#202409-07

[driftward]

Title: FFXIV Write 2024 - 6. Halcyon Characters: Karasawa Atraxae Rating: Teen Summary: Behold, the city of eld Notes: None

Amaurot.

It was one of the most beautiful cities on Etheirys. Tall skyscrapers with beautiful winding aethenae that reached up alongside every one of the buildings, every street lined with trees collected from amongst only the most functionally, aesthetically pleasing concepts, people busy in its streets but not so busy at to be overwhelming, light reflecting off of every surface so as to seeming chase away any shadow.

Well, once upon a time, anyroad.

The light now was a little less inspiring, here in a kind of twilight. Dark blues and greens, but the lighting was still impressive for all that, with the sparkle of light hinted at in the wavey twilight that could be seen higher up the buildings.

Atraxae, of course, did not live in Amaurot proper. Karasawa did, he had a modest apartment that she often crashed at during her many visits, and many were her visits. She lived nearby, of course, wouldn't do to live too far away from the city that could be said to be the heartbeat of Etheirys. Atraxae had ideas, and Atraxae had plans, and she wanted to share them with the star. Also, she had, at one point, plans to make for the seat of Azem, and of course that meant talking with important people, and making herself known in return, and that meant Amaurot.

Also, the options for food in Amaurot were, she had thought at the time, staggering. Food was seen as a bit of a luxury, an indulgence, and it was one that the People in Amaurot often indulged in.

The People.

It was interesting, they did not have any other name for themselves, for why would they. Even 'the People' seemed pretentious, overwrought, nobody actually said that. They were just people. The only people on Etheirys, of course, certainly the only civilization in anyone's memory, with no evidence of any earlier such thing. They were the People because they were the only people, and coming up with a title for themselves never even occurred to them. Not even to Atraxae. Certainly not even to any members of the Convocation, even as other life budded and came to being, and other arguably sentient life came to exist.

No, they were just the People, and Amaurot was their capital, and they were the dutiful stewards of the star, and Atraxae was a pain in the ass who insisted on doing everything in the most backwards way possible, or so she was told repeatedly, and Karasawa her long suffering friend who put up with her despite that.

And now she was one of the only People left. And so she thought of that word, with emphasis. The People. The others, they referred to those members of that lost civilization as Ancients, but Atraxae could not bring herself to think of her people that way. They were not ancient to her. Gone, sure, but it was on order of several twelvemonths to her, not on order of, what, a myriad? Myriads?

Urianger would nudge her to a more correct answer. Y'shtola would be upset that she could not keep her history straight. Thancred, well, he had other things on his mind as of late.

They were among the other people that had come into being since her time. And she did think of them as people.

Which separated her from the opinions of the few other scant members of the People still here. They did not think of these lives as worthy of, well, anything. They were just small lives. Insignificant. That shade of Hythlodeus had even used the words 'little lives' when he spoke to her about what had happened shortly after she had vanished the first time. And of the People remaining, there had only been three still whole. She herself was not, and many of the other masked people that she met were more like her than like them.

And treated just as poorly by their would-be masters, as near as she could tell. Tools, every life just a tool to the three mighty unsundered People.

Well, two now.

She passed by some other shades of the People in the street.

This Amaurot, was, of course, not her Amaurot, not the actual Amaurot. Well, it sort of was. Sharded, like she herself was. Split into a dozen and one, separated from the Source. Fewer shards, now, after the machinations of the remaining People. But this Amaurot, here, had been rebuilt, as grand as it was remembered.

As it was remembered.

She stalked down a side street. She had been enchanted, at first; Emet-Selch, and damn her for not remembering the actual names behind the bloody masks, had really put his all into this place. He had entreated her to come down here, when she was able, to an end of his making, and it was obvious that he wanted this to remind her of those halcyon days long long past. Perhaps he had hoped to win her allyship at the final hour, to know he had won the argument before she lost the war.

Or perhaps just to remind himself.

Whatever. She had been enchanted, at first. She never lived in the city, in Amaurot proper herself, but she had visited it more than enough to have a certain nostalgia about it. But as she had wandered its streets, the thinness of it began to wear, more and more.

The People in the streets were excellent facsimiles, but that was all they were. She was used to arguments, to people trying to convince one another of their philosophical points of view, of congregations, of jockeying, of people - people like her! - trying to convince others to help with some experiment or another, trying out some interesting or dangerous concept, of getting about the business of stewarding the city, the star, and one another. But the one argument she had listened in to had been so stilted, so formal, so banal in its politeness that she had been snapped out of her nostalgia and launched straight into a kind of discontented disgust.

It was funny, actually. To be sure, the People were almost like that. It was the close to, the almost, that was galling, because it suddenly caused her memories to fall into sharp relief. That was almost the People.

It reminded her that even when she was was in the real Amaurot, that she believed that the People were only almost alive.

And these facsimiles, in their falseness, nevertheless held a truth. That was where the People were headed. That was where her culture, her entire civilization, was going. They were going to be banal and polite to a banal and very well worded end.

The peoples she had met since then, they were alive in ways that she had always felt the People were not. They were lively. They lived. Not as long, unfortunately, their lives were short and not of their own will, and she did often think about what wonders they could manage with longer lifespans. But with what little they had, they lived. Not always well. Not always great. Some of them, quite dim, down on their luck, poor, underfoot, defeated, lurching to an sad and quiet end. But some of them in such situations burned with a life that she had never seen in the People. And many of them not in such situations also burned, burned so brightly. They had determination. They argued, they fought, they demanded the right to exist. They forced space for themselves, they forced space for and with one another. The People often spoke with one voice, were often extremely cooperative, but it was almost hive like in its desire for conformity, that no one stand out. Not so with the lives she had met. No, when they stood together, they stood for something.

For their land. For the end of a millennia of grudges. For freedom from oppression. For the right to exist.

For friendship.

Karasawa stopped at a crosswalk, and held her hand to her chest, and bowed her head. It was enough to make her head swim. It was enough to make her dizzy, and she realized after a moment that this was not merely fondness overcoming her.

She staggered, and explored some more.

Twisting spires, right where she remembered them being. Each building in its place, according to its purpose, just as she remembered. The People, milling about, not as she remembered. The lost pets, which people had lost interest in, charming slime like creatures she herself was rather fond of, just as she remembered.

But much was also not as she remembered. The actual Amaurot had rather more people in it, generally. And more life, too. More of that 'little life' that was so dismissed by the other three. The streets were too clean. There was not nearly enough of the noise there should have been, no street stalls, no mounts or other traffic. No experimental concepts, not quite yet authorized, but being tested one last time before submission. No artful concepts, not dangerous, but still also not yet ready for submission, but being worked on collaboratively in the street.

And as she went down one street in particular, there was one more thing missing.

Her favourite chupaqueso stall.

Probably not worth the great and mighty Emet-Selch's recollection. She bet he didn't eat at all. Or if he did, it was boring and tasteless and gray.

Another wave of dizziness came over her, and she veered off to the bushes. Well, there was one thing she could add to this Amaurot to make it more authentic to the one she remembered. A bad habit she had, every time she came to the city, and overindulged in things like chupaquesos, and forgot to manager her humours, despite her supposed control of creation magicks and ability to shape her own form.

She leaned over the bushes, and threw up.

Well, unlike back then, she did not have much of a choice in preventing the matter. Well, she did, but a lot of people would have suffered for it as a result, and so there it was, and here she was, and there the mess was. She coughed and hacked pearlescent white into globules on the ground, where they pooled and shimmered, light playing on their surface, a thick, milky, faintly shimmery pool.

Karasawa Atraxae looked at it, breathing deeply, eyes struggling to focus. She clenched them shut, and stood up slowly, and swayed, steadying herself, and looked up, up, the tall spires of not quite Amaurot spiraling up, reaching for the waters beyond the bubble of air she was in, before turning back to where her chupaqueso stall should've been.

No, this was not Amaurot as it was remembered.

This was Amaurot as he remembered it. Clean to the point of being spotless. Grand, large, but not bright and light, no, he remembered the light differently, more of a twilight, perhaps to suit his attitude. The People, all exactingly polite, all exactingly conformist, all predictable in their neat little lives.

This was what he wanted to bring back. And, absent any other People to help with remembering, without any accuracy in his recollection, this was what he probably would bring back. Lahabrea was dead by his own 'crowning act of stupidity' (one of the few things she agreed with Emet-Selch on). Elidibus, well, he didn't remember her at all, despite her once attempt at the seat of Azem. And there was nobody else, save Karasawa, who remembered what those days were like, and like hells would she help him with his misguided ass dream.

Atraxae had opposed his dreams of reunification on the general principle of 'everyone gets to live you asshole', but as she looked at this rebuilt Amaurot with a new sense of horror, Karasawa now realized she had to oppose him for another, perhaps simpler reason.

This was all complete bullshit.

And now she was had to kill one of the last two People alive about it.

[infonettsuushin-blog]

【 日本代表 】ハリル監督「本田・長谷部外し」の可能性！？タイ戦圧勝で現実味･･･【 ゲンダイ 】

【 日本代表 】ハリル監督「本田・長谷部外し」の可能性！？タイ戦圧勝で現実味･･･【 ゲンダイ 】

1: 2017/03/30(木) 07:10:03.33 ID:CAP_USER9 https://www.nikkan-gendai.com/articles/view/sports/202409/4 ２０１８年ロシアＷ杯アジア最終予選Ｂ組の日本代表は昨２８日、ホームでタイ代表相手に４－０のスコア以上の実力差を見せつけた。現地２８日に行われたサウジアラビア対イラクの結果は１－０。よって、日本はＢ組首位に浮上した。 　序盤からキレキレだったのが、日本代表の「王様」を自任してきたミランＭＦ本田圭佑（３０）から、攻撃的な右サイドのレギュラーポジションを奪い取ったヘントＦＷ久保裕也（２３）だ。…

[driftward]

Title: FFXIV Write 2024 - 7. Morsel Characters: Yotsuyu goe Brutus Rating: Teen Summary: Yotsuyu is feeling hungry Notes: None

Yotsuyu was enjoying her dinner immensely.

Being governor of this shithole nation had its perks, and she would be enjoying this particular perk quite a bit. Laid out before her was a sumptuous feast that had been prepared for her by those most loyal to the Garlean empire. The kitchen staff for tonight were either loyalists who had served even before her ascension to power, or those who had had the good sense to bow their head before their betters.

They had worked hard and diligently, and the feast they had provided her delighted the senses, scents that meshed will with one another, the wafting smells teasing the nose before one indulged the palate.

And it was a feast. A singular feast, for she was not entertaining guests or dignitaries, and she did not deign to have anyone eat with her this night, no, this was a feast for her and her alone. Overseen by guards, of course, it was always prudent to have a few of those around, clad in Garlean iron, now standing at ease around the perimeter of the room, keeping an eye out.

And her servants for the evening. None of them looking even slightly in her direction. Pitiful peasants, recently brought into her personal service here at Doma Castle. Their families still lived back in their home villages, but if they did a good enough job, perhaps a small stipend would be sent back home to help support them.

They would need it. The Garlean war effort was a hungry one, and wouldn't you know it, Doma just couldn't spare enough for their overlords and themselves.

Necessary, the sacrifices of war.

These peasants could make those sacrifices, of course.

And now these ones could watch the fruits of their labors as Yotsuyu helped herself to them.

Large fatty slabs of pork, served in a rich broth, with noodles of perfect firmness. Sizzling cuts of delectable meat on beds of green onion and rice. Fish, fresh fish, perfectly cut, perfectly deboned, perfectly plated. Delightful wine. Fragrant vegetables. And she took her time with every bit of it, savoring almost every morsel.

Almost. Most plates, she left a little bit behind, as though she had had enough of it and wished to move on to another course. She slyly watched the servants out of the corner of her eye, noticed when they swallowed, as they shifted their weight carefully. Noticed when they paused to take a particularly deep breath in, tilting their head every so slightly as though to gain just an iota more of the delightful smells. Noticed how hard they were trying to maintain their composure, to not look at her, to stand until needed, to bow and scrape appropriately as they delivered warm towels for her to wet her fingers between courses, as they poured more wine for her, as they very carefully attended to her every need.

As they pointedly never looked at the food left over on the plates, ready to be taken back to the scullery to be disposed of.

The kitchen staff had, of course, per her exacting instruction, been sent home for the night. She would need nothing further from them. And all the food, all the prep, had been carefully secured and was now under guard. The servants would have to wait until they got home to share their meagre rations between them. They had not served near long enough for her liking to warrant an increase in such.

At last, she was done with her meal, and she lifted a hand, to wave for the plates to be taken away. The servants all moved in, politely but swiftly, to take away the plates, each of which still had just a little bit left on them. A choice cut in the broth there, a good corner of a flank there, a decent helping of fresh fish there.

But as they got close, she flipped her hand around the other way, a motion meant to halt them, and each of them did stop, standing stock still, one with her hand on a plate ready to whisk it and its remaining contents away.

"On second though, stay near a moment. I find I feel a bit faint, and should perhaps have a bit more," she said, reaching first for the plate that the one servant had already grabbed the edge of, ready to lift it away.

The servant stood stock still and released their grasp on it immediately as Yotsuyu delicately took it from them. With great, deliberate slowness, she brought the plate to herself, and carefully, deliberately, with great and obvious enjoyment, savored the last morsel, making small pleasant noises to herself as she consumed it.

She set the now empty plate down, clean of any speck of food, and reached for another. And then, another. And over the next half bell, neither dismissing the servants nor bidding them further, Yotsuyu ate, the servants close, obviously nervous, in nearly intimate distance from her, but no closer, and each of them equally obviously uncertain if they should be further, back in their posts to wait for instruction along the wall.

At last, however, she was done, and she lifted her hand again. The plates, the bowls, the saucers, the cups, all were spotlessly clean of any scrap of food. This time, she sat back in her chair, and dabbed delicately at her lips, as the servants whisked the plates away, and each of them cleared the table, cleaning as they went, until the table was empty, and Yotsuyu was...

Well.

Empty, but unsatisfied.

She dismissed them with a wave of her hand.

Such trifling entertainments were not enough to sate her soul, but it soothed the gnawing for a bit.