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way-to-the-future · 5 years ago

Text

Fraying

Even practiced hands suffer at seamstress’ work. Sharp little pains the day through, tangled threads, fraying cloth. Saidiya used to find this kind of work pleasantly diverting, when she had something to be diverted from – now every morning is the same. She wakes up and makes her tea, gives her morning adulation to Azeyma. If there is oil left, she spares herself a crust of bread before setting to work. Through the midday she murmurs the blessings of the Traders; she thinks of the little shop she used to own on the square. The shadowed street outside is no garden or bazaar to look upon, but the comings and goings of others engage her mind with their little variations. Children, in particular, bring her joy to watch – their place in the tapestry is as yet unseen. They make her recall her own son, when she did not yet know what he would be.

She fumbles the line; pierces her finger, and watches the small blossom of blood form. While she patches it, she remembers his little hurts, and the ones which were not so easy for her to patch. She remembers what he’d said at starlight – what they’d both said, in fairness, Saidiya, for though justice has never been shown to you, you are ever her disciple. Through afternoon she does not speak, only devoted to her labors. By twilight, she walks through the lively streets like a mourner, leaving her bounty of shrouds and dresses in the hands of maids and guards and porters. She buys fresh bread, and a small portion of something healthful, and a flask of oil if there is a little left. There is never much; barely enough to pay the landlord, and the Brassblades, and the local brotherhood.

Ordinarily, the neighborhood men might protect a widow, the mother of an orphan, without the customary fees. But there is no such small kindness offered to Saidiya. She is not old, but she feels the weight of more than forty years and too many eyes on her as she climbs the rickety steps to her flat, where she can draw the shutters closed. She adds a sprinkling of lemon juice to the tabbouleh, a little indulgence; she roasts the chickpeas sweet with honey, like Castor favored them. Even then, there was not enough money to give him all the things he might have wished for – the pains of raising a prince in less than princely circumstances. Her hands and legs ached less then, at least.

After dinner she watches the candle burn slowly towards nothing. When she would get grim, Saul would caution her against stillness – he was a firm believer in the active life. Now he is gone, and there is not a hole in Saidiya’s heart for him. It has been much too long for that; he is healed like a phantom limb, scabbed and scarred over, never in her thoughts but always in the room with her. She folds her hands to pray to the Spinner, as always, and meditates on her thread. It is so long now; strained and separated, close to snapping. She is plucked like a harp’s string, solitary and screaming.

In these moments of near darkness after thanks are given, she studies her hands – thinner than she ever remembered them. If she could find a moment’s rest – but that is not her due. Even split from the tapestry, she must follow her path. This still leaves room for reflection, of course, and this night as every night she blows out the candle and goes to her bedroom. Perhaps one day she will not move, but the ritual and the routine is enough now. She fetches under the old wood for a finely worked box, locked with a brass key – perhaps the finest thing she now owns. Saidiya sets it upon her covers and lifts the lid gently, so gently her hands shake as they do when she sews. She draws out a lock of copper hair bound with red string, to feel its fragility in her hand. Scraps of paper, too – every word she ever had, every solitary image she ever stole of a kingdom she’ll never see. It was not promised for her, neither by Nymeia or by her husband, but here it is hers all the same. Long ago, she needed Saul to read them to her - but now she knows these words by sight. She dares to defy her fate so because she must; because that thread is so close to snapping.

Carinissima puella, they say.

Oculi tui.

Sana alacrisque.

Verbum et passus primi.

De vobis quaesivit.

Each one a little pain, pulling the tapestry apart in their totality.

#i have been feeling inspired to write recently which is nice #anyways don't ask me #castor had to get it from somewhere #they are more like each other than either of them likes to admit #mens sana #persons of interest #narrative

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nightbearers · 7 years ago

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Story : On the Wire p1

[ooc]

The following post is very lengthy bit of Roleplay and write up regarding character and story progression for current arc! Apologies in advance for the length!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Apa sat perched on the fence beside the fountain of the Quicksand. His ears flicked as he listened to the words of people around him. His tail swayed rhythmically as he watched people come and go down the streets. Movement paused as eventually a familiar xaela man was seen down below, looking towards Apa’s usual spot--under the lamp post. A soft sigh escaped him muffled by his mask as the Xaela man approached speaking in native tongue, "<Let me guess, someone stole your spot.>"

"<Today. I am not a Warrior of Light. Someone has stolen the Light I defend. So now I am just a simple man perched on the fence.>" Apa answered with slight snark rolling his eyes behind his mask. ‘Such a quiet day, until you had to come along didn’t you?’ He shakes his head at his own thoughts.

Chanto stared at Apa with blank eyes and a straight face, ".....what." Apa replied with a slight snort motioning his right hand northeast where the bottom of the lamppost he would usually occupy was.

"<I was sitting under the lamppost one night and someone called me a Warrior of Light--defender of the light.... Which came from the lamppost.>" Apa kept his gaze forward as he replied to Chanto still in the man’s native tongue. Chanto slowly let his eyes gaze back over to his usual spot, a deep exhale escaped him.

"<The light of this world is so fleeting, cannot blame you that it was hard to defend.>" Chanto shakes his head and looks over to Apa. "<You should start climbing on top of the lamppost.>" Apa let off an unimpressed snort rolling eyes under his mask.

"<There is no light in this world. No darkness. Only the in between...>" Apa turned towards Chanto, "<Don't tempt me.>"

"<What? You have already thought about it several times, I am just amazed you have not done it yet.>" Chanto snorted before pausing, staring at Apa as a smirk creeped upon his face. "<...you have, haven't you?>"

"<What do you want this time Sir Edgelord Von Grumpenstein?>" Apa shaked his head.

"<What do you think?>" The xaela man replied crossing his arms.

"<I think you are a bored and grumpy man who has nothing to do with his life so he wanders around being dark, gloomy, and edgy but behind closed doors his heart melts for his wife and children.... Also that you are very salty.>" ‘I think you are bottling up your anger and need someone to vent to. You cannot exactly talk to your wife or the others who were not there about what happened. So you want to talk to me.’

Chanto took a gander over at Apa with one eye and head slightly inclined. "<Tch... it looks like someone has taken a nap...>" He sighs quietly and nods. "<Saltier than the saltery in the lochs that just opened up again...>" he chuckles. "<Got some more on your chest there?>"

Apa pats at his chest, "<Hmm--A lot actually, but that's not why you're here. Now what do you want?>" ‘A lot more. So much more than you know. Why are you here of all the people? What could you possibly need this time?’

"<Come now->" Chanto spread his arms proudly. "<-Are you not happy to see Sir Edgelord Von Grumpenstein, are you not honoured to have him in your presence? Bask in the grump, catte, bask in the grump and allow yourself to be blessed by it.>" He slowly lowered his hands. "<Good thing I am no Oronir...>" He grumbles. "<You owe me a fight.>"

"<....I will not bask in anything from you--I might get some horrible disease.>" Apa scoffed slightly in reply. "<You have the attitude of one. Also I owe you nothing.>” ‘I have done so much already for you, and you still believe I owe you more?’

Chanto grins wickedly and flinged a thumb towards the Quicksand. "<Thanks to all the salt and grump, there is no disease that can survive here.>” He cocked a brow and looks over to the right, then back to Apa at two women arguing nearby. "The sands have been quite aggressive as of late." he shook his head. "<I have the attitude of a King, not an Oronir. Nevertheless either we watch the small ones kill each other, or we 'train'.>"

"Of late? People are always looking for a fight on the streets of Ul'dah--mostly because the Brassblade would keep silent with enough gil anyways... Least back cycles ago. I think they're all stuck in past mindset." Apa gave a shrug, "Besides, didn't you just come up to me asking for a fight? Not that it would be much of a fight against you." ‘I do not need to train, you are the one who needs to train. Get off your high horse and realize you have a wife and children now. You cannot go around picking fights on the street. Or anywhere.‘ Apa clenches his teeth slightly at his thoughts.

Chanto chuckles softly. "One of your biggest tactics were to provoke the enemy enough to tunnel-vision... But yes. A fight is what I want, I will even allow you to choose the location." Apa flicks his ears as he hears the sound of someone taking a fist to the face nearby and just, SIGHS.

"It is one of my tactics. Not my biggest tactics. Let's make ourselves scarce from this--woman who is more punch than word--and woman who is TOO MUCH word... I'd rather not be caught with the blade about." Apa hops off the fence landing on his feet down below. ‘If the brassblade come I am not going to be put into a cell again. Just because two stupid women looking to try proving themselves to a complete stranger.’

Chanto chuckles softly and leaped over the fence too. "I know." He would look towards the gate before beginning to move towards Central Thanalan.

Apa followed silently within his own thoughts, ‘This will not be a ‘training’ fight… This will be a lesson. A clear warning, you will thank me one day.’ As they exited into the sandstorm he sighed with annoyance, "Huh. Dusty."

"Fitting."

"As dirty as you." Apa snorted slightly rolling his eyes.

"And as annoying as you."

"No. I am more annoying. Don't lump me with dirt."

"mm...? what's going on here.." Chanto paused looking over towards the gathering of people where the Grindstone was typically kept.

Apa shrugs, "It's a sun late for the grindstone ain't it?" ‘Though these people look ready for a fight either way.’

"Either way, not a fitting place." Chanto waved a dismissive hand wandering off once more down the path.

Apa nods, "I rather not kill you in public."

"Please, you wouldn't be able to." Chanto snorts.

"Are you sure about that?" Apa followed once more.

"If you wanted me dead, you would have let me to rot on that star."

"I could have changed my mind. People change. They do not stay the same." Apa snorts shaking his head, ‘Yes… People change… I’m no different.’

Chanto glanced back slightly as he walked. "Would that not mean I have changed too?"

"Well are you sitting around in coerthas right now killing random people?"

Chanto chuckles calmly. "Kind of hard doing so when you have a love and kids, isnt it?"

"So you have changed. For the better." ‘For the better… For the better…’

Chanto fell silent and looks over at apa. "....I suppose.." He finally stopped down the ramp not too far from the river at the Sil’dih Excavation Site.

"Not suppose. You have." Apa rolled his eyes beneath his mask. ‘Everyone has changed. No one stays the same. Everyone has changed for the better… Everyone except one.’

"And what of you? What do you call your... 'change'? You're wanted in several city-states, you seem to blame yourself because Munkhsaran did not want to be fully healed-" He gestured around. "Do not become blind because of all the shit that has happened and fail to see what's close."

‘Do not become blind. Blind to what? Are you saying I should continue as I am? Only called upon by people who call me a friend if they need something? To never see them otherwise? To continue my gaze towards these people who act as if they wish to become close--only to leave in the end? Fine. I will not turn a blind eye.’ Apa broke away from his thoughts for a moment, "So we are fighting here then?" He clenched his teeth slightly under his mask, ‘I will look then. I will not turn a blind eye--but do not blame me for the outcome.’

"A fitting place, i thought."

"Fitting for who exactly?" Apa snorted rolling his eyes, ‘It wasn’t you. You will never be him. No matter if you are technically him. You will never be like him, you will never be loved like he was. You were a villain. You were sent to kidnap her, and destroy us… And you still question if you have changed…’

Chanto shakes his head. "Are you ready?"

#U'Apa Tia #Apa Zenko #Current story #FFXIV RP log #ffxiv rp #ffxiv balmung

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