Just Like Any Other Day Reprise (Ramza, Open)

[Ritz Malheur]

The Seasand Bar built at the end of a marketplace within the desert city of Rabanastre, was filled to the brim with patrons. Some sat counter-side, others at a few round tables and a few more were leaning against columns and beams along the second floor. As a place that avoided the eyes of the Judges, Inquisitors or whatever they were called in this age in Ivalice's history, a pub like this was as good as any place to be. Teeming with both friend and foe – the good the bad and the ugly – it did not lack in diversity. Even so, Ritz being so young, fair-skinned and of glistening red hair, stuck out among the corwd. Not only that, but also the said crowd seemed to be scattered in a barrier around the table she sat at. As if she had some manner of sickness.

Fair enough, she supposed. After all, the Hume was just as much a stranger to them as they were to her. In tough times it was better to trust only a few and better still if you knew them inside out and around the corner. Although, she did not let them displace her, she was relaxed and by now far used to a few peering eyes and the smell of less than pleasant individuals and their beverages. However, her face told a different tale. Bored perhaps but a more keen observer would notice the ever briefest flicker of worry in her eyes. It was there, then gone in a matter of seconds.

Whilst waiting, she rapped a pattern of four fingers upon the wooden tap. Rap-Rap-Rap-Tat-Tat-Tat. Once over, twice over and thrice again, thereafter glancing towards the entrance. It only been a few days since the restoration of her world and yet all that seemed to be a lifetime beyond her. Now there was Ivalice, not the old but the new. Mewt did not dream this up, how could he? He had been sent back just like the rest. The Judges did not bear his insignia or his colors, nor even the cards that enforced their laws. Here they bore armor as black as night and stepped with authority, power and most importantly, pride. Respected not for their laws but feared for their fortitude and influence.

Her notice had only been placed a day, but she still showed up just like she planned. There had to be someone out there willing to at least listen; someone that would believe her. The patrons had laughed at her story. They didn't believe she was from another Ivalice. Another world perhaps, but not another Ivalice; there was only one. They mentioned there were many worlds all linked together, but none that took the same name. That made her curious but not enough to go searching for a way off-world. This was still Ivalice, and she preferred it to the alternative of a completely unknown world.

A few more minutes . . . if no one approaches me, I'll turn in for the night. The inn most likely has vacancy, she thought, drawing her gaze away from the door and upon the contract board meters across and above her. It was riddled with jobs, rather 'Hunts.' Anyone could take them -- or so she assumed -- and they seemed to be charged in dealing with a specific type of monster. The exact reasons varied from overpopulation to minor hindrances, but Gil was Gil and she had seen many take slips from it over the course of the day. If Shara were here . . . she shook her head. Best not to think about that. Not right now, not when the possibilities were still as endless as they were. All she needed was one person to be kind enough not to dismiss her as a child or a crazed stranger. Then she could piece together just what happened and where to go. If there was anywhere to 'go.'

[OOC: See plot discussion topic for the mentioned 'notice.']

[ramza]

Ramza's eyes trailed through the streets of Rabanastre, attempting to discern the pub from the rest of the buildings. Perhaps it should have been easier for him, since a great majority of his time as a heretic on the run had been spent incognito in such establishments, accruing information and performing tasks as they were posted upon notice boards. It was, in fact, one such notice that caused him to seek out the pub, which he had learned to be called The Seasand Bar. It wasn't his place to question the naming skills of proprietors, but sometimes he wonders where they got these names.

Ramza's amber eyes narrowed upon an innocuous building at the end of a market place; since its sign depicted something along the lines of a sea of sand, it seemed to be a reasonable place to start, and so, reassuring himself that his hood was adequately positioned upon his head and basically hiding his identities from prying eyes. He gently pushed his way through the crowd, oblivious to his desire to pass perpendicular to their streaming through the market place. After many minutes of marginally successful work, he found himself at the entrance to the building at least; and his deductive skills proved their fruits, for it was indeed The Seasand Bar, though it had taken a great deal of effort in order to merely approach it.

He pushed the door open, and, almost tempted to remove his voluminous cloak, and place it upon the rack nearby, he perished the thought from his mind; it was a gamble that he didn't want to take for a modicum of comfort and the slight appearance of trustworthiness. But if this Ritz individual was slightly studied in the events that had transpired recently, or even listened to gossip, she might have heard of the heretic, Ramza Beoulve. Mind you, he technically didn't go by that name any longer, it was still applicable to him, and as far as he was aware, there was still a hefty sum of a bounty upon his head.

He gently nudged his way through the bar in order to acquire a better viewing point to locate this Ritz character. It was a curious name, but in hindsight, he supposed it was truly no more curious than his own. He chuckled slightly to himself at that as he reached the center of the establishment, and performed a radial scan of the patrons. It did not take long to locate the individual that he believed he could safely assume to be Ritz. It was a young, attractive girl with oddly pale skin for the locale and vibrant red hair; mostly because everyone was shying far, far away from her. And that was what the note had specified, something that he was not particularly used to.

Ramza approached her table precariously, watching her tap her fingers in an impatient manner, and felt rather confident that this individual was the one whom he seeked. As he approached, he realized that she didn't have the aura of one of the Church's inquisitors; or the confidence of anyone who was firmly aware of their surroundings, either. Mayhap her note spoke the truth? As he drew within speaking distance, his hands raised up to his hood, and he pulled it down, revealing his charming, still boyish face in such a fashion as to (hopefully) convince the girl what he garnered from her simply from a glance.

He did not approach any further, lest she be paranoid and on the run, nor did he make any overly mobile gestures; he merely stood there, his face wholly exposed, and spoke calmly. "Greetings, Miss Malheur. I read your notice, and could not help but find its contents intriguing. If you would accept, I might pool my knowledge together with yours and, with luck, we might uncover the answers you seek.

[/color]"[/blockquote]

[Ritz Malheur]

At first, Ritz did not take much notice to the man that came through the door, jutting through the crowd as he went. This process alone took several minutes and the humor in seeing such faded as fast as it had come. If she were to be honest, he almost looked as lost rather as out-of-place as she did. Wherein most had hung their cloaks up on the mantels and had disrobed their thicker garments, his instead remained and shielded his face from view. Being either shy, or complacent could provide answer to the reason, but the direct manner of approach hinted at a singular purpose. Only further highlighted when he did in fact reach his destined table. Without taking a seat he flipped back his hood . . .

Ritz's eyes flashed with momentary surprise, and as she was more than less than interested before, she now was fully aware; at least of the man that stood just across from her. He looked so much like Marche that she had almost said his name aloud. If it weren't for his age and for the rather dim lighting, he could have passed as a decent doppelganger of her former friend. Luckily, some manner of supernatural force was still on her side and prevented what would certainly be an awkward reunion. And when he spoke, she was pleasantly relieved. Marche would never speak so elegantly let alone call her: Miss Malheur. She could not remember the last time someone had called her that. That simple fact alone was enough to lighten the mood and bring a smile to her face. A rare enough occurrence, that brought out the better qualities in her facial structure. More often than not, her serious and brash manner was plenty to make someone forget that they were dealing with a girl and not some battle-hardened mercenary. That smile would make even close friends as Shara had been, forget just whom they were speaking with.

It flickered away before long, no sooner after her company had finished speaking. He still kept up with formalities in standing off until she welcomed him; polite and respectful, who knew? Regardless she opened a hand to him, gesturing to the chair across from her. “Go ahead and take a seat then.” Not of the same Ivalice, or originally from the world of 'Final Fantasy,” Ritz's own speech was direct, plain and not surprisingly, more modern. “I was actually worried no one would show . . .” she went on, as it was all the same to her if he preferred to stand. The chairs were not that comfortable and they didn't look so either. “Thanks for coming, most here are rather suspicious of me.” Not that she blamed them, they had the right to be. She had after all, appeared from nowhere at all.

“Though you do have me at a disadvantage, what's your name?” She asked while adjusting herself into a more comfortable position. Sitting for long periods of time on wooden stool-like chairs, was not the best idea. Before allowing him to respond, she added: “also, it's just Ritz . . .I'm not a Miss or a Missus for that matter.” Obviously not the latter, too young to be courted. However, she still said so. Perhaps in this Ivalice it was common for those her age to be married off in their teenage years. Of that fact she did not know. In her Ivalice, things had been different and many had just accepted her even though her origin was hardly believable. This world was a bit more rooted in reality – as rooted as a place with magic could be; rightly so she supposed, this was not a dream. That, she could be sure of.

[ramza]

Ramza's eyes softened as the girl responded to his aloof behaviour; it was rather refreshing, albeit a bit odd, the manner in which she spoke; so direct and... while lacking luster, it was pleasing in its simplicity; one didn't have to mull over hidden connotations or carefully pick out the hithertos or the whyfors. He nodded appreciatively as she indicated the chair for him to sit upon. He nodded once more as she continued to speak, and pulled the chair gracefully out from the table, seating himself forward upon the chair and crossing his hands gingerly upon the table-top, listening to the girl express her doubts and then her gratitude for giving her the benefit of the doubt.

Ramza responded with an honest smile as she attempted to detract attention from her attempts to find a more comfortable position by asking his name. It was a fair question, as he knew both her given and surname, whilst she knew naught of his own. Ramza performed a delicate gesture with his hands, opening them in a manner that might indicate the revelation of a secret. She also carefully interjected that she was not a Miss or a Missus, and he kindly nodded his head in acquiescence. "I have been called many things,

[/color]" He paused momentarily, forcing himself to forego pleasantries and instead calling her by name, as per her request, "Ritz, but to my friends, I am known as Ramza, and it is a pleasure to be of whatever assistance I can provide.[/color]"

He interlaced his fingers again, leaning forward in thought as he attempted to deduce what the girl spoke of; another world, yet not as foreign of a world as the other worlds that had recently become open to traversal. He closed his eyes, and wagged a gloved finger off to the side. "You seem like a bright sort, so, unless I'm mistaken, it seems a plausible assumption that you've eliminated the possibility of your Ivalice being a separate world entirely." Ramza glanced around the room, and indicated with his hands. "But you seem certain that the world you hail from is an Ivalice of your own.[/b]"

Ramza stroked his chin thoughtfully. "My apologies, Ritz, but could you explain to me the concept of clans as you know them? Perhaps this could shed some light upon the situation as I perceive it."[/sub][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify]

[Ritz Malheur]

Although another had taken a seat at the table, the others around hardly seemed to be affected. They went about their business as if the newcomer had not arrived at all. Which was fine, at least from Ritz's viewpoint. She may not have known why, but the man whom sat across from her appeared hesitant in dispatching his name, explaining that at any one point in time he had been in turn called many things. He still did, of course: Razma, she may have thought it odd, but it was not that different from the names of her own world; Marche, Mewt, Donned. All had their strange, rings to them. So when there was a moment to speak up, she instead listened.

She relaxed, dropping a hand from her blade and even leaning back in her chair some. The creak of wood upon wood, though loud, drew no attention, save for that of her lone companion whom would have no trouble hearing the screeching call. Shrugging it off, she allowed him to finish and gave him more than enough time to draw his own conclusions; she certainly had her own, but nothing could be proved and she was not sure if she wanted to 'prove' anything. Ivalice had once been a dream world and as such much was taken at face value. Shara had just accepted that she was from...'the real world,' but here things were different. Not a child's dream of magic and monsters; that was for sure. It breathed.

Thankfully, his question was not overly complicated, in fact it was rather simple. Clans were not that hard to explain and in their proper element, gloried bands of friends that adventured together. Simplified, that was the truth. Yet, her own clan had been instrumental in thwarting Marche's attempts to changed the world back. Those failed, but at least he did not ask where she was from. He just assumed that 'her Ivalice' was her origin. Perhaps he too did not belong, after all he was more open to the idea than others.

"Once upon a time, all Ivalice -- my Ivalice anyways -- was ruled by a Queen and her Prince," she began with a rather cliche opening. However, it was quite obvious by her smirk that she enjoyed that approach. "Instead of war, disagreements were settled through what the Judges called: Engagements. Basically, they were battles between two or more groups; and these groups were called Clans." There was a bit more to it, a bit more to everything about her really: her story, her past and most importantly the end of Ivalice. But she only told Ramza what he needed to know, as was her way. Anything more, and she was liable to warp his opinion. Crossing her legs, she looked him in the eyes, waiting for the chance to observe his response . . .

[ramza]

Ramza narrowed his eye on Ritz as she delivered her brief explanation of her Ivalice; indeed, that sounded nothing at all like this Ivalice; which, he suspected was slightly different from his own. It was curious in a way, that his legacy as a heretic had somehow followed him, but he was vaguely suspicious that the situation had transpired subtly, and somehow, perhaps, all instances of Ivalice had merged together, however different. He had, of course, no way of verifying this fact, as he was no scholar, but it was a pet theory that he kept keenly to himself.

He had kindly ignored the smirk that had appeared upon her face as she opened her comment, seeming to take pride in her witty opener; he, however, was more interested in providing the help that she had requested. Fully aware that the girl had not given him the full story, Ramza did not inquire about the rest, as the situation was not his to inquire about. But the circumstances of what she spoke? A world would have to be wholly artificial in order to observe such a thing so closely. He narrowed his gaze at Ritz with a frown.

"Forgive my boldness, Ritz, but this world of which you speak sounds like a fantasy. Honor is a rare thing in this world, much less an adherence to any sort of rules that I'm aware of regarding the way one goes into battle. It seems highly likely that the Ivalice of which you speak is... Different then the one whose air you now breath.

[/color]" Ramza closed his eyes, and stroked his chin with a broad sweeping of his index finger as he propped his face up with the nook between it and his thumb; with his eyes closed, he frowned.

"Though I cannot condemn your Ivalice its differences, because my Ivalice also possesses its own differences. For example, travel by sky was completely unheard of where I come from, and yet, here, one can walk outside and see a ship, as though made for the water, sailing through the skies; and none gawk at the sight, for it is as common as the bread they break. And yet... Years ago, when Ivalice had not performed a roundabout change, and I had a quest of utmost import, I came across this most peculiar of sights; a graveyard for ships. But not the kind that traverse the sea, but the air! And they were old, and decayed, having lain dormant for easily thousands of years.[/color]" Ramza opened his eyes and indicated Ritz with his finger.

"Madness is what others have accused you of, and what I say might strike you as something of a similar note, yet it is my belief that both you and I -- Somehow, some way, hail from different times in the state of being -- of Ivalice, itself. I had not heard formally the duties of Judges, or even, truthfully, of judges in general, until Ivalice had changed -- After I had returned from my quest. And you, knowing of Ivalice as a monarchial kingdom with judges and engagements, only strengthens my belief.[/color]" Ramza lowered his head, and frowned at his hands. "Alas, I cannot tell you how to reach your Ivalice, other than to say that, surely, it is out there; as is the one whom you seek.[/color]"[/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote][/sub][/justify]

[Ritz Malheur]

Fantasy, that was correct and all of this was just like another game of 'Final Fantasy.' Ritz had never really thought there was much finality to her own story. but the title still seemed to fit with the pattern: change was what Ramza spoke of, rather elegantly at that; words flowing one from another and to another still. In her time those that had ridiculed her would have no doubt found a target in him, with his proper speech and polite mannerisms. However, as the traveler pointed out, this was not her time, not her Ivalice, if even a glimmer of it remained still somewhere 'out there.'

She was right to listen, in fact could bear not to. He raised more questions, but also offered perspective, albeit a different one. At first she had wanted to respond in turn, but only parted her lips briefly before remaining in silence. There was more to hear and what he did not know could be filled in later. In fact he was mostly right, the world of what she did tell, was a fantasy. A dream of a young boy that only wanted his own escape; a boy that only wanted his mother back and a father whom was happy . . . but instead wove of web of twisted reality and deceit. Not that he carried the blame for it all, she had wanted it to, needed it. Still did.

Then came airships and if having not seen them for herself, she may not have believed him. Yes, they did fly; like pirate ships they were, except for they raided air and not sea. Her true home had something of the sort, but nothing so magical, technical monstrosities known as: airplanes. Metal deathtraps. When her family moved to St. Ivalice one had been their chariot into a new life. Not that she quite remembered the old one being so young and all. Although not surprised by their existence, her eyes did widen when she learned of their fate. Ramza had seen their graveyard.

As he finished, she leaned forward and the chair came with her, creaking along. It slid then stopped to a halt as she laid an arm upon its rest. With all that had been said, she could believe much if not all of it. A heretic, he said; Marche had been one of a sorts. A person that sought to usurp the balance of a dream-world tends to be disliked. If she recalled correctly, the bounty was so substantial that multiple clans had at one point rallied to claim it.

For all that was said by him, she could not match word-for-word. Though outspoken, perhaps even brash she could not tie up her sentences in pretty bows, nor dance around so elegantly. And when he finished, she did the only thing she could: played devil's advocate. In every argument there is a counter and it was precisely this counter she had been struggling to grasp. "I want to believe that is true, but there's a problem: my Ivalice was only a dream of a young boy named Mewt," she explained in as rational of a manner as possible. This after all was where she had lost the others. Taking a breath, she finished: "I'm not from this world, but a town called St. Ivalice." She took the time to meet his eyes directly as if she needed to say she was being completely serious and most importantly, not insane . . .

"Mewt bought a book from a local antique shop; its spell brought me along with my friends to Ivalice. Not your Ivalice or...theirs," she gestured with an open palm."But Mewt's...something he created based on a popular game from my world: Final Fantasy." Her mouth hung open for a moment, but then shut tight. There was more she needed to tell, but if Ramza had not gotten up and walked away, he would need at least a few moments to comprehend what she had just explained. It truth, it may have been more than she intended to reveal, but still if she wanted to figure out just what had happened when her own Ivalice...faded, then she needed someone that would believe both parts of her story, of her life really. She needed to be an open-book and the downside was the blind-trust that tagged along.

[ramza]

<sub>Ramza watched and listened as Ritz, as any good member of a two-individual discussion team, provided a counter-argument for all that he had proposed to the girl. His gaze did not stray overly much, yet he did shift it so as not to appear as though he were staring awkwardly at the girl. He didn't quite know what it was that she was getting at, initially, but as she continued to talk, he felt as though she didn't expect him to believe a word that had escaped from her lips.

What Ramza heard her say, truthfully, was not entirely something that you heard everyday. Whilst it was crazy, in perspective, it seemed no more crazy than Ramza's claim that he had seen the graveyard of the airships from one who had not experienced such a thing first-hand. He had learned long ago, particularly in his experiences with the auracite known as the Zodiac Stones, that acknowledging the truth often meant sometimes taking others on blind faith. As he was generally the one who had been ignored in the past, he possessed a sympathetic ear for what Ritz had said, and even when she had possessed more for the man to hear, Ramza was not perturbed by this; he genuinely wanted to help her, in any way he could.

Ramza felt the urge to alleviate the situation with some light humour as well as a play on words, but the girl was being so serious, and seemed so worried that she would lose his attention with the revelation that he did not act upon the urge, out of respect for her dignity. Ramza unfolded his arms, and again observed his surroundings at Ritz's behest. His golden eyes observed the room in but a sweep, yet what he saw was great, and he nodded in acquiescence.

He didn't wish to make the girl more uncomfortable, nor attempt to wrest the conversation away from her control after he had suggested so many ideas without even asking her permission or thoughts upon them, and yet he didn't want her to think that she had fully lost his attention with her statement, and so Ramza offered a slight smile to her; not one that was so full of honesty that the true dishonesty steeped away, but a reassuring one, to let her know that she had not lost him with her tale. He spoke only a sentence, but hoped that the sentence would be enough for her to speak without fear.

"Candidly, Ritz, your tale does not strike me as strange: I have witnessed life corrupted, taken, and restored to the lifeless, all through the power of mystic stones; the fact that your book was able to create something so similar, however, to this realm of Ivalice, only cements in my mind that the realm from which you originally hail has roots within this one, as well.</sub>

[/color]" Ramza's eyes closed as he thought deeply upon the subject, and nodded his head after a moment of reflection, indicating that he was ready for her to finish the tale she wove, though he could detect more than a single thread of truth within the fabric.[/sub][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify]

[Ritz Malheur]

All things considered, Ramza took the tale well – the parts of it that were spoken about. Better at least then those Ritz had spoken to upon her arrival several days ago. Several of them had laughed and a few even took her for sick with desert fever or some other manner of heat related ailment; brought on by wandering the sands outside of the city for too long. Still, she could not help but wonder about his own past. Surely, it was because of his own tale that he could believe where others could not. Although, perhaps it was unwise to speak so openly in a public setting as this. That, or so wise that others shied away, daring not to listen.

As he spoke in turn, Ritz averted her gaze briefly whilst swiping a hand across a few locks of hair that had fallen into disarray blanketing one eye. By time he finished, she was able to once more relax. The traveler, had neither gotten up or even questioned her sanity – in a polite manner of course; instead he offered a seed of knowledge. She had never thought that it was possible that her own world could have actually been created from another. It would certainly explain how a simple spell could morph and entire world so easily and more importantly, so rapidly. Yet, what would that even mean . . . best not to think on it, for there was still more to tell. And it appeared that he was waiting.

Ritz also nodded when Ramza did, to show understanding and for him to realize that her silence only meant she was garnering the best way to continue. Her head lowered for a moment and her eyes shut. His comment from earlier, had not slipped her notice but amidst everything, it was hardly important nor all that surprising that he deduced what she sought. Though she was having trouble signaling out what exactly gave way to that revelation. Could have been anything really for it was already rather obvious that they were of a similar yarn of thread, regardless she had to address it the matter.

When her eyes opened, she was prepared to continue. First still looking upon the table: “We were separated,” she began,“all of us – though everyone found friends in Ivalice. Mine was a Viera: Shara.” Pausing, she took the time to look up from wood and shifted her gaze not directly upon him, but at least in his general direction. “Marche he . . . I almost mistook you for him; he wanted to change the world back. I didn't.” She gripped tighter on the chair's armrest. “With Shara and our clan, I stood against him.” She smirked . . . nearly laughing. “I knew I couldn't stop him, but I wasn't going to just let him destroy everything." She shook her head as if to spite the memory itself. "In the end, he cut the last thread holding the world together, ending the dream and...as everything faded, I expected to be back in St. Ivalice.” With an open-palm, she gestured. “Instead, I'm here.”

[ramza]

<sub>Ramza watched Ritz as nodded to him, nearly simultaneously to his own, and patiently waited for her to overcome what had probably become a protective barrier for her, to avoid ridicule. Ramza's golden eyes darted quickly around the bar while she gathered her thoughts, a reflex action that happened as a result of his paranoia. His head hardly moved, but his scope of view was substantial, and, as far as he could tell, there were no inquisitors after him.

Ramza's eyes snapped back to Ritz as she continued her reluctant revelations. He listened passively, with a neutral face, formulating in his own head as she spoke ideas about what could have transpired. Vaguely aware of the races in this new Ivalice, Ramza knew that the Viera who traveled away from their havens were prominently female, and that they had bunny ears; lithe and quick, they seemed tribal in Ramza's eyes, but he felt that it was not his place to judge them, for they were just as foreign to him as this newest of Ivalices.

When he was likened to Marche, the perpetrator of her confusion and the malady they possessed, Ramza couldn't help but smile sympathetically. Having first assumed that he had been mistaken for her friend, it was only then that he realized that he had been mistaken for a foe; as much foe as he and Delita were, perhaps? It was a curious thing that she had managed to restrain herself considering his deeds towards their created world. However, Ramza could not condemn the boy his actions; he had once pursued a similar quest to be reunited with his family.

Ramza sat mute in contemplation as she finished speaking, gesturing towards the world around them. His eyes followed her hand, and twinkled as the light reflected off of their sheen.
He frowned as he observed it, hoping to see some hidden revelations that previously weren't there, and not entirely surprised when he hadn't. He looked back to Ritz, and he indicated the world around them. "My arrival to this world was also prefaced by a traumatic event. When I had stumbled upon the graveyard of airships, I had first traveled through the depths of a sinister portal. Having slain an evil manifestation of a historic figure upon the far side, she exploded, intent upon taking me and my traveling companions with her. However, I had thought we'd made it back to the portal...</sub>

[/color]"His voice trailed off, and he indicated the area around them with the same open-palmed gesture. "But instead, I woke up here.[/color]"

Ramza waggled his finger, launching suggestions and postulations for Ritz to consider. "Perhaps what your friend destroyed was not actually the world that your friend, Mewt, had desired, but instead, a simulation of sorts in order to prepare you for it? When your friend, Marche, severed the last thread, as a whole, you were deemed ready for the real world? That could explain both the honorable combat and your arrival here. As for your friend, Shara... I cannot speak of her fate. My only suggestion is to believe in her.[/color]"

Then, he changed gears, holding up two fingers instead, suggesting a second theory that he was about to propose. "Another possibility, as I had said earlier, is that your St. Ivalice has a place in the timeline of this world. Could you think of another instance in which three separate locales entirely were all called the same? It is entirely possible that your St. Ivalice could have been located in the distant past, or in the distant future of my Ivalice and this very Ivalice in which we now sit, discussing these possibilities. Perhaps this idyllic Ivalice in which you traveled with your friend, Shara, and opposed Marche in his attempts, was in not-so-distant past of this Ivalice; or even the possibility of being in the not-so-distant future of this Ivalice, as well.[/color]"

"When your friend, Marche, severed the strings attaching you to whatever time of this world you had currently been presiding it, it could have snapped; much as the string of a bow. If something that is held taut is severed suddenly, then both ends of the string tend to have excessive recoil, and fling themselves in random directions. As your projection in Ivalice was ended, it is entirely plausible that, instead of expectedly returning to your St. Ivalice, you were cast randomly into yet another point of time into Ivalice. As I understand it, if this is the future of your Ivalice, then Viera are particularly long-lived, and Shara may be here, expecting your arrival. Or it could be during her youth...[/color]"

Those were really all of the ideas that Ramza had, involving her current dilemma. These philosophies and arguments were not really his forte, but he was happy to be of whatever assistance that he could to helping the girl determine how she arrived here from there. He paused now in order for her to respond, and it was his hope that she didn't come to regard him as the same level of madness in which the plebeians had prescribed her with, for it was not his intent. [/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote][/sub][/justify]

[Ritz Malheur]

It seemed to Ritz that their situations were not all that different. Each were built of their own elements, however essentially they both had been brought to a world that was either not their own or if it was, had been somehow morphed in time. Granted, as crazy as that sounded it was no more insane than a magical book morphing an entire world into that of a video game. If Ramza was right, then the resounding affects of cutting the thread of the Dream Ivalice had only thinned the time-stream enough to allow her to slip through the cracks and into an alternative period. That told of a brighter future and left the hope that Shara might still be alive or in existence for that matter. Still, the Hume could not deny that both possibilities offered were logical; rather as logical as one could get when speaking within the realm of universe altering magic.

As he spoke of this, Ritz listened. Not that she would not have should his story be any different from her own. In truth, she needed answers even if those answers could not be fully proven or even discounted from one another. Something tangible to grasp and cling tight to was all she needed. A sole thread that would give purpose, and from purpose hope. During the time in which his words flowed, she struggled to keep her gaze in check. Allowing him to speak for so long, led to several cases of awkward staring. She just could not looking into his eyes the entire time and found herself adjusting her comfort level by shifting in her chair; she looked past him, to the right and left and watched as several of the patrons turned from drink and looked upon the small table at the center of the pub.

And why not? The two of them were speaking about things that defied reality, in fact what they were speaking mostly about was: time travel. Scary a notion in itself, without considering the possible ramifications of changing the past . . . present . . . or future of Ivalice, whatever this happened to be. Perhaps it was none of the above; that would make about just as much sense as passing through space and time. Although, Ritz paid them no mind least of all when Ramza mentioned Shara. Her face brightened at his words, but to actually believe them was on its own level of insanity. There was no need to see a few in the crowd step from their predetermined quarantine; her ears twitched at the sound of their steps. Yet, now that he had finished her gaze was back upon him, albeit briefly as she took an inhale of breath.

”Ramza,” she started barely noticing that her own pause lasted for several more seconds than intended. Gathering thoughts in mid-speak not the wisest of all ideas but it was not as if they were telling of matters as simple as the weather over dinner or drinks. “If all . . . no, if any of that is true, tell me: what do I do now? I'm alone.” Come to think of it, she had never been so isolated before. In this Ivalice, there was no Shara to wake her in the forest of Nubswood; in this Ivalice her friends were not trapped in some dream, they simply were not here. Hope – if it existed at all – was a fleeting dream within its own domain.”I'm . . .” she shook her head as if to dismiss the very thought. No, now was not the time; not when they were no longer safe to speak freely. ”We've drawn a few eavesdroppers," she instead indicated tilting her head ever so slightly and lowering her voice.