Timestamp: 60th of Summer, 514 AV
It wasn't easy being a "scrawny" human in a sea of burly Akalak men. Having spent most of his life exploring Riverfall's streets, he was well-adapted to the weaving in and out of crowds he must do to get anywhere on time. When several Akalak walked side-by-side, nobody behind them was getting anywhere fast. The young strategist rolled his eyes as he came up behind three Akalak men and a Drykas woman (possibly the mate of one of them). He nearly bumped right into the tallest of the three, but managed to stop in time.
Eyes bulging, teeth clenched, Gillie stifled an exasperated growl. He breathed out slowly and ran a hand through his tousled mane of curly black hair.
He was in a terrible hurry, but it wasn't worth making somebody bigger and stronger than him angry. Taking the chance to put his tact to good use, he kept his mouth shut, though everything in him wanted to mutter, "Get in the slow lane, Grandpa." But he didn't. And it probably saved him some trouble.
When he finally had the opening he was waiting for, he curled around the foursome and ducked into an alley between the Almond Blossom and the School of Earth and Life Sciences. Having grown up a street urchin in the city, there were few his age who knew the alleys of Riverfall like he did.
As he passed quietly through the stone-paved alleyway, he unsheathed his gladius and flipped it through the air so that it completed a full circle and landed hilt-in-hand once more. He repeated this motion several dozen times--a trick he had been practicing. It garnered the attention of an Akalak passing by, though the azure-skinned humanoid merely grunted and continued walking. Gillie smirked and cast a glance in the Akalak's direction.
When he did so, he missed the hilt of his gladius and it spiraled to the ground. A sharp, echoing clang followed, as it clattered against the stone pavement.
"Crap!"
The Akalak, back turned, chuckled to himself. Gillie scowled and muttered a curse under his breath in Nari, the language his deceased mother had spoken. He knew very little of the language, but still remembered some of the more vulgar words he'd heard his mother say on occasion years ago.
He scooped up the blade and returned it to its sheath on his belt before continuing--this time at a brisker pace. He was headed for the Knirin Gardens, where he was to meet a client at dusk. The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon, and the dark-haired lad knew his client would be waiting.