#Labault deserves a chubby flying cat that he spoils

[halonicheart]

"Faithful" Voidsent

Labault did not start his adventures with grace or with grand ideas in mind. When he parted ways with his sister and friends, he found himself in Ul'dah... not taking the change very well. Lovette suggested with his magical prowess to seek out the Thaumaturge Guild there. He outright refused, stating she knows how he feels about black magic.

So what did that leave him, aside from a heavy heart and sleepless nights. On a whim, he finds himself amongst Goldsmiths, ironically often making thaumaturge arms for one reason or another and having no choice to but to deliver them himself. Time and time again they tried to recruit him but for a time he refuses, despite the small desire to further his knowledge in the arts his father specialized in. The very art that ruined his health.

Labault dedicated his time to goldsmithing, something he did come to grow very fond of. He had worked up quite the rapport with Serendipity that she’s come to entrust him to open up the guild in the morning whenever she needed the extra help. It wasn’t often, she always asked with enough time in between and more than enough leg room to say no. He always said yes of course. What else did he have going for him? It keeps him out his dark lonesome room.

Today was one of those days, terribly bright and terribly early. Sometimes there would be one other person there to help him open the guild. Not this time, which suited him just fine. He wasn’t quite in the mood to humor small talk. And he most certainly wasn’t in the mood for whatever was scurrying around the room upon entry.

It didn’t take very long to find the source of the noise. Cowering under one of the tables was a limping Gaelicat. It wasn’t uncommon to find a rogue voidsent wandering Ul’dah thanks to the antics of the thaumaturges. And every single one that has wandered here Labault has been tasked to deal with them thanks his unfortunate and extensive knowledge of black magics and voidsent.

The poor thing hissed and yowled at Labault, seems it couldn't fly due to it's injury. He huffed softly in order to not to startle it anymore. Labault ended up having to coax it out from under the table with food. He was shocked when the voidsent allowed him to hold it.

The plan was to place this winged feline into the hands of the thaumaturges. But despite its initial behavior… it was well behaved in his arms and just kept staring at him with these big round yellow eyes. It was all over when it started to purr.

Begrudgingly… Labault looks after the gaelicat. Nurses its wing until it can fly again. Watches as it grows rather rotund from spoiling it. Tells himself he’ll release into the wild once it could fly again. Only… he didn’t. Only when he tried the voidsent kept following him. He tried. He really did. Eventually he gave in and just… let it follow him… everywhere.

“Perhaps I should name you… since you insist on staying with me….”

He ponders a few names. The cat’s eyes were yellow like honey suckle. But she was much too feisty for such a cute name. He recalls these creatures are often called The Flying Killer. Perhaps a name that harkens to that? It was a voidsent after all.

“How about…. Jessamine?” After the flower… a poisonous one no less. The voidsent purrs in delight. "Jessamine it is then."