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After his "conversation" with the Dark Dragon and Mia's subsequent tongue-lashing, Autor found himself chastened and in need of a bracing cup of tea. He picks up a face mask for protection from the flu and soldiers out to see if his worries about Oswin and Rae being infected are well-founded.

Catch him out and about in the main bar.

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Autor peers at him, noticing the discomfort and logging it away. "Jagd?" he asks. "What is that? A place without Mist?"

He taps his chin. "Strange that his ship was able to go where others cannot, and for seemingly no reason. Not to state the obvious overly much, but this sounds rather suspicious."

"Somewhere with too much Mist. Unless you had something to absorb it with, at a rate much faster than magicite, it would interfere with the skystone and you'd drop out of the air," Sherral says.

There is a tiny shuffle of discomfort. Sherral is familiar with only one substance that fits that description.

"Aye, it does. But I have my orders, and if my superiors are not willing to divulge any more details I must make do with what I have."

The shuffling is also logged away. "So the Judge Magister's ship had something that could do so," Autor says, furrowing his brow. "Do you think the Judge could survive a crash? They're powerful, right?"

"He might have. If he has, he's yet to make contact, though."

"Do you have an idea of where they went down?" Autor asks. "Or are you going to be combing the desert for weeks?"

"A rough idea. And it's a very large airship."

"Well, good luck finding it," Autor says, wrinkling his nose. "I hope you're able to get the job done quickly. How have you been otherwise?"

"Er, well, I'd say. Well enough. And you, apart from your friend's illness?"

Autor offers him a half-shrug. "Restless. Not ill, thankfully," he says. "But voluntarily cooped up. Regarding your trip, are you heading out immediately or will you be spending a few more days here?"

"It'll be a while yet before we can leave," Sherral says ruefully, rubbing the back of his head. "Gathering supplies for an expedition like this takes more time than I'd like."

"Ah, but it makes sense," Autor says. "You don't want to go in unprepared. Will you be taking chocobos in?"

"Aye," Sherral says. "One for every man, plus a few to carry supplies."

"Do you know why your superiors picked you for this mission?" he asks, tapping his chin. "You are after all leaving behind a great many of newly-trained men, as you said."

"I have every faith in my second-in-command to do an admirable job," Sherral says wryly. "The Sandsea lies past the Westersand, which is my jurisdiction. Or perhaps I simply come highly recommended."

That last is said with a tinge of amusement.

And Autor smiles again, ever so slightly, under his mask. "True. And if the men are trained well, then they shouldn't be too much trouble," he says. "Did you at least have fun doing that?"

"Oh, aye," Sherral says. "It took them a few weeks, but they learned eventually."

"Good," Autor says, nodding thoughtfully. "How did the submariners fare in training?"

"Susceptible-to-unexpected-headbutts-ishly," Sherral says after a moment's thought. Then: "They did well enough that I can at least leave them in charge of the stables, cleaning duty and maybe some patrols along the wall. I won't be taking so many men with me that they'll be being called upon to do anything of too high import anytime soon."

Autor barks out a startled laugh. "That's... certainly an unorthodox training method," he says. "Were you trained that way or is this original?"

[OOC: I just snorted my cream soda, curse you.]

Cheerfully: "I've never been that susceptible."

Which is halfway towards a 'yes', really.

[OOC: :D]

Edited 2014-02-13 02:27 (UTC)

"I suspect that unexpected head butts would become expected after a while," he says, raising his teacup, "and thus lose their effectiveness. Aside from head butting, what other training methods did you employ?"

"That's usually around the point they learn to fasten their helmets properly, luckily," Sherral says. "Apart from that, just the standard. If they can't wear their armour properly they get to train in their skivvies, which is no fun in a desert. Putting them on menial tasks like mucking out the chocobo stables. Marching drills. More marching drills. Even more marching drills."

"Sounds like you work them hard," Autor says, shaking his head. "I don't know if I'd be able to handle that sort of routine, especially given the desert clime. Do you think their training was more or less difficult than yours, given the climate?"

"I couldn't say. I did my training at the Bellona Mountains Training Camp - thin air, freezing cold, but at least it was a lot less sandy and you weren't likely to get sunburn," Sherral says. "And when I went on to do my further training at the Akademy, that's in central Archadia, where the climate is fairly pleasant."

Autor wrinkles his nose again. "The cold's even worse than the sand, I'd think, though sunburns are the worst," he says. "I'm beginning to suspect I'm terribly spoiled. How long did you spend at the Akademy?"