Human cities were just so...loud. She should have been used to it by now, having spent a quarter of her life amongst the humans and their cities, but one thing Esmorica never got past was the noise. From the sound of merchants peddling their overpriced wares to drunkards slamming their flagons together in a toast, noise was everywhere. And it was only increased due to the ongoing festival. The rose haired woman currently sat outside a tavern, her chair overlooking the streets. In front of her was a glass of berry wine. The bartender had told her it was elvish in origin. The reason why the glass in front of Esmorica was still mostly full was because it was not, in fact, elvish. But to the humans and other races whose knowledge of elves most likely started and ended with "loners who live in trees", the fruit blend of the wine was probably enough to fool them. 

Esmorica was hardly an expert on the elves, though she suspected out of everyone in attendance at today's festival she would be considered a scholar. It helped having elvish blood. But she was not here to reconnect to her elvish kin. The only reason Esmorica had come to the fesitval, to this country at all, was sheer curiosity. In her century of living, she hadn't been to the Great Festival, and as of now she was remembering why she had put it off for one hundred years. Lazily, the woman twirled her thin finger along the rim of the wine glass, a soft tune sounding out. Her expression showed both annoyance and boredom, and her posture added to that. She was adorned in a maroon outfit made of fine cloth that hung loose on her frame. She was especially slender, but not in a sickly fashion. So slim she was that she had to lean forward in her chair, upper torso hovering over the table, just to lazily swirl her finger around the glass rim. 

To those not in the know, Esmorica could pass for a human, albeit one who looked like she had been missing meals for twenty years. She didn't look a day above her late twenties, despite being five times older than that. The perks, the curse, of elvish blood. 

Currently, her emerald eyes were observing a scene involving a moogle and some humans, females by the look and sound of it,and then joined by a male. She sighed, continuing to produce soft musical tones from her wine glass. The antics of these humans, how excitable they got, it was all so utterly dull, so trite, so pathetic. 

"Children at play," she spoke of the revelry going on with the moogle and the other humans, "Children away from their parents, causing their mischief, their troubles, no concern or care for anyone or anything. Tiresome, the lot of them. Tiresome, this entire affair." 

Esmorica sighed and shook her head. Come next festival, she would be far away from here.