[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/pG8LVDV.png[/img]
[sub][@Sho Minazuki][/sub][/center]
By the time someone cracked a joke about Silver Gate's silver gate for the third time, Otis had to consciously restrain himself from shooting them. If there was one thing he hated more than losing, if there was one thing he hated more than the unknown, it was repetition. Especially vocalized repetition for the purpose of some immature sense of humor. But, alas, murder was not a solution while within polite society, doubly so when going through customs. Outside of a host of electronics and the terabyte-sized USB he used to keep all his personal research notes though, the Strigidae had nothing to bring with him back home. This was neither a triumphant return nor a family occasion, after all. This was still him coming back 'home' solely for business.

And in this case, what he was here was for materials. Earth, as scientifically advanced as it was, had materials that were generally much less varied in arcane purpose than Arcanis, and while Otis could make do with bullets, the battle in Kyoto reminded him that he needed more than just bullets. He needed more guns. More options. More [i]power[/i]. An answer to harnessing the power of the bell that jingled in the patterned pouch that hung from his hips.

Of course, being an Arcanis native, most of what Mayble said fell on deaf ears and Otis spent the entire speech staring a hole into her mouth, waiting for it to finally close for good. The instant she concluded, he strode off, bold and cold as always. He had spent six years of his life in Arcture, studying first to catch up to others his age, then studying to surpass them in knowledge scientific and domestic. He knew these streets like the stitching of his pockets, and he had no need for weapons or armor either. Ignoring the customs officer who looked absolutely flabbergasted why someone would turn down what was essentially free money, the Strigidae stepped out into the daylight, into the fresh air, of the world that was his home.

He allowed himself one second to get the sentiment out of his system, before making a beeline towards the Adventurer's Guild, through the grand doors, to the line up, and finally, for the guild receptionist.

The clack of his badge against polished wood sounded clearly over the hubbub of conversation.

[color=f7941d][b]"Otis Tan Arillo, of Clan Strigidae."[/b][/color] Clear words, tinged with youthful audacity. [color=f7941d][b]"I'm here to hunt."[/b][/color]