LOST: Chocobo [Quest]

The supercharged fighter approached the chocobo stables, partially disguised with shades to hide the illumination from his softly-glowing mako eyes. 

He slowed as he approached Blake Jones, recognition slowly dawning in his mind. He'd been a frantic blur when he'd burst out of that confessional booth, but this was definitely...

"You," the stoic fighter muttered, a small, implacable smile quirking at his lips. 

Quiet wanted to make connections. A free ride on a Chocobo could be useful, but more importantly, he had to create a network of allies if he ever had any chance of making a dent against the monolith of Shin-Ra. 

Perhaps this creature covered in dirt in front of him might also make for an ally. 

Have you seen a lost chocobo?

"I get the impression I'm looking at one," the muscular warrior retorted, his hidden, softly-glowing eyes continuing to assess the individual in front of him. Quiet then cleared his throat and turned to face the stable. "No, but I'm gonna help look for them, too."

He sniffed. "So according to the breeder, a local kid scared the beast and it scarpered. Where would a spooked chocobo run off to around here...?" He scratched his chin, before glancing at Blake.

"Any suggestions?"

Quiet looked Blake up and down. The Mother? A tangle of dread knotted itself in the back of his mind, or something sleeping stirred for a moment. He swallowed these feelings.

"Were you praying to the Mother in that confessional booth, too?" Quiet asked, his voice sardonic. It was about time he recognised him. "You can call me Seif, for now."

The altered warrior didn't know whether he could trust Blake with his 'usual' name. He shook his head. "Anyway, I doubt prayer will lead us to his freaked-out turkey. No offense." The last part was more of a verbal tick than actual courtesy. 

He turned to face away from the stables. There were chocobo prints going too-and-from the building, and Quiet really couldn't tell what he was looking for. He cursed. "Maybe you should pray, huh?"

Quiet chuckled. "Well, I think you did manage to save him. A shame, after what I did to him." His expression turned solemn on listening to the rest of Blake's words. Again, the tug of some familiar feeling... or a memory? The fighter couldn't help but look uncomfortable with some suppressed recollection.

Despite this, his eyes twinkled with a mischievious lightness as Blake asked for his forgiveness. "Find the chocobo and we'll see," he said. 

Quiet watched as the odd fellow prayed, folding his arms. If the information he divined from this ritual, well, it might be worth Quiet taking his words more seriously. The bulky warrior followed Blake as he began to make his way towards the diner. It'd make sense for the chocobo to head this way, after all; they might be able to scavenge some food from the dumpster. Quiet shuddered to think what Midgarian fast food might do to the insides of an animal like that. Then again, he ate it pretty regularly himself. 

The psuedo-SOLDIER sighed, choosing, for now, to ignore the insect life evacuating Blake's person. 

Quiet began to make his way back towards where he came from, when his mako-electric hues noticed the significant yellow feather, disguised by a relatively-fresh layer of recently discarded food. The warrior would kick the debris aside and pluck the feather from the pavement, waving it in front of Blake's face. "We might be onto something, friend. Let's ask in the diner."

Quiet walked around to the front of the diner and, quite firmly, pushed the door open. "Yo! Any of you seen a giant bird recently, like in the last hour?"

Quiet glanced back at Blake as the diner owner yelled him down, widening his eyes in a half-apology. He hadn't considered Blake's, eh, appearance and general aura. 

"Thanks for the tip, and sorry that the chocobo was bothering ya."

Quiet darted out of the door as the owner raised a hand in goodbye.

"The bird was seen heading towards the Colosseum," Quiet told Blake, before he began to jog at a moderate pace in that general direction.

"So, uh, Blake" he began, inbetween breaths, "is there something in your religion that prevents you from taking a bath every, hell, couple of weeks?"