#Abel Imbertain

[liminal-storage]

Interlude: Imbertain's Miraculous Elixir

Prompt: Third-Rate

Characters: Abel Imbertain, Kuni Muinvel

Content Warnings: Minor mentions of blood, minor descriptions of injuries.

Abel had seen a lot of injuries in his time. From simple cuts and scrapes to serious head injuries and on occasion things as extreme as fingers nearly severed from a hand, he'd grown desensitized since the time of his childhood. He remembered sitting next to his mother, a woman raised in the ways of the wood while she treated the people of Gelmorra and the people of the Shroud.

From an early age, she'd taught him how to identify plants and herbs at a glance; which to avoid, which ones were useful with careful preparation, and which ones were edible. He'd adored watching her pour and mix tiny vials of solutions and ground powders and stems until they came together to create healing elixirs. In time, he learned to do it himself, but he never quite had his mother's special touch with formulas. Instead he relied heavily on a book full of recipes penned in her flowing script.

They served him well when he needed to make some real gil, and they served him well in treating others he knew.

Others like Kuni, who sat before him with a bleeding gash stretching from her ribs to her hip. She'd taken a stumble down a slope, it seemed. Rather than bothering one of her other job's healers, she relied on him as she always had for small things like this.

Small dirt-filled abrasions and cuts surrounded the larger injury and he could hear his boss hissing in pain every now and again. It must sting something terrible. Fortunately, Kuni seemed to be a well-behaved patient and never actively complained during treatment even if she did side-eye some of his bottles and jars a bit.

Abel finished picking a bit of gravel out of the largest wound and dabbed at a trickle of blood running down to soak into the already ruined fabric of Kuni's top. She winced a little but otherwise stayed still, teeth clenched in discomfort.

"Alright, bosslady. Almost done here. Just gonna have to apply a bit of this ointment. Got a real nice elixir mixed in so it should speed up the healing process. Hang in there!"

Kuni just nodded and sat as still as possible while he gently dabbed the strong, lavender-scented ointment over the wound. She twisted a little in order to see, blinking in surprise as the flesh worked to mend itself right before her eyes. Usually that sort of thing only happened with strong magic involved.

"Well, I'll be. I didn't think you had it in you. Why don't you try selling some of this stuff instead of your usual colored water nonsense?" She picked up the jar of ointment and sniffed it.

"Well...it's good shite, no denying that. It does tend to have a bit of an uh...unusual side effect though. Makes it harder to market that way."

"What kind of side effect?" She squinted at him.

"Well, I'll just say not to be alarmed if your skin turns bright pink and gets insanely itchy in the next couple of days."

"Abel!! What the hells did you do?"

"It'll fade! I promise!"

[liminal-storage]

#13: Quirks and Mishaps (Check)

Prompt: Check

Characters: Abel Imbertain, Kuni Muinvel

Content Warnings: Minor mentions of blood.

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Abel Imbertain wasn't entirely convinced that his boss' means of doing business was completely above board.

Scratch that, he knew that was the case.

In all his years of working for the woman, he'd seen all manner of people coming and going from the office. He'd assisted Kuni more than once with questioning people using methods which were certainly not very ethical. And he'd broken into enough locales looking for evidence that he was fairly certain someone, somewhere, at random, would simply pull him aside and slit his throat for crimes against their person. Many good, honest investigators existed. Those who operated strictly by the book.

Kuni Muinvel was not one of those.

From the sheer number of occult-related cases she took on, to some cases in which she simply turned a blind eye, Abel was fairly certain one wouldn't be too far off in calling the boss-lady "mildly corrupt."

He preferred "morally grey." Not only because Kuni preferred it, but because he was technically complicit in everything, and if something were to happen to her it'd happen to him too. Besides, it seemed to him that her code of conduct was necessary most of the time, meant to protect the interests of many of the clients coming to her doorstep. Plus, she signed his paychecks generously, and he very much wanted to keep things that way.

He could certainly tolerate whatever quirks and mishaps came with the job. Weird occult shit? Got it. Potentially angering the Elementals during a job? He'd have done that for free. The greatest benefit to being Shroud-born was that you got used to the bizarre and sometimes terrifying things in the world.

What he would not get used to was the way Kuni blacked out earlier. They were just talking. Having a lunch break, sipping a cup of tea. Then boss-lady had to go and faint and bash her head on the edge of the table as she slid from her seat. She'd gone horrifyingly still for a moment and he actually started to fear the worst. Then she'd suddenly picked herself up in the strangest way, limbs moving jerkily like she was a puppet on strings. Her hands grasped the sides of her face and her neck made a terrible crack as she popped it to the side and then back into its proper place.

Abel wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with...you know, all of that. Nor was he certain of the proper protocol for when your boss licked the blood trickling down her face, then looked at you and said "you'll do" before bodily attacking you.

Kuni was small. Fast. Wily. It was enough of a combination that he'd actually had to fight her off, gaining the upper hand only because of his height advantage. A quick cast of Repose later, and she crumpled into a heap. Still bleeding from her forehead but definitely still alive. He'd heal her once the adrenaline rush quit threatening to kill him and he could do something about the myriad of cuts from her claws and teeth.

He'd just...not ask her about all of that. So long as she didn't ask why she had blood under her fingernails.

[liminal-storage]

No Savoir Faire

Prompt 15: Row

Characters: Abel, Okuni, and a couple of amateur debt collectors.

Warnings: Language, violence.

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Abel Imbertain had a slight...mmm...We'll call it a problem.

That problem came in the form of two men who began tailing him just beyond the stables where his draught chocobo Keyes was waiting. They hadn't stopped following him since, and at least three bells had passed.

Once he reached Ul'dah's gates and handed off the chocobo's reins to a man near the rentals, Abel made his way to the markets in order to replenish some of his basic supplies, glass vials and the like. He had to hand it to the pair; they had tenacity, if nothing else. Thoroughly convinced that he'd shaken the duo on the ride to the city, he was somewhat shocked to find them both next to the doors of the Quicksand, winded but none the worse for wear. He could foresee a troublesome day ahead, and there was a certain tragic hilarity to the entire situation.

Hells if he knew who either of them were, but neither looked happy and he wasn't about to walk up to ask after their business. A Highlander and a Miqo'te man, one stooped to whisper while the other cast suspicious glances in his direction? Yeah, that could be bad for him. In fact, it could mean one of several things for him;

A. They were just really big fans of his work (unlikely, bordering on impossible).

B. This was a case of mistaken identity (somewhat likely, though still improbable).

C. He'd swindled them at some point and they wanted revenge (more likely).

D. He owed one or both of them money (the most likely option).

Whatever the reason, Abel Imbertain had not survived to adulthood by standing around gawking at trouble, so it wasn't long before he had loaded up his purchases and settled into Keyes' saddle once more. It was a long run from here to the Shroud for his usual gathering, and judging by the way the pair clumsily jogged over to the chocobo rentals, the run was about to get even longer.

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Twelve above and Primordial Gods below, they definitely didn't know when to quit.

A dust storm hit almost as soon as they left Ul'dah, followed by a raging downpour as they crossed into the Black Shroud past Drybone. Thunder shook the earth and made Abel's already neurotic chocobo jumpier than usual, causing him to run right through a cluster of morbols looming near Rootslake.

And still the pair followed, through noxious clouds and rain and flying sand alike.

Abel considered stopping once, some thoughts of trying to parley with the pair crossing his mind, but by the time noon rolled around it seemed they were more than a little sick of the chase. A gunshot cracked, something whizzing past his head to embed itself in a nearby tree.

His thoughts graduated to being fixated on befuddled awe at their comic-book-like tenacity, to something more akin to full-out belief that the pair was just insane. He could hear the taller of the two shouting obscenities at him from the back, but Abel had already kicked Keyes into overdrive. The poor overworked bird gave a wark of despair but his legs worked harder to carry him all the faster towards the path where his rider wanted him to go. He had some advantage in speed being of a larger size and thus, longer of leg.

For his part, Abel remained remarkably calm. When one had a track record of being chased for various reasons, most less savory than others, it was only natural to also develop tactics for shaking your pursuers.

In this case, that tactic consisted of "running to Shadowbox Inquiries because no one would reasonably follow him that far." Barring that, at least he'd have backup if Okuni was in the office.

This thought in mind, he all but dove out of the saddle once he reached the yard, with Keyes seeming all too happy to be relieved of his burden. Abel scrambled for the door.

Annnnd not two minutes later his pursuers just...Oh, they just let themselves right in, didn't they? Well, fuck.

His boss, Twelve bless, was just coming down the stairs at this point, looking like she'd just stepped out of a bath and had her lunch and like she was ready to close up early for the day. She took one look at her assistant, slightly wide-eyed and frantic, then at the pair who came in after, enraged and red in the face.

All three looked like hells, sodden from the downpour and bearing the faintest stench of morbol pollen. Did morbols even have pollen?

"...problems, gentlemen?"

The Highlander shoved his companion out of the way and pointed his gun right in Abel's face.

"Ain't got business with you," ...and then he called Okuni a slur that somehow served to insult both her gender and her race at the same time. "Only for knife-ears here."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! First of all, that's fucking rude. Second of all, you're on my property so I suggest you lose the attitude and put the gun away so we can talk about this like grown-ass adults. That's my assistant you're threatening."

Somewhere from her left, Okuni caught sight of a hand flying in her direction. She deftly stepped out of the way in time for the Highlander's companion to miss and end up backhanding the stair railing instead. The crack of knuckles against hard wood sounded painful.

"Fuck off! He wasn't talking to you!" The man hissed out while cradling his hand. Okuni caught sight of his eyes. A Keeper of the Moon, huh? Her gaze darted back to the Highlander.

"Wow. A hypocrite and you blew your load for possible insults all in one go? Not making yourself look very good in front of Tweedle Dumbass over here, are you?"

Abel always marveled at how much snark his boss could muster in the face of what he viewed as an actual crisis. Marveled at how she must either utterly lack a sense of self preservation, or felt she had the ability to back up her words.

The Highlander growled and leveled the gun at Okuni instead. He spat something unpleasant about how "knife-ears" owed him money (Option D, just as he'd thought!) for some scam startup he'd signed on for a good year ago, but Okuni wasn't listening. Instead her focus was on her hapless assistant, who had by then grabbed the solid wooden crook from his back and brought it down on the taller man's back like a club. The gun fell from the man's hands and he grunted with pain. Okuni kicked the firearm away and elbowed her fellow Keeper in the face who...honestly hadn't done much so far aside from cussing at her and hurting himself.

Oh well. She didn't like his face.

She also wasn't keen on how much blood there was to clean up later. But if the pair had wanted to avoid getting busted up, maybe they should have had a bit more tact and respect for her damn property.

They must be new at this whole debt collecting thing.

[liminal-storage]

Armand

Prompt 5: Cutting Corners

Characters: Abel Imbertain, Okuni Tomioka

Warnings: Mentions of death by drowning.

Minor Note: Previous writing has documented Abel's real name as Alain, but I have since changed it to be Armand. This entry, along with future writing, will reflect this.

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In another life, the name he wore would be his own.

He'd worn his current moniker for so long now that hearing the syllables of his true name always felt jarring. As far as the rest of the world knew, Armand Durel had been dead for years. He might've forgotten it entirely if not for his boss' insistence on using the name every time she needed to say something with impact.

Part of him desperately wished that she'd stop. The more she called him that, the harder it was to play the role he'd cast himself in. On the other hand, there was part of him that felt grateful that she would not allow him to forget.

When he'd first arrived at her office looking for work, she'd dismissed his mannerisms as carelessness and naivety, just as he'd intended. It took time for her to see through it, to break through the carefully-crafted walls he'd built for himself. But when she did, he found himself sitting down with her to answer a bevy of questions she had regarding his identity. Because while Abel Imbertain was the name he claimed, that person had died many years ago.

Naturally, she'd been suspicious. Research and digging into old records had yielded a string of information that hinted towards a tragic incident with few witnesses.

He did deceive her, as he had everyone else, but he hadn't meant for it to be so serious.

His confession started off as a cautious thing, fact by bitter fact painting a truth weighted by regret and grief. They'd been friends, he told her. Abel was his best friend, and his death was his fault. Something in the Duskwight's demeanor bade Okuni to drop the colder interrogation tactics in favor of a gentler inquiry, and he found himself breaking down.

They had just been boys. Neither of them had yet hit the growth spurt that would see them towering over other denizens of the Shroud. They'd been cooling off in the river on a hot summer day and the current had suddenly become too strong. A massive wall of water came crashing over them and Abel had gone under. He tried to get to him but there was so much water and it kept pushing him back, and he could barely hold his own face out of the cold, frothing flood. Abel never came back up. If only he'd been a little faster, or maybe if it'd been him instead...

The woman seemed surprised by his confession, but she knew what it was like to carry guilt like the sort he was pouring out. He hadn't told anyone about that day, and the shame he felt when they found the body washed up at the mouth of the river only inspired him to lock it away.

But then she surprised him a few days later, presenting him with documents she'd managed to find relating to the incident. Articles detailing how a dam had burst up-river from where the boys were wading, how the workers responsible for its upkeep had been cutting corners for years and were currently under investigation.

It hadn't been his fault.

But he still wore the shame the same way he wore the name of his dead friend, and he continued to play the role Abel might have. Armand was a stranger to himself in the same way that he was a memory dead and gone for others.

To her credit, Okuni never ordered him to drop the act. But she did expect a certain level of dedication and skill if he was going to continue to work with her. He could do as he pleased so long as she knew she could rely on him. In time, he grew into that role well, even if it was only where she could see. It felt strange, almost wrong to show his true colors.

Perhaps a day would come when he could be Armand instead of Abel, but he was not yet ready to let the name be forgotten.

[liminal-storage]

Gravesong

Prompt 30: Sojourn

Characters: Okuni Tomioka, Abel Imbertain

Warnings: General mentions of death.

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The journey from life to death is fraught, and what comes after is both painful and healing. 

There are souls who time has forgotten, healing that has yet to begin for the lost. So many changes wrought the world, from Calamity to wars that should never have been fought. In the wake of death, life is the best way to honor the fallen. Yet, Okuni would make offerings to the forgotten. As would Abel, who gives honor to the old ways even without knowing why. 

It’s a new tradition of theirs, one they’re only repeating for the first time since the previous year. 

The two close the office for a full sennight and travel Eorzea to leave gifts for souls in oft-forgotten places. 

He leaves offerings of good liquor at nameless grave markers in Coerthas where soldiers had to hastily bury their companions in the snow. 

She casts handfuls of rattling honey locust seeds off of cliffs into the sea, so that they might shake out songs for those sailors still lost. 

He scours the woods for burnt-out ruins of homes and the seared posts of tents, so that he might stake down colorful long ribbons amongst black cinders for the wind to whip into dancing. 

She leaves armfuls of lilac blossoms at the sites of crumbled caves, and sends thousands more down the rivers at night. The children of Gelmorra and the sons and daughters of Menphina have never been given the chance to mourn their losses properly.

He ties tiny bundles of bioluminescent moss around branches while she winds strings of glass beads around mighty roots. The Shroud’s natives still meet with transgression and atrocity, and too many do not see. But the dark will see a lightshow, branches aglow and glass beads reflecting the moon’s pale light. 

Together they walk the desert sands to leave bundles of dried fruits and meat at the mark of Azeyma, and handfuls of coin by the altars of Nald and Thal. The deserts are harsh and cruel, and souls are so easily taken. 

She places baskets of apples amidst the crumbled stone near the Floating City of Nym, hoping the souls there have long since moved on. 

He stops by a certain river in the Shroud where he buries his hat, sits by the water, and talks to someone who can no longer hear. 

She passes by all of the places where people had touched her life and moved on for better or worse, and wishes the buildings that had housed them well. 

After, they meet at The Bismarck and split the cost of a meal and talk about the journey. They speak of dazzling flocks of birds soaring over the sea, the sight of a doe and her fawn who’d stood to watch their journey. They speak of how beautiful the weather had been that day, the glimmering sun illuminating the process of their work. They speak of how the moon and stars will witness the glowing moss-lanterns on the trees, and how the flowers left behind will perfume the night. 

They speak of how they’ve both changed, too. A tribute to pieces of themselves they’ve lost along the way. 

[liminal-storage]

Letters to Priarch

(This definitely didn't come out how I wanted it to because words have been extremely uncooperative this week, but I wanted to write something all the same.

Featuring several characters within Priarch: @punches-and-cream-puffs, @hiraethwyl, @daylightrays, @roses-and-grimoires, @houserosaire, @louvel-roche, and @reddevil-xiv. Abel is one of my brain children.)

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It was meant to be an exercise. A means of putting her thoughts in order and into words. Communication was something that Priarch as a whole truly seemed to be poor at, so this was merely a means towards putting in more effort towards that. Sit down. Put ink to paper. Write down three short sentences describing her honest thoughts. (Three, and no more, because then she'd stumble over her own words.) Say them out loud later. She shuffled through each paper, knowing full well that the last step would be the hardest. The papers would probably just take up space in a drawer somewhere, but it was an effort all the same, she supposed.

Dear Abel,

I know I give you a hard time, but I couldn't run the business without you. You've never put in any less than your best, and I consider you a valuable confidant when it comes to the work. I've never said it, but I should; I truly appreciate everything you do, whether it be taking care of the paperwork or patching me up after a rough job.

Dear Teagan,

I know you often feel like you aren't doing enough, but the "little" gestures mean so much more than you think they do. And you are much stronger and better than you think you are. You shouldn't be afraid to let your voice be heard.

Dear Lyrin'a,

I wonder if you're afraid to wake up, in a way. Do you feel like no one will need you now that Death is gone? I can't speak for anyone else, but I'll always need you; you're my family, after all.

Dear Inwa,

The more I learn about you, the more I regret the way I treated you when we first met. I don't honestly know how you've managed to endure all that you have without absolutely going off on everyone. I don't understand you sometimes, but I do trust you, and I'll do my best to lend a hand if you ever need one.

Dear Idristan,

I understand that you've suffered over and over, and I would never try to minimize that. But I sincerely think your stubborn pride gets in the way of empathy for others, or makes you draw conclusions that aren't true, or makes you twist the words and intents of others (or perhaps, in a way, you feel as though you have no choice but to expect the worst). Still, there is definitely something to be said for how steadfast you are in your beliefs.

Dear Silvaineaux,

You take far too much responsibility on your shoulders. I know that you view us all as your charges, but you should let us take on some of that burden too. Then again, with the way Priarch goes off on each other, maybe we can't be trusted with that kind of responsibility...

Dear Louvel,

I want to go back to being authentic around you; you used to be one of my closest friends, but now I feel like I'm always doing or saying things that are off-putting to you. Also some of your partners are scary and I don't know if something I do might be misinterpreted and cause trouble for you. But I made a promise a long time ago and I intend to keep it, so I won't be giving up on rekindling that friendship just yet.

Dear Talan/Talia,

I still feel horrible for what happened to you, even knowing that there is nothing I or anyone else could have done that would have changed the outcome. I do wish that it was possible for you to entrust some of us with your thoughts, instead of feeling like you always have to hide in faerie. I'm sure I'm not the only one who misses having you around.

Her hands stilled when she reached the last letter, several of the words crossed out or written over.

Dear Self,

I know you're scared. You sass and keep your filters off with strangers because you feel like you've got nothing to lose, but try it with the people you value the most too. You might be surprised.

[liminal-storage]

An investigator, a cartographer, a perfumer, and an idiot walk into a bar...

[liminal-storage]

Broken Machine

(CW for implications of drug use and self-harming behaviors. I haven't written much since the FFXIVWrite challenge, so I thought I'd try sitting down to do just that. I'm not entirely pleased with it, but it's good to just get back into it anyway)

Abel Imbertain had considerable concerns about his boss.

Tardiness wasn't typically a word that Okuni kept in her vocabulary. On the contrary, usually by the time Abel showed up to the office for the day, the Raen already had things up and running hours prior. Freshly-made coffee and the scratch of quill on paper always tended to greet him before she even lifted her head to offer a salutation. For moons now, the office had been kept as a well-oiled machine, one which could easily run without his assistance, though she always made sure to tell him that his assistance was indeed appreciated. Okuni Tomioka ran a tight ship, but that was born of necessity owing to the fact that it was just the two of them. Abel appreciated that; appreciated knowing that there was a constant and steady force behind his employment. His diminutive boss could be hard on him, but he never found any room for resentment knowing that it came from a place of real love for the job, and a desire to keep things running reliably.

The first incident threw him for a loop.

It was the fourth day of the sennight. Everything had seemed normal the day before, but upon his arrival that morning he found the office locked, windows dark. That in and of itself wasn't a problem, given that he had a spare key for getting in and out as necessary. Certainly, it was unusual, but nothing to write home about as too alarming just yet. No, the alarm came a couple of bells later when the Raen finally did arrive in a state of disarray. She looked like she hadn't slept, steps dragging and fingers pressed to aching temples. Bloodshot eyes betrayed her intoxication, and she wore the exact same thing as the night before.

Abel chalked it up to a rough night and didn't ask.

But more incidents followed the first; a late morning here, finding her asleep on the couch with the lights on and the door unlocked there. Empty bottles strewn across her desk, a suspiciously scented tin of cigarettes wrapped in lavender colored paper. It wasn't his place, and again he didn't ask. Until the fifth incident, when she arrived to the office with blood dried down her face, looking like she might have a concussion.

Of course he was alarmed. It wasn't the first time she'd stumbled back with some form of injury, and it was his job to patch her up, but this seemed...different. She brushed him off, for one, telling him to "mind his own business."

He insisted, a hand reaching out for her left arm in order to steady her.

She snapped.

"Do I pay you to mother me?" she'd snarled at him. "Do I pay you to stick your nose where nobody wants it?"

That was enough for him to really worry. If she was concussed, she needed someone to keep an eye on her in case things got worse. She certainly seemed delirious in a way, not her usual self.

"H-hey now. Let me help you. This is what you pay me for, remember?"

Okuni kept herself still, but only for a minute. The second that healing aether began to seep in at her temples, she flinched hard and shoved him away stating she didn't need him. That she didn't need it. That it didn't matter anyway, because she needed that pain.

"Is...is that what this is about?"

She'd told him of the venture into that horrific laboratory and the things that had been found there by Priarch's main team. He suspected she'd only told him because he'd found her in a similar state back then. Or, at least, a state similar to the first incident; eyes bloodshot, reeking of liquor and smoke. She'd vented her heart out, saying that some voice had whispered wicked words to her, that she felt like she was just walking in some illusion. He'd listened, ever the faithful assistant, but encouraged her to maybe confide those woes in someone she cared about.

"Is that what this is about?" He asked again when he was met with silence. "Is this about...what happened back then?"

He was almost afraid to ask what was really on his mind, but it seemed important to.

"This has been happening a lot lately. Are you...are you hoping something bad will happen to you?"

The woman looked up at him with a frightening clarity in her eyes, given her physical state, lips pulled back into a grimace.

"Alain."

And he flinched at her use of his name, his real name.

"If you don't mind your own fucking business and stop asking me stupid questions I'm going to tell you to walk out that door and never come back."

(He knew she wouldn't do it. If she was going to she would have already.)

Coward. He was such a coward, because the tone, the use of his name, the sheer defensiveness of her words put him off, had him backing up with his hands held out before him, had him averting his eyes.

She clearly didn't even want him to look at her.

"F-fine. But, if not me, at least let someone look at you. That friend of yours, maybe?"

She waved him off, slumped over the couch, a hand to a linkpearl near her horn. He furrowed his brows, backed out of the office and shut the door with a hand scrubbing over his face. He hoped for her sake that she was contacting her friend.

He had considerable concerns about his boss.

[liminal-storage]

About: Abel Imbertain

About

Server: Mateus, Crystal Data Center

Age: 35

Race: Duskwight Elezen

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Demisexual

Heritage: From somewhere in the Black Shroud.

Current Residence: Usually dingy inn rooms, or the couch in Shadowbox Inquiries.

Relationships: Single

Patrons: Nophica, Oschon

Vocation: Snake-oil Salesman, healer for hire, paperwork lackey

Hobbies: Collecting odd knickknacks, brewing remedies, sightseeing, fishing

Appearance: Ridiculously tall, leanly muscled. Purplish eyes and dusty light grey hair, darker in some places. Dark skin with a slightly bluish tint. Has a large scar across his face, as well as having scarring at the left corner of his mouth. Teal-colored markings over his eyes. Dresses in a lot of rather shabby clothing with few exceptions. Favors reds and golds, and always has some kind of hat. Frequently carries a spiked healing cane, and it isn't entirely clear whether it's to use as a focus or to smack people.

Personality: Comes across as spastic and flighty. Easily impressed, loud, a habitual liar, and somewhat twitchy. Occasional moments of sincerity betray the fact that this may not be his real personality.

Hooks

Snake-oil Salesman: This man is somewhat infamous within the city-states, Gridania and Ul'dah in particular. Carrying a large leather and metal case stuffed to the brim with bottles and vials, he never misses a chance to try to shill his wares. Some of his potions are legitimate, and quite effective at that. But the rest smell like vinegar and look like colored water.

Abel is quick to crack under pressure, his mannerisms showing that he isn't doing this completely of his own will. Feel free to use this as a means of calling him out, chasing him down, demanding your money back, and generally lecturing him about his life choices.

Office Assistant: While his skills as a salesman leave much to be desired, Abel actually does have some legitimate talents in organization. Working as an assistant to Okuni Tomioka, he spends quite a lot of his time doing paperwork and keeping things at the office running when the Raen isn't there. And sometimes he fancies himself something of a detective as well, taking on cases with good intent but often terrible results.

If you need a willing lackey for a venture, he's your guy.

Deep Debts: Somehow, this man has found himself racking up a huge debt to a certain organization headed by a shady-ass Elezen. While he does his best to avoid the organization's headquarters, the debt ever looms over his head, and he's not above doing humiliating or stupid things in order to pay it back. Questionable business ventures, daring him to do something for a few gil, and even just hiring out his services as a healer are all things he's willing to do.

{Note that this does include the possibility for darker scenes, but that does not have to be the primary focus.]

A Familiar Face: Spending most of his time within the Black Shroud, Abel seems to be fairly well-known in the area, though not always for good reason. He seems to be connected to rumors of a particular incident years ago involving a dam, a storm, and the death of an unfortunate young man...

Maybe your character recognizes him. Maybe they know details of that little incident. Maybe they know exactly what he has to hide.

OOC

The best way to get into contact with me is through a message here on tumblr, or via Discord (Ritz#6652). Please note that I will have to accept a friend request from you first.

Players and characters must be 18+ with 21+ preferred.

Please do not approach me with the intent of shipping and ERP right out of the gate. While I'm certainly not opposed to writing relationships and adult content, I'd really prefer it to be as a result of natural progression and organic interaction. In addition, Abel is definitely a character who's less eager to just hop right into bed. So if that's your angle, I'm afraid you're very likely to be disappointed.

I'm a fan of a lot of different types of rp! The hooks above are merely a few avenues to approaching me. If none of these really work for you but you still want to interact with me, just ask! We can definitely figure something out.

Abel is an alt and not my rp main. If you wish to contact me in game, it's easiest to do so through my main, Okuni Tomioka@Mateus.

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#23: Shuffle (feat. Abel)

"Damn it all,  have you heard a single word I've said?" Okuni drops her hands in disdain, arms crossing over her chest while she glares up at the Duskwight towering over her. "If your instructions were any less clear we'd both be dancing blindfolded! What the hells is a leading foot anyhow?" Abel can only pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation.  Teach her to dance,  she'd said,  and she'd give him the funds to pay off a third of his debt to Priarch. It's bribery and they both know it.  Still, a third of his debt is a third of his debt.  How hard can it be to teach a Raen a waltz? He had not anticipated her foul temper, nor her violent threats to his favorite hat if he failed to comply.  He's stupid, but not stupid enough to ask why she wanted to learn from him specifically, rather than from an individual closer to her own height.  That will only earn more bullying,  he suspects,  so he just sighs and tries to get the lesson back on course. "To clarify,  the leading foot in dance will be the left.  Keep your weight on the balls of your feet. Come now,  from the top.  If you can slay a voidsent and survive several near death experiences surely you can master a simple waltz!"

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He’s a liar, a faker, a shitty potion-maker!

Sometimes it’s just fun and refreshing to play a goofball type of character.

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Introducing Abel, my new resident chaotic dumbass and panacea peddler. Whatever you do, don’t touch his hat. 

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And the dudes of my roster!

Alecto, Camio, and Abel.