kupo' at the end that time."

The trumpet came to an abrupt tootling halt. The crown vanished in a puff of smoke. Joker jabbed a finger at Thancred's chest, "Piss off, kupo." He growled in proper Common. It was always helpful to memorize the expletives first, "My point is — I've got twenty more stops after this."

"Twenty-two, actually!" Kupipo interjected.

"Twenty-two. So if you'll excuse me– off I go, kupo!"

And with another perfect Moogle mimicry, he tipped his hat, turning and marched out the door. Kupipo followed after him with a hearty hurrah.

And when the door had closed soundly behind him, Thancred and Y'shtola exchanged another glance.

"A welcome distraction for him, I should hope. At least I shall be glad to see him return for the day not covered in blood for once." Thancred quipped cheerfully.

"And I shall be glad to see you remove these saccharine proclamations from my face. 'My alluring honeysuckle'...?'"

"I'd thank you to not try to read others' private correspondence, Y'shtola."

"Well now!" Momodi raised an eyebrow as soon as she spotted Joker and Kupipo approaching the Quicksand's back desk, a few gazes following them, "Look at you and your little friend! What are you two up to?"

It would seem the eager Moogle had been hoping for more adoring chin scratches by revealing himself preemptively. He wiggled his fluffy little body in a most adorable manner, now uncowed by prior threats of fish-related beatings.

"I'm a Postmoogle today." Joker grinned at the Lalafell as she stood up on her tiptoes to see him better, "Kupipo here's my senpai."

Momodi shook her head, smirking, "Postmoogle… why, next thing I know you'll be sproutin' a pom–pom and endin' every other utterance with kupo!"

"Heh. Yeah. Imagine that." Joker said, crossing his fingers behind his back.

"You get the strangest ideas in your head, don't you, Joker?" Momodi huffed out a laugh, "We didn't have the time to properly catch up before, did we? I assume you've been keepin' well, given I haven't heard any more tell of you fainting into a muscular pair of arms lately. Either that, or you've finally learned more effective ways of courtin' a man's interest."

Joker groaned, tipping his cap back enough to press his palm against his forehead, "Are you still on about that?"

"Well yes, unless you've got any fresh material for me!" The Lalafell's smirk grew as her eyes twinkled with mischief, "I do so enjoy hearin' my darlin' adventurers muse on the manhoods of their many acquaintances from time to time."

And Joker put a thoughtful finger to his chin, "Actually, there was this one Mamool Ja…"

Momodi raised an eyebrow. After a long moment of silence, she gave a shrug, "Well, I ain't one to judge. Except I am. How big are we talkin'?"

"Let's just say it landed him a job at Costa del Sol."

Momodi whistled.

And Kupipo let out an angry noise like a trodden-on cat, "The letters, mister Joker! The letters!"

"Oh. Right."

He reached into his satchel, retrieving a small stack of letters. Not unlike the last bundle he had delivered, these ones also seemed adorned with romantic decorations.

Momodi's face fell into a disgruntled frown as Joker placed them upon the desk.

"Ugh. He's still at this?!"

Joker slapped a hand on his satchel, "You know, I'm starting to think it's all these out-of-season love letters that are clogging the system more than anything."

Momodi's eyelid twitched as she pointed a pudgy finger. Joker turned to see a tuft of blonde-hair vanishing behind the front door as the man in question swiftly ducked his head behind it.

"He just doesn't understand no matter how many times I try to get it through that thick skull of his. I am undeniably, undoubtedly uninterested! Even if the airheaded fop was somehow my type, I've devoted my life to supportin' adventurers' dreams. Folks like you, who are too busy fightin' for our realm for me to waste my bloody time."

Joker raised an eyebrow. Seems he had another patron causing trouble. And he knew something about customer service.

"Want me to scare him straight?" Joker let water trail between his fingers again, tracing swirling patterns in the air, "It worked at Baderon's."

Momodi snorted, "Was it that drunken lout from his sellsword days again? Poor bugger. But ah, no need to get your hands dirty— or wet, rather. I'll let him down m'self. Or drown him. Whichever comes first."

She snickered as she said it, but Joker couldn't help but notice the way her fingers ghosted at her signature golden hairpiece.

Kupipo rather conspicuously insisted that they could spare some time to put their feet up as Papasu took to fussing over him, her fingers rubbing at his doughy cheeks. Regardless of his supervisor's true motives, Joker enjoyed the second little respite of the day, eagerly sipping at an ice tea that the kind-hearted waitress had placed in front of him.

At her insistence, he spent a good half an hour catching Momodi up on some of his latest adventures. She gasped in horror as he described exactly how he acquired the trick he'd demonstrated earlier, snaking water through the air from his fingertip into a dripping imitation of Leviathan's body. A mimic that closed its slipshod 'U' for a mouth on a much smaller droplet as Joker cheerfully narrated how the Primal had tried to crush his ribs.

"You nearly got ate?!"

"Only nearly!" He protested, snapping his fingers and dispersing the conjured faux-serpent, "It was only a couple days ago and I'm already more or less all healed up, see?"

The proprietress shook her head as she rested it in a hand.

"You're going to be the death of me, I swear."

"—And thank you very much for the crumpets!"

Kupipo waved one of Papasu's treats in the air when the time came to bid the two motherly Lalafell farewell, fluttering out the door ahead of him. Joker also gave his thanks as he pushed out his stool.

He felt something catch at his new uniform as he stood up to leave. Momodi, leaning over the counter and grabbing onto the hem of his coat. He turned, raising an eyebrow.

Momodi looked up at him, face oddly pensive.

"Listen, 'fore you go… It's probably a form of impiety to ask of a fool callin' himself 'Joker', but if we could put the jocularity aside for a mo'…"

She slowly let go of him, dropping her hand back down. Took in a breath, "...When I took you in all those months ago, I never thought… I mean, I could tell you were a great kid, and the kind to go throwin' himself into trouble for others and all. I mentor new adventurers, so I see that a lot, and I get it. But the sort of stuff you're doin' now— this mail gig here notwithstanding. It's…"

She bit at her lip. Let out a resigned sigh, "Just… be careful, alright? I mean it."

And Joker gave her a soft smile. He crossed to the other side of the counter, bending down far enough to let the tiny woman squeeze her arms around his torso.

"Bah! Gettin' extra sentimental these days." Momodi chuckled into his coat, the laugh sounding a little wet. She shook her head as she pulled away, "Never had kids of my own, as you can maybe tell from all the ceaseless courtin' my beautiful self gets. Guess the buried maternal instincts just got redirected elsewhere. Damnable hormones."

And as Joker at last followed Kupipo out the Quicksand's doors, he heard her call after him.

"Remember that you're always welcome back here, Joker! I'll have a bed and a coffee waiting for you, if you need it."

Joker had at last found the original recipient of the letter Klythnota had received — in a Gridanian jail cell.

"You must believe me, those crude implements I received in the mail are not mine!"

"Says the man who had a good dozen blades already on his person."

Joker hated prisons. For a good many reasons. And he was quite eager to correct the mistake and be off. But as it was possible the man on the other side of the bars had received a package intended for himself in the mail mixup mishap, he had no choice but to confront him in person.

The client was a flamboyantly dressed Elezen, adorned in bright pinks and yellows and lilacs, with loudly dyed hair to match and a face coated in heavy layers of make up. The effect kind of served to make him look a bit like a clown. An impression not helped by the fact that at the moment, skulking in the dark corner of his cell, he was the absolute picture of misery, lipstick-coated mouth turned down in a wobbling frown.

A Wood Wailer stood by the cell, keeping a stern eye on the two of them with an increasingly irritated posture.

"Those are my aesthetician's tools you unbred half-wit!" The imprisoned Elezen hissed with contempt, "And though they may be deliciously sharp so as to properly shear the foul from the sublime, they are not weapons!"

"Save it for the Adders." The guard snorted, crossing his arms.

And the Elezen threw himself at the bars, gripping them tight, "Y-you there, frumpy delivery boy!" He called out desperately, "You must recognize me, surely! I am Jandelaine, crafter of coiffures so divine that Menphina Herself doth begrudge my clientele their beauty!"

Well, that did indeed match the name on the envelope. But still…

"Does this guy ever shut up?" The Wood Wailer muttered to himself.

"I can hear you, you indolent lout!"

Joker put a hand to his chin, "Well, I can't say I've ever heard of you." Neither had Klynthota, apparently. Jandelaine looked deeply, visibly affronted, painted lip drooping further with disbelief, "But I do have your mail, I think."

He retrieved the envelope, flashing the looping letters of the written name.

"Yes! Yes, that is indeed mine! Open it for yourself, you'll see that I am innocent!"

The Wood Wailer gave a terse half-nod as Joker looked at him. He tore the end, revealing two sets of protruding metal teeth, fixed with polished wooden handles.

"There, see?! Combs! I was awaiting an order of new steel combs— And instead I received these!"

His arm jutted through the bars, pointing with stiff indignation at the open package upon a table by the cell, apparently seized as evidence. Its contents spewed from a rough tear, revealing a bundle of small knives.

Joker tilted his head, awkwardly mentally matching the partially-ripped up characters scrawled on the front. His codename.

"Oh! Those are the extra throwing knives Minnie ordered me." Hey, he needed more ranged weapons with poor Gunblade-kun now lost at sea. And it was either that or learn how to use a bow and arrow and…

Well actually, he was already in Gridania…

Ah, but not right now. Even if it was a far more appealing prospect than remaining in this grim place.

The Wood Wailer raised an eyebrow.

"What does a mailman need with so many knives?"

"It's a dangerous job. Trust me."

Even under the thick layers of concealer, he could see Jandelaine's face grow red with rage.

"Then this is your fault! Gridanian customs seized your brutish delivery and had me detained for it!" He placed a gloved hand dramatically to his chest, breathing heavily.

"They questioned me— and when I foolishly thought they had the good sense to understand what I meant when I told them that I did indeed deal in blades, they threw me in this detestable pit! I meant the tools of my trade! Tools of beauty! Not these beastly devices of bodily harm!"

The man threw himself aside as though physically pained, flopping down hard on the thin bed in the cell's corner, an arm slung over his eyes. And then he stiffened. He rose suddenly from the shabby blankets with a disgusted frown, pinching them between his thumb and forefinger.

"Oh dear! W-we're ever so sorry for the mistake!" Kupipo called, making himself known and wiggling his little whiskers in an adorable manner that he evidently hoped would disarm the enraged man with cuteness, "The Postmoogle services take full responsibility for the error, kupo!"

"I care not for whose error it is!" Jandelaine hissed, taking several steps back from the bed. He seemed to briefly consider throwing himself against the moss-coated wall before he thought better of it, returning to the bars by the door, "I simply wish to leave this appalling place at once!"

Thankfully, between Joker and Kupipo they were able to straighten out the misunderstanding. The Wood Wailer eagerly pulled out the key to the cell, utterly delighted to have the eccentric aesthetician out of his hair.

And Jandelaine at last found himself standing outside, his arms stretched wide and his head pulled back as he took in a very deep– and very melodramatic– breath of fresh air. He turned to Joker, eyes narrowing.

"I suppose I should thank you for your assistance, my disheveled friend, even if my predicament was partially your fault to begin with. Shall I perhaps repay you with a free beautification service?"

And in a flash, the gaudy Elezen had produced a pair of scissors in one hand a startling sharp comb in the other, wielded akimbo like a rogue would a pair of daggers. They glinted wickedly by the light of a nearby lantern. And was this guy certain his tools weren't actually covert weapons?

"I see your hesitance and I assure you, my uncultured fellow, that I am a verifiable master of my craft! It would take but the briefest moment to transform you from a fashion-challenged frump into a beauty reborn!"

Joker took a step back, shaking his head.

"Come now! At least allow me to straighten that shaggy crow's nest upon your head that you blasphemously call hair!"

Joker took back whatever he had said before about needing a haircut.

"I'm good, thanks."

He swiftly took his leave, busying himself with rummaging through his satchel for the next letter.

Eorzean barbers were weird, man.

"But I don't want to go back to Coerthas…" Joker whined childishly, dragging his feet through the thickening layers of frost.

"One must also brave the sleet and snow in their duties! Have pride, kupo!"

The two had worked their way through the upper edges of the North Shroud and into the Coerthas lowlands, the sun beginning to sink behind the spiraling mountains ahead. They were on the trail of a rather odd letter that came with instructions for the poor sap that had to trudge through the snow to deliver it— which meant Joker, of course. There could be no doubt as to why the deputy Postmoogle had foisted this particular job upon him.

Their next letter was for someone with the peculiar name of Rozol Cattlan. Well, just about all Eorzean names were odd to him, but Joker had never seen one quite like this before.

Kupipo nodded at him as they came upon a particularly conspicuous snow-capped boulder, scratched with some kind of crude mark, as if by claws. Joker folded his arms as he waited, shivering against the cold winds.

This delivery came with a set of Instructions as read out to him by an equally puzzled Kupipo: To wait at this spot, at this time, and to speak a phrase aloud upon delivery to the recipient.

After waiting for some time, Joker growing increasingly impatient as the low temperature chipped away at his mood, he heard the crunch of a footstep.

And Joker looked up to see brightly-colored plumage and a beak opened wide with shock— Seems their mystery client was an Ixal, of all people.

Kupipo squeaked in alarm as the Ixal suddenly lunged forward, beak open in a snarl. Joker smoothly raised his empty hands as the tip of a spear pressed against his neck.

"Come no closer, unless dead you wish to be!" The bird-like man hissed, his beaked mouth clacking.

Joker met his gaze evenly. He cleared his throat.

"Hey. I'm supposed to tell you that I'm 'With the Wind'." He said calmly.

The Ixal blinked. Slowly lowered the head of his weapon to the snow. Kupipo sighed with relief, little wings wilting as he sagged.

"A featherless neuker, the knotcounter sent…?" The Ixal spoke, shaking his head, "Desperate times, these are, even for mighty Nine!"

He punctuated his point with a squawking scoff, striking the flat end of his spear into the snow.

"Of the Ehcatl, we are! Enemies of the featherless ones' champion, we wish not to be!" Razol Cattlan drew himself up, "Since here you are, instead of the feckless pomed ones, then our missive you must attend to!"

Joker spared a questioning glance at his presumably (and very unhelpfully) invisible Moogle companion, raising an eyebrow. So the Postmoogles had some sort of deal with a rogue band of Ixals, huh?

He had no problem with it in principle, but it probably paid to be cautious all the same.

"What did you need?"

"For you to know, the details are not!" Rozol Cattlan snapped, taloned fingers tight on his spear, "Made a deal with a neuker to acquire an item, we have. Proper equipment, one must have. Yet in the hands of the slothful, it does rest. At the 'Observatorium', watched over by featherless one such as you. Templeton─ a man most corrupt. A man most indolent."

The Ixal punctuated his angry explanation with several loud squawks. Joker nodded as he mulled over his words.

"And you need someone inconspicuous to go pick your delivery up on your behalf, is that it?"

"Yes, yes!" Rozol Cattlan crowed, "And quickly, you should care to act! Lest change my mind I might, and spill your organs upon the snow I will!"

Another threat of disembowelment. Joker yawned.

"Sure, sure." He said, shifting his bag, "I know the place. Wait right here."

To his regret, this next task involved returning to the camp that encircled the Coerthan Observatorium. Joker gave a tight nod to the guard he had antagonized last time, perhaps feeling a little guilty– but not enough to apologize.

He and Kupipo found their man huddled by a fire in a dusty workshop that resembled a disused storage shed.

"So cold… so cold…" Whimpered the Hyur allegedly named Templeton, "So bloody godsdamned cold! Oh, I apologize for that unsightly outburst." He added, adjusting the goggles upon his face as he belatedly realized he had guests, "It's just that I have been condemned to a life of shriveled buttocks in the north whilst my colleagues of the Highwind Skyways gleefully gallivant in warmer climes — and did I mention the cold?"

"Repeatedly." Joker deadpanned, now painfully extra aware of the chill settling upon his own posterior. He watched as Kupipo fluttered to the fire, plonking his fluffy little bottom upon one of the chairs. Templeton also tracked the Moogle's motion, seeming largely unconcerned at the sight, "I'm here to pick up a delivery for Rozol Cattlan."

The man straightened himself, growing sly, "Ah, yes, the birdman that placed an order for an airship gyroscope. Can do, of course. I've skimmed my share of components from my work in my time. But—" He added, tapping at a piece of parchment left haphazardly discarded upon a nearby table with a finger.

"See, there's an issue here. I need this document of mine signed by the chief Astrologian. A timetable."

And he casually pushed the paper towards Joker. Joker was silent while Templeton continued to stare at him completely evenly, the document still held out before him. Joker snatched it up with an irritated huff.

"And why is that part my responsibility, exactly?"

"Why, here poor Templeton is risking his career for these shady dealings and asking for but one thing in return— that thing being a pair of healthy delivery boy legs to carry this important timetable up an ungodly amount of stairs. Though, I suppose a pair would be two things... Pah! Semantics!"

Joker raised an eyebrow at his alleged supervisor as he made no move to budge, cuddled closely to the hearth's warmth with a look of bliss.

"You coming?"

And Kupipo shrugged his tiny shoulders at him, "Consider it part of your training? I'll stay right here and, um, make sure this shady character isn't up to anything, yes!"

"A fine idea, my furred fellow!" Templeton agreed, throwing himself down into the other chair and putting his feet up.

…Which had left Joker to trudge through the snow alone, slowly hauling himself up a good 12 yalms of winding stairs as he ascended the main Observatorium tower

Luckily, when he at last reached the chamber at the top, panting and freezing, he didn't think chief Forlemort recognized him. Which was great because the last thing Joker wanted right now was another prolonged conversation with the haughty man. He pressed the parchment at the astrologian, visible bags under his eyes.

Forlemort started with wide eyes at the sight of the bedraggled deliveryman that had appeared before him, before recovering, "Ah, the timetable I requested. I was beginning to wonder when that do-nothing dullard from the Skyways would bring it to me. And why does it not surprise me that he found someone to see to the task for him?"

"Signature please." Joker muttered.

Forlemort looked aghast, "You say he wants my signature as proof of your delivery? Absolutely not! Who knows what he will use it for?"

Joker merely stared at him with dead eyes, the timetable still in hand. The chief astrologian sighed.

"Not leaving, are you? Very well, then. I shall sign… but with my off hand. And only my initials! Now away with you!"

Which had left Joker to haul himself down a good 12 yalms of winding stairs. At least down was easier than up.

"Mister Joker's back! Hello!" Called Kupipo cheerfully from where he sat by the fire, his toasty little toe beans propped up against a cushion. Both he and Templeton had thick blankets wrapped around their shoulders (or most of Kupipo's body, in his case) and seemed to be quite cozy when Joker had finally shoved the half-frozen door open, teeth chattering.

Templeton's mouth hung open with smiling incredulity, "Gods! You didn't actually walk up all those stairs, did you? …You did, didn't you?!"

He put a hand to his face, laughing heartily. Joker's clothes steamed as he marched over to him, trying so very hard not to scrunch the signed parchment in his hand as he shoved it into the indolent man's chest.

"Well, at least the walk would've warmed you up! Now, for the sake of our mutual feathered acquaintance, it's best you be off with your item before my supervisors arrive. If not, I shall be made to claim you forced me to co-operate with the ambiguously heretical ambitions of the local beastmen by threatening to… er… cut my finger on this parchment and slowly bleed me to death."

Templeton waved the paper in the air, punctuating his words with pointed and slightly awkward winking. Then added a verbal "Wink, wink" aloud for good measure.

Too tired to give a response, Joker merely nodded before trudging back into the snow, dragging the protesting Kupipo with him by the pom.

"And remember: if the Ehcatl Nine ever want to grease my palms again, I'll be right here, practicing my hand at these initials…"

"The last stop's just at the top of this hill! Don't give up now!"

Cold, blustering wind stung at his face as they slowly wound their way to snow-capped peaks. Joker bent over, panting as he steadied himself against his own knees, "Easy for you to say— You didn't walk up all those stairs!" He whined, sounding a bit like Templeton himself. "Also you bastards can fly while I have to climb these mountains with my 'healthy delivery boy legs'. Also- also, you're covered in fur and I'm freezing my—"

The rest of his words were swallowed by a great roar. An animal howl that carried to them from the distance, shaking the mountain slope with wild fury.

Joker and Kupipo froze. Their stomachs dropped at the sound of heavy, pounding paws drawing closer with each earth-trembling step.

Bounding at them from just beyond the mountain's peak was a monstrous creature — a hulking beast whose every attribute all but screamed 'apex predator'.

A mane of dark hair trailed down an arched back, ending in at a tail so thick Joker was sure it could shatter bone with a mere swipe. Multiple pairs of thick, magnificent horns curling high into wickedly sharp edges that were surely primed for goreing. They framed a snarling wolf snout that furrowed with aggression, glowing eyes narrowing as it drew closer. Its four powerful legs launched it down the slope in a few mere bounds, crossing the distance between them and it in practically no time.

And this close, it became clear the thing was big. Big and heavy and covered neck to razor claw in bulging muscles that rippled with each slow, predatory step as it began to creep forward. It pressed its snout into his face, a low rumble in the depths of its throat. Joker could feel the musty heat of its breath coming in low, eager pants between yellowed fangs. A string of saliva fell from a salivating tongue and onto the front of his jacket.

Both he and Kupipo were rooted to the spot, staring in terrified awe at a creature that fired every primal neuron of their respective brains with flashing red alarms. Kupipo's frizzed fur was stiff as needles from fear and cold both. Wings vibrating like a humming bird's, he inched his way unsteadily to Joker's side. Little furred fingers curled around the fabric of Joker's coat.

"B-b-behemoth…!" The Moogle squeaked quietly, tugging hard, "W-w-w-what do we do, kupo?!"

Dark, twisted claws scraped at the ground on either side of them as the Behemoth flexed its toes in anticipation. Joker gulped, "I think we should…"

And the beast's maw opened into a gaping chasm before him, revealing saber-shaped incisors fit to crunch a man's skull.

"—Run!"

Joker roughly yanked Kupipo by the scruff, dragging the flailing critter along with him as he booked it.

He felt a shockwave ripple through the air behind him as the glinting fangs gnashed down on where they had just been, gouging a deep furrow in the earth. The beast pulled its head back, snarling.

Outraged at their impertinence in refusing to submit their flesh as its sustenance, the Behemoth gave chase, each step quaking the earth beneath their feet and sending snow tumbling after them.

"Kupopopo! We're going to diiiie!"

Joker took in a breath. The mask clipped at his shoulder burned bright.

Garuda's wings erupted from his back, a sudden conjured tailwind carrying them forward in a burst of speed. The Behemoth roared. It lunged out an arm, swiping with dark claws that cut through the air. They barely managed to snag at the edges of his wings as he desperately tried to weave away, shearing into the aetherial limbs and rending a deep puncture.

Joker let out a pained gasp, feeling the phantom injury as his own. Garuda's stolen wings flapped feebly against the snow as Joker awkwardly tumbled down the hill with Kupipo held against his chest.

They rolled together in a dizzying rush of white. Eventually Joker slid to a halt with the wailing Moogle pressed tight in his hold. The conjured wings fell away to drifting green feathers as he shook snow out of his face.

From up above, the Behemoth threw its head back. A roar shook the heavens. Aether laced the sky in bright arcs, calling down streaks of fire.

Oh, look! It even had ranged attacks! Joker groaned as he struggled to push himself out of the snow. Godsdamned fucking meteors chased through the sky after them as he stumbled away, trailing angry flaming tails. As if Bahamut hadn't been enough!

He grabbed extra tight to a screaming Kupipo as he threw himself aside, rolling out of the way of the striking comets as they left booming impact craters in the mountain side. He staggered back to his feet, a hand pressing down on his postal cap to keep it in place.

"This is deliberate!" Joker cried, a frantically flailing Moogle again tucked under his arm as he once more hurled himself down the mountainside, "Those aren't natural evolutionary traits. Some cruel idiot designed this thing on purpose!"

A bolt of lightning followed next. Too swift for him to counter it, Joker ensured his back completely covered Kupipo as it struck him. He gasped as a burst of stinging pain rippled through his nerves.

How unfair. Only he should be allowed to have so many tricks…

Kupipo squealed, paws grabbing hold of Joker's jabot and nearly choking him as he tipped forwards. His feet slid in the snow as he struggled to find his footing around spasming muscles.

Then there was a snap. He felt something across his shoulder give way. His eyes widened as he turned, watching the mail bag fly out behind him, the frayed strap having been shorn in two. It landed among the snow, like a bright red beacon.

"No!"

Joker skidded to a halt, gently dropping Kupipo onto the ground. The Moogle gasped in horror as Joker twisted on his heel, throwing himself back towards the Behemoth as it lumbered down the hill after them.

The beast came to a confused halt, gouging furrows in the snow. It bent low, nostrils flaring as it sniffed experimentally at the bag.

It opened its mouth.

Kupipo screamed at Joker as he lunged forward, throwing out a hand.

"No, no don't! It's too dangerous!"

And Joker's fingers curled on one end of the mail bag as the Behemoth's mouth closed over the other.

Its fangs dug into the leather, growling. Joker buried his heels into the snow while he tugged, returning the animalistic gesture with a snarl of his own.

"Oh no you fucking don't!" Joker held firm, his grip on the satchel tight enough to make his fingers shake, attempting to pry it from between the mighty teeth. The behemoth's growls intensified.

"You can't have it!" Joker yelled, digging his heels in further with each pull, "These– these letters are– important to people!"

And in that moment, as he glared down a beast more than triple his size for the sake of a few scraps of paper, Joker felt something like pride swelling up within him. The passion of a postman— of a delivery Moogle.

"People's hearts are in these letters!" He roared, "In the words they write to their loved ones! And I don't care what you are, I'm going to stop you!"

And with a final, mighty tug did he tear the satchel from between the gnashing fangs. The clasp flew open, the final few envelopes scattering among the snow.

Joker tossed the bag in the direction of Kupipo. It landed at the astonished Moogle's feet.

"Start gathering the letters, Kupipo-senpai! I'll hold it off!"

"R-right!" The Moogle stammered, awkwardly rising on stubby legs.

Joker stood tall as the Behemoth reared back, the spines on its back flaring and saber teeth bared. He threw out an arm, a swirl of darkness pooling at his hands as it coalesced into a curved blade.

He felt a thrum of excitement sing from the cold steel.

A worthy opponent! Zantetsuken cried, almost giddy, Our battle shall be legendary!

And quite the battle it was. The horrible creature was all sharp edges and powerful muscles. Getting in close enough to land a hit was more than difficult, and he couldn't back away too far or else it would drop lightning or (gods forbid) more meteors upon his head.

At least Zantetsuken was having fun. He could feel it in the lightness of the blade, in the way he swung the wickedly sharp edge so easily despite the length.

Joker winced against the reverberating impact of the muscular tail grazing his side. Even a glancing blow was enough to bruise his recently mended ribs.

What he needed right now was an opening. Joker gripped his mask, calling Titan to his side. Sidestepped a crushing swipe from the Behemoth's hand, as the summoned Primal shook the rocks beneath the snow with a bellow.

The rumbling quake disturbed the side of the mountain. Some of it crumbled and slid beneath the Behemoth's paw. The large beast was unable to rebalance itself in time, slipping forward as its tail whipped in a panic.

Titan pressed down upon the beastkin's mighty hand with his own, straining to hold it in place. It thrashed its head, sparks of electricity beginning to dance across the spines along its back.

Joker took the chance to press in. He gripped Zantetsuken tight in both hands, pulling it back before driving the blade straight up into the Behemoth's throat.

The lightning gathering at the Behemoth's summons sputtered out in a final crackling burst. Joker shifted his hold on Zantetsuken's haft, twisted the blade and tore it down the length of the beast's underside.

Blood gushed like a broken fire hydrant down upon him. He squinted his eyes as the thick warm liquid spilled over his face and down his jacket.

The Behemoth swayed on its feet for a moment. Then Joker stumbled aside as it fell forward, a crash echoing loudly through the mountains as its limp body hit the earth.

Joker panted heavily, shaking blood out of his hair. Staggered back to Kupipo as he futilely tried to swipe the blood from his face.

He grinned down at the shaking ball of fur, blood dripping from the tips of his hair.

"Well, we're a bit off-schedule but I think we can make up for the lost time if we leave now."

The Moogle nodded silently at him, face filled with awe.

Joker was kneeling in the snow, leaving bloody impressions in his wake as he helped Kupipo stuff the remaining mercifully unstained letters back into his bag, when a voice called out to him.

"By the Fury, what did you do?"

An astonished Elezen approached the scene from the bottom of the slope. An Ishgardian knight, dressed in ornate plate armor trimmed in red. His helmet was under his arm and his exposed face revealed his gawking mouth.

He took in a breath before continuing, "My men and I were planning a party of a half-score of trained knights to tackle that fell beast. I've been personally observing its habits and plotting our move for weeks."

"Oh…" Joker pushed his blood-slicked hair from his face, "I'm sorry?"

He clucked her tongue as he scanned a keen eye over the carnage, "Don't be. While I can't well claim to be glad to have lost my share of the glory, I can hardly fault you for ensuring there's one less of those awful creatures in the world."

With all of his spilled envelopes gathered again, Joker straightened himself. He nodded thankfully to Kupipo as the Moogle hovered in the air, offering him the large red bag. Joker twisted the damaged strap into a serviceable knot as he returned it to his shoulder.

And then he prepared to keep walking. They still had one last set of deliveries to make after all…

"Wait!" Called the knight, a hand extended, "You cannot simply leave like that! Who… what are you?"

He supposed he must have been considerably less recognizable both in Coerthas and without his usual signature attire. Seeing a beautiful opportunity, Joker smirked. He tipped the brim of his cap low over his eyes.

"Just a postal worker doing my duty, ser."

And with that did he turn on his heel, vanishing into the swirling snowfall with Kupipo trailing after him, his jacket fluttering in the breeze. Behind him, the Temple Knight snapped into a reverent salute.

"I'm back!" Came a cheery, if strained, voice from the door of the Rising Stones.

"Oh good." Thancred said, casually glancing up from the pile of half-opened letters he had evidently given up on sorting through in favor of sharpening his newest dagger instead, "How went the—"

And Thancred did a double take. He stared at the cheery figure illuminated in the doorway.

"Ren…" He said slowly, pushing himself away from the table, "I hesitate to ask, but… Why are you somehow yet again covered head to toe in blood?"

Joker smiled brightly at him, his uniform and face both heavily stained in red.

"I finished delivering the mail."

Alisaie struggled not to doze off as she leaned her head against the back of the plush seat of the open wagon. Though she didn't really see why she was bothering to stave off sleep. The dusty Thanalan roads ahead of her bore little of interest for her wandering eyes to behold. And the sad truth was that her eyes were in dire need of rest. They had been thoroughly dried out from a long night of endless pouring over her tomes by naught but the light of a flickering candle — It wouldn't do to neglect her studies and have Alphinaud outpace her again, after all.

The young Hyuran girl by her side at the adjacent seat hummed idly to herself as she looked at nothing in particular, legs swinging. Emery, the daughter of the man who headed the convoy of mercantile caravans with which Alisaie was currently traveling– and an aspiring and rather accomplished merchant in her own right– was something of an enigma to the Elezen. She was not at all averse to grasping opportunities to enjoy a slower pace of life. No less eager in her future ambitions than her family's newest temporary charge, no, but perfectly willing to set her goals aside for a moment if there was pleasure to be had elsewhere. Though Alisaie had scoffed at the girl's earlier suggestions that she should try to relax more, in truth she was rather envious of Emery's more relaxed approach to navigating each day.

And so, with great effort that involved a very purposeful and very difficult cessation of all the doubtful and turbulent thoughts racing through her head at any one moment, Alisaie let her eyes slip shut. Let the rattling of wheels upon the dirt roads draw her mind away on gentle waves of nothingness.

Or so she had intended.

"M-Miss, um, Leveilleur? Miss Leveilleur!"

Alisaie's poorly-executed attempt at relaxation was soon interrupted by a high-pitched voice calling her name. She jumped, looking around frantically. Emery returned her confused stare with a just as bewildered shrug.

Leaning out the side of the carriage, Alisaie spotted the source of the distressed wails.

A disheveled looking Moogle was fluttering through the humid air, desperately chasing after the mobile convoy of carriages on its tiny wings. Its flightpath was unsteady, dipping low repeatedly as it struggled with the weight of its sagging satchel. In its paw it held a simple envelope that it waved in the air above it like a flag.

Alisaie was more than a little surprised. Usually the Moogles that delivered the mail preferred to stay out of sight, surreptitiously dropping envelopes and packages in mailboxes or on the stoops of doorways. Sometimes atop desks when no-one was looking. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen one just… chase someone down like this.

Emery leaned over from the adjacent seat, expression bright with open curiosity– and some amusement– at the sight before her. Alisaie caught a few eyes peeping from the windows of the other caravans trailing behind them. She winced internally – the last thing she wanted was to make a spectacle.

Thus did she decide to expedite the process. Alisaie reached out a hand, taking a tiny paw and pulling the struggling creature onto the wagon's seat. It let out an exhausted breath as it fell back for a moment, panting heavily. The Moogle adjusted its lopsided cap, tiny wings wilting a little.

"T-thank you, kupo!" It chirped after it had recovered enough of its breath to speak again, "I have an urgent delivery for you. Priority mail, kupo!"

And Alisaie accepted the letter pressed into her face with a look of bewilderment– and a touch of trepidation. She flipped the envelope over, scanning it nervously. It didn't bear the seal of her house — nor any other seal, for that matter, with nothing but the most basic wax pressing to keep the fold of the paper top held down.

It couldn't be from home then. A surprise — she would at least understand if it was one of her mother's enthused if frantic replies to tales of her travels. She turned to the scant few markings upon the envelope itself for any sign of the mysterious sender.

Scrawled across the front, beneath hasty scratches, was indeed her name — barely.

To: Ariz Levi Leveiyu

Alisaie Leveilleur

All of the text— even what wasn't crossed out— was what could only be called a chicken-scratch, letters poorly composed with shaking uncertainty. No wonder the Moogle had been so confused.

It couldn't be from Alphinaud either, then. He would surely have never let himself utilize such poor penmanship, let alone taken three shots at spelling her name.

Frankly, she was at a complete loss. Frowning, Alisaie lifted the envelope's flap open with her thumb. As Emery cooed over the winded Postmoogle flopped between them, petting gently at its weakly waving pom, Alisaie unfolded the slightly scuffed parchment within to behold only a small smidgeon of writing.

Dear Alisaie,

It began, the text inside not much better — but at least her name was spelled correctly the first time.

And what followed wasn't so much words, but rather images. Two large, somewhat crude drawings, haphazardly spanning across the width of the spotted parchment.

She recognized from the undeniable squinted eyes and pom-pom protruding from a curved line on its head that the first image was of a little Moogle. It floated in the air - or maybe just the blank space of the paper, with an arrow helpfully pointing to it and labeling it thus.

Moogle

Read the sloppy handwriting at the flat end of the arrow.

Her eyes drifted to the next doodle — ah. Another Moogle… only this one was substantially larger and seemed to be bearing a… comically small crown?

Alisaie looked to the second arrow for guidance.

King Moogle

It proclaimed proudly.

Eyebrows pinched, she lowered her gaze to the final mess of written words at the bottom corner.

From Joker!

Came the cheery sign off at the very end.

Beneath that, a tiny, almost missable doodle of a figure bearing a mask and tophat flashed a sign at her from a crudely rendered hand, the index and middle fingers forming a 'V'.

Alisaie stared silently. She flipped the parchment over, futilely scanning the very blank back. Flipped it to the front again, eyes passing over each mark again and again.

A stupid little grin spread across her face despite her best efforts. She curled in on herself as she leaned further over the letter, eyes shining with reluctant delight.

"Ohoho?" came Emery's sly chortle, a questioning, almost musical lilt at the end.

Alisaie jumped. She swiftly pulled the letter away from herself as the younger girl leaned in, looking dangerously smug.

"Look at that face! Who's it from? A lover?"

Alisaie spluttered with utter indignation, cheeks burning. She was unable to connect enough phonemes to form a proper protest.

"Secret admirer, then?" Emery tried again, pressing in further and almost crushing the squeaking Moogle between their bodies as she tried to take a peek.

And Alisaie scrunched the paper in her hands, "It isn't anyone like that! And I'd thank you to not try to read others' private correspondence!" She grumbled, crushing the letter into a tight ball.

The next day, were one to look, however, one would find the edges of a frantically smoothed piece of parchment paper peeking out from where it had been pressed flat between the thickest of Alisaie's tomes.

Original Ao3 endnotes:

Bonus sketch: Joker, much later, doing that one Elpis sidequest.

Emery at the end is from the official short story 'A Malm in Her Shoes', if you want to look it up! Unfortunately things don't end well for her. :(

Templeton from the Ixal quests is a huge prick and one of my favourite 'obscure missable NPCs' haha.