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geirskogull · 5 years

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Steel Reign - Chapter 3 - Dial A Summoner

Danica calls up a good friend who probably wont react badly to “oh yeah i might be a primal now”

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Rating: M

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Rain. Rain was a regular occurrence in the Shroud. Caolan Haustefort should know that. Caolan Haustefort liked to consider himself a smart man, and things such as the local weather patterns should be within his constant purview of “things he was aware of.”

But as his floppy wet beret could tell you, he very much was not.

Danica was lucky, he thought to himself, lucky he was bored enough trying to find a ship to sign on to in Limsa that he'd be willing to drop everything and come to this ass end of the forest to see how she was faring. A lie in two parts on his account, one he told himself in a vain attempt to keep the haughty aloof arcanist act in one piece. He was sure that was exactly the kind of person ships were looking for and Gods above he’d be their man.

Of course he’d also be the worried mother hen, rushing from one end of Eorzea to the other when one of his comrades muttered even a single worrying word.

Pushing open the swinging doors of Buscarron Druthers, the rush of warm dry air made him shudder, sending droplets of water all over any who were within spitting distance on the main door. His eyes scanned the crowd for the mop of black hair and slightly pointed ears of the woman whose shaky voiced link pearl call had dragged him there, and when his eyes came up empty his heart began pounding. The mask slipping and worry visually coloring his grey face, somehow losing what little color it did have. His long steps rushed him towards the tavern keeper, a strong looking gent whose name adorned the very place her ran.

“Need a drink, son? I’m sure I have something here that can warm your drenched bones” Buscarron asked, looking up at the Duskwight with a sympathetic look in his singular functional eye. Caolan shook his head no, sending another wave of splatters across the bar this time.

“Not now, though depending on what the person I’m supposed to meet here has to say, perhaps later.” He cracked a nervous smile, letting his eyes wander over the gathered crowds again, absently. Trying to maintain a calm that he was no longer capable of holding.

“Looking for the Dragoon in the corner perhaps?” Buscarron’s words drew caolans eyes and attention back towards him. The ‘keep motioned to a well hidden alcove with the glass he had been cleaning. Eyes following, he did not like what he saw.

Danica sat in the booth, eyes downcast, intent upon the small linkpearl and not at all at either the food or drink placed in front of her. She looked exhausted, almost half dead. “She’s been like that since she wandered in here during the worst of the storm. I had half the mind to offer the poor girl use of the backroom to rest, but something tells me she’d be too proud to accept the offer.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” He replied, he shook his head, a heavy sigh following. “Thank you.” He pushed himself off the bar, and with a slight bow of his head towards its keeper he turned towards Dee. His frown never truly leaving his face.

Buscarron’s eyes followed the leggy gent, he must have been whoever she called on that little red pearl earlier. Who she spoke to in rushed, hushed tones, far too low for him to make out anything she actually said to the folks on the other side. All he knew was that she looked scared, and alone, and his honor - and his memory of when she came bouncing through the door on order of the Lancer’s guild - had him flicking his eye back over there every once and awhile. Just make sure she was still upright and breathing.

“Dee?” Caolans voice was almost a whisper as he approached his friend, and yet she still nearly jumped from her skin when his words hit her ears. She paused just short of her spear, just recognizing him before her hands wrapped around its shaft. Danica Voss was jumpy.

This wasn’t good.

Voss was never jumpy. Ok that was a lie, Caolan chastised himself, her entire preferred form of combat revolved around jumping, but this was a different jumpy. A scary jumpy. A worrying jumpy. A jumpy that had him compressing himself to as small a size as he possibly could, which admittedly, even when he hunched over and scrunched up his shoulders wasn’t very small.

“Dee...” he let her name hang in the air as he slid into the booth, across from her. Trying to figure out, among his many grand social stratagem, which to employ to talk to a friend about something bothering her.

“Your food is getting cold.” Working around the problem before getting it, that would work yes? He thought to himself, gentle nudging the plate towards his friends. Even if it didn’t work, it would make her eat something, hopefully.

Voss flicked her eyes to the plate, as if noticing it for the first time. She opened her mouth, flicked her eyes towards Buscarron who simply waved, and then shook her head. The way her brows crinkled as she grimaced spoke a sharp spike of pain as she did so.

“....Not Hungry.” She eventually managed to whisper. “But thank you.” Her eyes flashed back towards the owner, who hard turned back to his own work for now. She silently cursed herself, how had she not heard him place it down? Odin, or the sword, or perhaps even just her own overactive mind painted her scenarios were such inattention would be fatal.

“Thirsty then?” Caolan asked, tilting his head, and comically letting his dripping beret fall with an audible splat. Danica blinked, startled and confused at the sound, but drawn away from her own mind if even for a second by the sheer strangeness of Haustefort without a hat. When she didn’t respond, he leaned in, his wet hair dripping upon the table. Gods he wished he had thought to bring an umbrella.

“Or perhaps you wish to tell me why you summoned me all the way from Limsa, where if you’d like to know I was very very close to actually signing on with a good crew for a spell, via linkpearl with just the words “We need to talk.” You know, the anxiety words. The no good very bad anxiety words.” He cracked a small smile, hoping his good natured jab at the heart of the problem would ease some answers out of the half elezen woman.

She swallowed hard, eyes still downcast when she answered.

“I need help.” Three simple words that did not tell any meat of the matter. He blinked, waiting for more words, fear growing in his heart as the seconds turned closer towards a minute. Slowly, she raised her hands to the table. They were bruised, bandaged things. Unsurprising considering her martial profession.

“Did you really summon me all this way just to heal some minor injuries?” He asked, giving an incredulous. He deeply doubted such a thing would be the case. Hells, he’d known her to forgo medical treatment when she really needed it, if it didn’t seem important at the time via her own special, Danica standards.

Then, he noticed the black metal hilt in her hands.

His mouth hung open, shock and awe stalling any words from leaving his mouth. He’d never thought he’d live to be in the presence of such a sword, well unless it was swinging down upon him to end his pitiful existence. Yet, here it was in Danica’s hand.

“You killed Odin?” He whispered, finally. Grasping at her wrist holding the hilt and shoving it back beneath the table. Scanning the bar for eyes turned their way, thankful that his whisper hadn’t actually been a scream.

“Yes.” She responded her hands shaking, “No.” She said quickly after. Her eyes finally leaving the sword to look into his grey ones. They were red, had she been crying? Or was she just tired.

“What do you mean?” He asked, leaning further across the table. The wood digging into his gut, he was almost crawling across it.

“I think it is the Primal.” She whispered, and he felt the his gut twist. “And... and who ever kills Odin becomes him the moment they touch the sword.”

Becomes the primal.

The words hit him like an imperial air raid. He dare not ask to confirm if she was saying what he thought she was saying. The look on her face was enough to tell him that any shadow of doubt in her own mind was long gone. He took a deep breath.

“What do you need me to do, Dee?” His voice was serious, thankfully not betraying the fear in his core. His friend, a primal. A primal among those who hunt primals. He was sure she was having those very same worried thoughts rushing through her mind, mayhap even faster. Of those she called friend turning their blade upon her, striking her down. Her name cursed, those close to her executed for fear of being tempered. He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and spoke again.

“Anything you need of me, I will do.”

“I need you to be my friend right now.”

She responded, her voice shaky. Perhaps on the verge of tears. Reaching across the table, caolan grasped the hand that did not hold the cursed blade with both of his. A comforting shield, even if only in theory and less in practice.

Hells, the Arcanist Guild never prepared him for something like this.

“I’m...” She spoke, looking back towards the swirling wood grain of the table. “I’m telling you because your the only person my mind gave me that wouldn’t...” She couldn’t even bring herself to finish the sentence. He wondered how long she sat agonizing over those names before ringing him up. He was glad she did.

“I need you to help me understand this, help me figure out what exactly is going on. You know stuff about primals, about summoning! And your my friend and...” She shook her head, grimacing. If Odin was in there, was he talking to her? Was he making this easy, making this hard?

“I can do that, I’ll head back to Limsa and start spending my days scouring for everything I can get on the topic. And I’ll get us a linkpearl for just us. And I’ll... Have you told anyone else?” He asked, concern in his voice. “Who sent you out here anyway? Last I heard you were too busy punching people in Ul’dah for sport.”

Danica snorted, and Caolan smiled. Progress in this strange predicament they found themselves, that he had been dragged into.

“Urianger, we Scions were called on to try to put a permanent end to Odin. We thought we had a plan by fighting him in Urth’s font but...” She shook her head, giving a bitter chuckle. “Look how that turned out.”

“Urianger, that’s the guy with the hood right?” he asked, trying to remember everything he could about Danica’s fellow scions. He remembered little, mostly tidbits about the ones Zara and Bryce were also familiar with. There was Neran, the Paladin, then Aveline the Astrologian, and Y’sthola - he’d seen her around Limsa and...

He cursed his memory for not giving him more.

Danica gave an affirming nod. “The others were out dealing with other big problems, so it fell to me and now...”

“Do you trust Urianger as well?” Caolan asked, not allowing Danica to continue deep into the swirling abyss of fear that stood before her. She looked up and nodded.

“He’s done nothing to earn my distrust,”

“Then I think we should tell him as well.” Caolan announced, Danica merely shrugged.

Though her voice showed much more fear than her nonchalant movement did.

“I’d prefer to let as few people know about this condition as possible.” She whispered. Eyes darting around the room. None had eyes on her, but it didn’t stop her from worrying ears may be.

“Alright, don’t, but at least report in so they don’t come calling.” He amended his statement, and she sighed. He was right, so very right. If she didn’t report in people would come calling. When people come calling, they ask questions. And when people ask questions, they inevitably get answers. She swallowed hard and nodded.

“Come with me?”

She asked, though it was more of a plea. He sighed, shaking his wet head with a look of mock insult upon his face.

“Yet you request more! Ugh, fine.” He couldn’t stop a smile from creeping upon his face, or laughter from breaking his words

“But let’s at least wait till the rain stops,”

“Pray then we will return to the waking sands?”

#ffxiv #ff14 #Danica Voss #Odin #Chapter 3 #Steel Reign

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apsbicepstraining · 7 years

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Real Homemakers Of New Jersey Recap: Returning HGTV A Run For Their Money

Another weekend get, another occurrence of. Maybe thats why I dislike on this show so much It represents my ass having to wake up and go to work. Or maybe its because no ones hollered prostitution whore or been indicted of any misdemeanours this season. They really did give the bar a bit high-pitched. But whatever. This is what weve went. At least it got more exciting last week. Preserve it up, Jerseyans. And yes, thats what theyre called. I Googled it.

We kick shit off at Dolores house and continues to be revamping. I feel like this is going to be a season-long happening. D goes pissed because Frank decided to merely resurface the cabinets instead of gutting the whole kitchen. Why tf does your ex husband get a say in this? This is your fucking house. Your relationship, I guess.

D and Siggy head to Jacquelines house and Im gambling my resources of the fund theyre gonna talk about the semi-fight that went down between her and Tre last chapter. Disturbance of the fucking centuryIm right. What else is new?

Jacqueline rehashes the whole oppose in a singer thats almost as exasperating as Teresas, which is mind-blowing in and of itself. Bravo starts doing that act where they proceed from backward and forward between the families and between this and the shrieking expression and my glass of Whispering Angel, I find a migraine coming on. Thanks, Andy Cohen. Melissa is telling her caveman spouse that Jacqueline was out of path for trying to pit him against his own sister, and I agree. So theyre gonna get lunch to discuss.

Over at Teresas, shes still doing yoga. We fucking get wise already. Youre fit and Zen post-lockup. Side memorandum: Are those cheetah print sheets on their ruler couch? Jesus fucking Christ. I say this every episode but the Jersey-ness is reaching me nauseated. Back to the chapter Its a big day at the Giudice house. Tre gets to take her ankle bracelet off. Mazel tov! I couldnt relate to these beings less if I tried.

Its time for Jacqueline and Melissas lunch. Obstruct the drama coming. They dive right into it. I entail damn. Jacqueline is like screaming in this restaurant rn.

Jacqueline: I dont got to go to you to talk to your partner. Ima go straight to the source. Ive done so much for your family!

Have you? I dont really recollect, tbh. But thats not resounding any bells. Melissas exactly kinda like what-the fuck-ever. And thats all. Seemed real abrupt if you ask me, but this ros might be getting to my head.

I can tell were going to Siggys house because theres some Jewish marry music playing after a commercial shatter and Sigs is the only non-Italian Jew on this display. Subtle, Bravo. Sigs house is immaculate. Not even a hint of leopard. Can we just movie all of the incidents here instead of the rest of these gaudy-ass rooms? Her mothers been demonstrated and start talking about their heritage and Siggys bratty children. Ugh I forgot about them. The hires intimate Jewish traditions to deliver their own families back together. Its worth a shot I suppose.

At Jacquelines, Ashlee and her boyfriend are over for dinner. They talk about living together and the convo returns to marriage and pregnancy so naturally BF looks like hes about to fucking shaft. Jacqueline attracts him aside like its an episode of The Bachelor. He wants to take Jacqueline to help him pick out an engagement resound, which is sweet. Im glad Ashlee went her shit together. It was touch and go there for a bit while. You did it!

Melissa and Joe Gorga head to Tres for dinner. Teresa says she wants an edamamelike, one singular edamame? Returns out, she intends an enema. LOL. Words are hard. Theyre there for about two fucking seconds before we start talking back the Teresa and Jacqueline argument. Goddamn, yall are some petty bitches. Move on. It wasnt even a big deal. There are much bigger things to worry about. Such as going to prison and shit.

Meanwhile, Dolores is still renovating her home. Since when did this become HGTV? Frank shows up, and I feel like D hangs out with her ex a lot more than whats ordinary. I get it. They have minors. But like, does he have a fucking dwelling? Hes literally always there. But fine. Dolores wants to knock cold a wall, which, after hours of watching this afternoon, I fully support. It certainly opens up the room. Frank tones a bitch fit for a sec because thats gonna get expensive, but then caves. That a path, D.

Siggy took her parents advice and emcees Kiddish at her house in is making an effort to constitute her kids less asshole-y. Ive got high hopes, but low-toned expectations.

Zen Tre ends shes also Dr. Tre and hosts a care conference where everyone in the fam writes down their love. This ought to be good. I cant imagine Joe is too good with texts, but I dont wanna stereotype. It backfires when Milania puts her parents on blast.

Milania : I dont like it when my dad announces me fat, specially since hes fat af too. Mom doesnt get me. She never listens to me because shes ever on her phone.

Damn. Parents of the fucking time over here. Youd conclude after being away from your girls for a year, youd wanna coldnes with them. But like, I bet you missed Twitter very, so I get it. Gia pretty much says the same shit, except “shes been” tells her mama she overreacts, to which, Teresa shockingly overreacts.

Were back at Siggys and, despite Kiddish, her girls are still little shits. Cast them down to Georgia, Sigs. An hour with my grandparents and theyll be fucking angels.

Its Milanias bday so in true Jersey fashion, they get a pink Hummer limo. They go to this residence announced iFly where gust gusts acquire you pilot or something. Idk. I dont enjoy any kind of physical pleasure besides wine tastings, so it consider this to be my worst fucking nightmare, but the girls look like theyre having fun. Teresas phone is nowhere in sight, for the record.

Jacqueline and BF travel echoing store and have a really emotional discussion. Couldnt yall have done this in the car on the way over instead of in the actual accumulate? No? Okay. We get a montage to seeing how cruel Ashlee was as a teen. Ahhh, the very best ole days.

Were back at iFly, and Milania is talking about her 11 th bday and Joe starts to rip up because he wont be there. This actually realizes me so sad. I mean, hes supposed to be in prison for like four years. Thats a long fucking time when you have young children. Damn it. Im hollering again. Is it precisely me or is this franchise way sadder than the other Housewives?

But why stop there? Makes check in on Dolores croaking puppy while were at it. Bethenny must be free to get in with the Jersey ladies so I can chuckle a little. We gotta lighten this shit up. Lastly the sadness discontinues because Sigs and Jacqueline come over to do some demo. Its probs a good way for them to get out some of that Jersey anger. D gets a entitle from Maz, whos still pissed because she is still not going to work at their piece of shit gym. I dont think she gets how positions extend, but what do I know?

Melissa and Tre are having some tea and is about to change Sigs, D, and Melissa have been scheduling a girls weekend. Fuck. Yes. Girls weekends= wine-coloured and arguings. Teresas on the fence but not really because shes contractually obliged to go to this shit so she agrees. Whats the over/ under on how many times well ensure Teresa doing downward bird-dog and other fitness shit this trip-up?

The next day, Teresa goes her book in the mail. She speaks the dedication she wrote to her daughters while lying on her leopard membranes. We get it, Tre. You love your daughters. Just not as much as your phone.

Her and Joe then start talking about the disagreement with Jacqueline again, and would you look at that? My bottle of wine-coloured is drain right as the escapade objective. Until next week

div.body_middle_part_right. bodypart: nth-child( n +2 ), a.prevBody exhibition: none ;

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