[Well, this certainly is a desert, all right. And really, that's fine, there's nothing wrong with a desert objectively, because heat is just heat and barren wastelands are just barren wastelands, and so long as you're prepared for those conditions, it's really nothing to whine or cry about in the grand scheme of things.
The problem is, while she is in fact dressed for desert conditions, it just so happens that the desert she's dressed for is a barren wasteland of snow, not scorched earth. Which means that all of a sudden her scarf feels more like a noose than a blessing around her neck, and she's acutely aware of just how heavy her fur-lined coat and leather cold-weather gear really is under the blaze of the burning sun.]
Dammit...
[Okay. All right. Keep your head in the game, Highwind. Get moving before the heat catches up, and find some water, or some shelter, or some sign of habitation, or...something.
Odd. She feels unusually confident about that prospect, for some reason. She can take care of herself. She knows how to survive. Even something like this isn't going to keep her down.
Yeah. Nothing to it but to do it, so she might as well get going.]
[LET'S GET KRAKEN]
[You know, it's a testament to all of the weird bullshit Aranea has seen in her life that she's not even remotely surprised when one minute an idle sailing adventure (and an inexplicable one that that) immediately and abruptly turns into TENTACLE DISASTER. Like it's even possible to go literally anywhere without running into a catastrophe like this.
Fortunately, she just so happens to be well-suited to aerial combat, and giant-ass tentacles can only reach so high. Now, if it manages to take out the ship entirely and deprive her of a place to land, she's going to be in for it, but —
Well. That's something to worry about another time.]
[WILDCARD]
[Choose your own adventure! Write me a starter (I tend to default to present tense brackets, preferably) and I'll hit you back!]
Aranea Highwind | FFXV
The problem is, while she is in fact dressed for desert conditions, it just so happens that the desert she's dressed for is a barren wasteland of snow, not scorched earth. Which means that all of a sudden her scarf feels more like a noose than a blessing around her neck, and she's acutely aware of just how heavy her fur-lined coat and leather cold-weather gear really is under the blaze of the burning sun.]
Dammit...
[Okay. All right. Keep your head in the game, Highwind. Get moving before the heat catches up, and find some water, or some shelter, or some sign of habitation, or...something.
Odd. She feels unusually confident about that prospect, for some reason. She can take care of herself. She knows how to survive. Even something like this isn't going to keep her down.
Yeah. Nothing to it but to do it, so she might as well get going.]
[LET'S GET KRAKEN]
Fortunately, she just so happens to be well-suited to aerial combat, and giant-ass tentacles can only reach so high. Now, if it manages to take out the ship entirely and deprive her of a place to land, she's going to be in for it, but —
Well. That's something to worry about another time.]
[WILDCARD]