#drawing elezen like..yes

[wyrmwright]

[ffxiv, haurchefant] ishgardian athleisure wear

[ourlittleuluru]

A break away from dem angst of the previous WIP posting 😂 (sorry but not really) brain decided (instead of doing the art I'm SUPPOSED to) what if the LaDS boys were playing/in FF14, what'll be their race and jobs

[marzipanladyart]

Basil and Inky!

[chicinlicin]

average sharlayan thaliak thoughts

[briar-ffxiv]

FFXIV Write #06 - Halcyon

FFXIV Write 2024 Master Post

Prompt #6 - Halcyon

Note: A story from Briar's past when he met a very unusual Viera as a small child.

The whispers called and Briar turned, green eyes wide and fascinated. The five-year-old half-Elezen giggled, leaning a bit to glimpse the faint voices that seemed to be beckoning him. Briar pouted, pushing his reddish curls out of his eyes and chewing his lower lip as he glanced at his mother. Saule was humming to herself as she scrubbed the laundry against the stones by the creek. His tall, beautiful Elezen mother was focused as she worked, not noticing her little one's growing interest in something beyond the trees.

Briar hesitated briefly, aware he wasn't supposed to run off. He'd often been told that he should stay where Maman could see him. Still, the tingle in the air and the gentle whispers urged him toward the trees. The child fidgeted for a minute before giving Saule a final glance and darting toward the trees.

He expected to hear his mother calling, but the only voice he heard was the sweet murmurs before him. As he entered the shadow of the trees, he gave a delighted giggle to see little glowing will-o-wisps. The small lights whirled around him before darting away, flashing behind the trees like a game. Briar laughed as he chased them, unaware he was getting further and further from home.

Time passed as Briar chased and danced with the little whispering spirits, going deeper and deeper into the Black Shroud. Eventually, he found himself near ancient ruins, once white but now covered with moss and vines. The half-Elezen gave a sound of wonder, still following the wisps that drew him closer. Oblivious to the dangers that still haunted Amdapor, Briar wandered, delighted in the new place.

He did finally stop when the wisps led him to a little clearing and the dark shape within it. It looked much like a man and Maman said he should be careful of strange men, but this one had long soft ears and a fluffy tail. He looked like a shadow until pale glowing eyes turned toward one of the wisps and a sharp, strange giggle filled the quiet.

"Oh? Oh? What did you find-- Ahh, I see." The strange man turned and glided toward Briar, who stayed in place, looking up at him with innocent confusion.

Briar twisted his hands nervously as the cloaked, shadowy man leaned over him, head tilted at an odd angle. "…Are you a bunny?" the child asked, voice hesitant but curious.

The Viera blinked and grinned, white teeth a sharp gleam against his ebony skin. "Of a kind." That odd giggle sounded again as the Viera straightened, tilting his head. He went so very still for a moment, so still that Briar felt a little twinge of nerves. Those long ears twitched and tilted and the look he gave Briar after made him squeak.

A quick step forward and the Viera leaned sharply, face almost level with the tiny half-Elezen. "Can you see them?"

"T-them?" Briar whispered, fingers gripping the hem of his shirt.

"Yes, yes, little one. Them." The Viera made an impatient gesture around them.

"…The lights?"

"Yes! Yes!" The Viera grinned, happier this time and giggled as he spun before freezing suddenly and looking over his shoulder. "I don't suppose you can hear them too?"

Briar blinked, lips twitching in a nervous smile, glad the stranger seemed happy but the interaction was unnerving. "Yes? N-not always a-all the words, but their voices… They said come play."

"How interesting," the Viera mused, twisting slowly to face Briar again. "What a special little creature you must be then." He squatted on his heels near the child again. "Where do you live, hmm?"

Briar blinked, puzzled but turned to point in the direction of the cottage he'd been born in. Maman had taught him long ago how to use the line of the mountains and the river to at least find the direction, although he couldn't have explained much more. "By the creek."

The Viera gave a hum, absently drawing little patterns on the soft ground with his fingers. "I see. I see. And what is your--" He paused, ears shooting up.

"Briar!" The child gasped as he heard his mother's voice, loud and distressed. "Briar, mon coeur, where are you?!"

The Viera stiffened and that strange smile showed again. "Is that you?" He hummed as the boy nodded, looking into the trees. "Well, best go to her, little briar rose," he giggled. "She sounds worried. Off with you."

Briar turned back, startled when he was alone. There were a few quick flashes of the wisps as they disappeared, but not a sign of the strange man with his long soft ears. Briar was still looking around when Saule appeared, distressed and panting.

"Briar!" the Elezen woman gasped, rushing toward him and scooping him into her arms to hug fiercely. "Sweetling, where have you been?"

"There was a bunny, Maman," he whispered, hugging her back and glancing over his shoulder again. "He was talking to me…"

"I'm sure, mon coeur," Saule murmured, shaking her head and looking around the clearing a moment, dismissing his words as a child's fancy. "but I have told you about wandering off."

"I know, Maman," Briar whispered, exhaustion heavy now that he was being held, and carried back toward his home. "But the lights wanted to play."

Saule bit her lip in a worried way, shaking her head. "I know, sweetling, but you shouldn't listen to those lights. You should listen to me."

"Yes, Maman. I'm sorry."

Saule sighed, patting his back as she walked rapidly. "It's all right, Briar. Just be more careful, please."

"Yes, Maman."

Arne (the mysterious Viera fellow) belongs to @midnightmagicks!

[chitsuu]

OC Kiss Week 2024: Almost

Doing this little challenge this week, with my FFXIV character and his husband (@kitshunette's son)!

Also, I'm not much of a writer, but I decided to write a little something for each drawing, little windows in their story (which is also why I'm using the @ockissweek prompt list but not in order)

Elidivien blocked the coming blow, and tried to land one in return. It was promptly deflected and both he and his sparring partner took a step back, assessing the situation. The Au Ra in front of him was holding his wooden staff in a way that spoke of years of experience. Unlike what you would expect from an Astrologian student. Well, that made sense, Elidivien considered for a second. He was the one who asked Jisul to spar with him when he discovered that he was a dragoon first and foremost, and that the only reason he entered the school was to broaden his skill set. He had been pleasantly surprised to learn that, and even more pleased to realize that they had something in common. Elidivien had lived his first years in a dragoon barracks, and holding a lance was second nature to him, but not many of his Astrologian friends wanted to train with him.

Except now he was maybe starting to regret his decision. It was an even match, which meant they were giving it their all, which in turn meant flushed skin, sweat adding a glow to said flushed skin, muscled arms on display. All of that made him feel like a band rowdy Moogles had taken up residency in his stomach. He wondered what the blue haired man in front of him was feeling, before shaking his head to get rid of those thoughts.

Focus.

He lunged once more, but his foot caught on something on the ground.

Uh oh.

Elidivien lost his balance completely, and went tumbling straight into Jisul’s arms. Surprised by the sudden weight crashing into him at full speed, the Au Ra’s footing slipped under them, and Elidivien closed his eyes, bracing for the impact.

When he opened them after a second, Jisul’s face was right in front of his own, his bodyright under his. Embarrassingly, Elidivien realized he had put his left hand behind Jisul’s head, instinctively trying to prevent him from bumping it too hard on the ground. A useless endeavor, as the horns adorning his friend’s head prevented him for hitting his head anyway. Then Elidivien became conscious of the closeness of their bodies.

The Elezen had landed right on top of the Au Ra, and he could not decide what was the most embarrassing par of the whole situation. Him tripping on seemingly nothing? Him trying to protect his friend’s head? What about the fact that Jisul’s cold hands had caught his waist, and that he could feel the long fingers handling him with a strong grip yet the most delicate touch, as if he did not want to break him? Or maybe, maybe, the fact that Elidivien’s mouth had stopped just short of landing right on Jisul’s? The whole thing was mortifying, Elidivien decided, and he could feel the blood rushing to his face and ears. He tried to convince himself that the blush could be mistaken for being caused by the sparring itself rather than this unfortunate incident.

“Did you hurt yourself anywhere?”

Jisul’s concerned voice rose, and the tan man snapped back to the moment, rising himself a little away from the pale man’s face. Doing that, he caught Jisul’s face in its entirety, and wondered if it had been that red before the tumbling.

“I’m fine… My foot must have caught on something.”, Elidivien offered as an explanation, “Thank you for catching me.”

“Anytime.”

His friend smiled softly, and Elidivien’s heart skipped a beat. Jisul looked unfazed, however the Elezen glimpsed his tail flapping rapidly back and forth. He suddenly became aware that he was still being embraced on the ground, and he quickly got up completely, helping Jisul at the same time.

“Should we take a short break?”, Jisul asked, fanning himself lightly with his hand, “I need some water.”

“Yes, indeed, I could go for a drink too!”

Elidivien felt a bit light headed, as he glimpsed at his friend’s hand that had been holding him mere seconds ago. He knew the Au Ra had big hands, but feeling them encircling his waist was a whole another knowledge. He could still feel a tingle where the hands had been.

As he followed Jisul out of the training grounds, he could not help but worry at the tension installing between the two of them, most certainly rooted in this almost kiss that took place. Elidivien could only hope that this mishap would not lead to Jisul distancing himself from him. He was not sure he could be fine with that.

Just as they left, Elidivien made eye contact with a blond Elezen.

Why is Stephanivien here?

The machinist’s presence was a mystery, but even more puzzling was the smug look on his face, as if the fellow Elezen knew exactly what was Elidivien feeling.

Surely he didn’t cause this.

Elidivien pondered uncertainly, while his eyes fell onto an impact where he had been standing a few moments before, an impact suspiciously looking like the ground had been hit with a bullet, unearthing a piece of rock that was now in the way.

Elidivien glared back, only for the machinist to blow him a kiss with a wink.

[myreia]

DIVERGENCE OF THE HEART

CHAPTER ELEVEN: HEART OF STONE

Chapter Rating: Teen Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Aymeric de Borel, Thancred Waters, Hilda Ware Pairings: Aureia/Aymeric, Aureia/Thancred, Thancred/Hilda Chapter Words: 2,851 Notes: Set during the Heavensward patches. Summary: Aureia Malathar may have made a name for herself in Ishgard, but her deeds come with a hefty personal toll. Despite her victories at the Grand Melee she has never felt more unsure of herself. Her relationship with Thancred—the person she thought knew her the best—is strained, yet she cannot abandon him. Aymeric is falling for her harder with each passing day, yet she cannot bring herself to accept it. All may be fair in love and war, but at least war is predictable. Love on the other hand… Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 Read on AO3

They leave the Borel Manor in silence.

Hilda sets an easy pace, striding with purpose, head held high. She huffs when her long ponytail catches on her jacket collar and pulls it out, flipping it behind her. Her carbine rests heavily on her back, the metal looking all the more worn in the bright sunlight. It is uncommonly bright today, not a cloud to be seen. Aureia can’t remember a sky so clear since the day Haurchefant died.

“I suppose thanks are in order,” Aureia says. She isn’t sure what she wants to say to her friend, but something is better than nothing.

Hilda flashes her a sympathetic smile. “Any time.” They walk a little further, their pace slowing as they turn onto the Pillars’ main thoroughfare. The Vault dominates the skyline, its soaring spires reaching up to the heavens. “You know, Aur, I’m not going to pry into personal matters, but you all right? You seem a little…”

She gestures empathetically, leaving the word unsaid.

“I’m fine.”

She arches an eyebrow, but does not press. “So, I understand dinner went well,” she continues, flashing her a grin.

“Dinner? I—” Aureia blushes. The dinner feels like an age ago. “It was nice.”

“Mhm.”

“It was! What’s that smile for?”

Hilda’s grin widens. “Can’t I be happy for you?”

“You’re teasing me.”

“I’m teasing you because I’m happy for you.”

They round the corner and patter down the stone steps into the Jeweled Crozier. The marketplace is bustling, the midday sun drawing out the crowds. Highborn and lowborn both stand shoulder-to-shoulder, pursuing merchants’ wares with flushed faces and bright eyes. Considering the stringent Ishgardian social divide, it is heartwarming to see them gathered here. Perhaps Aymeric’s reforms are finally making change.

Hilda catches the eye of a large, beefy Elezen loitering in a corner. She gives him a cheery wave and his face breaks into a wide smile. Chortling to herself, she pulls Aureia through the street, weaving their way through the chattering crowd.

“So,” she says, her eyes dancing mischievously. “How was it?”

“How was what?”

Hilda clears her throat and shoots her a knowing look. “How was it?”

“Oh!” Aureia’s flush deepens. She may as well have lit herself on fire from the way she is burning. “Good.”

The dam breaks in her chest, relief rushing over her. Somehow confiding in someone other than Aymeric, someone normal without the concerns of the Ishgardian aristocracy, relieves the stress and worry she has been building in her head. There will always be politics involved in this relationship, she knows that, but Hilda brings a relieving sense of perspective. “It was good. Nice.”

She chortles. “See? I knew you needed someone to help take the edge off.”

Aureia smirks. “Yes, well… Aymeric is quite good at that.”

“Is he now? Fury, I’d hope so, considering he’s been pining after you for moons. I reckon I’ve never seen a man quite in love with anyone as he is with you. One would think a politician wouldn’t wear his heart on his sleeve.”

She pauses, a spike of annoyance stabbing her in the gut. Though the words are different, the point is familiar. Too familiar. “Been talking to Thancred?”

Hilda shrugs. “Saw him in brief last night.”

Her heart pangs, an open, heavy throb. She doesn’t want to think about what that means when who he spends his time with doesn’t matter to her. So why—after everything—does she still care? “At Saint Vaindreau’s Grace?” she asks.

“Aye,” she replies. “At Saint Vaindreau’s Grace. Alphinaud’s little sister is well, if you were wondering.”

Aureia makes a face. “Best not let Alisaie catch you calling her little or that might be the end of you and the Hounds.”

Hilda snorts. The crowd thins and they exit the market, passing below grand sweeping arches as they follow the curve of the street down, down, and down again. Aureia’s legs ache. Why this city was built into the slope of a mountain, she will never know.

“Right,” Hilda says after a moment, throwing her ponytail over her shoulder once more. “Reckon I should have told you sooner considering the two of you are friends and all, but here I was thinking it wouldn’t amount to much in the first place—”

“What would?”

“A bit of fun.” She shrugs again. “Getting a bit bored, if I’m honest.”

Aureia holds her tongue and stares dully ahead. Foundation’s tenements rise high around them, casting the road into shadow. The flagstones are slippery here, puddles clinging to the stone where the sun has not yet hit.

“I worry for you Scions, you know. So concerned with the fates of gods and men, do any of you give consideration to yourselves? It’s hard work, ain’t it? Championing the belief in a better world. Eorzea needs good folk like you, just as Ishgard needs the likes of Ser Aymeric and the Brume needs the likes of the Hounds.”

“Where’s this going, Hilda?”

“I’ve never seen a man quite as wretched as he was last night. Blamed it on guilt over the little sister’s injuries, but I reckon there was something else on his mind. Now this is none of my business, but did something happen with the pair of you?”

“You could say that.”

“Let me guess, he was a fucking fool, yeah?”

Aureia pauses, eyes wide.

Hilda grins at her, eyes shining with mirth and understanding. Linking her arm with hers, she resumes her purposeful stride. “Did you really think I wouldn’t have your back, Aur?” she says. “Listen. If you want my advice? Fuck him—”

Aureia chokes, laughter bubbling out of her. Her shoulders shake and she leans into Hilda for support. This is not where she thought this conversation would go.

“Maybe not literally,” Hilda continues, her lips twitching with amusement. “Definitely not literally, the man is a mess.”

“I know.”

They exit out of the shadows and turn down another street, heading for the Forgotten Knight. Aureia’s stomach is growling. It will be good to return home, take whatever food Gibrillont has on offer, and touch base with Tataru. She will no doubt know the logistics Alphinaud and Count Edmont have planned.

Guilt twinges in her gut. Though some tiny part of her is proud of putting her personal life first for once, she chose the wrong night to do it. In a way, she has let them both down. She hates to imagine Alphinaud, pale with worry about Alisaie and with dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, taking command of the situation and formulating the plan. Too often logistics have come down to him, and while she trusts him with her life, he shouldn’t have to shoulder that burden alone. Edmont, too, has stepped up in her absence, playing his role as the responsible and generous noble benefactor.

She’s being too harsh, she knows she is. Edmont is a good man. House Fortemps will always stand by the Scions. She should be grateful for that. If he hadn’t offered, Alphinaud or Aymeric would have asked for his aid regardless. No airship can make its way to Xelphatol. The only way up the mountain is to fight their way through hordes of Ixali and the Fortemps knights are well-trained in that regard.

“Aur.” Hilda’s voice interrupts her thoughts, gentle but firm. They have reached the foot of a bridge, its span arching across the twisting city streets. “I should take my leave. Take care, yeah?”

Aureia smiles.

Hilda unlinks her arm and pulls her into an embrace. “Me and the Hounds will be waiting for you when you get back. Drinks on us this time, the whole crew. Don’t keep us waiting for long, you hear?”

She chuckles affectionately. “I hear.”

“Good. Say, you should stop by the Skysteel Manufactory sometime. I think Stephanivien would be pleased to me you, give you a lesson or two in how our firearms work. I reckon you’d make a fine machinist.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“If you ever feel the need to shoot something, say the word.”

Hilda releases her and draws back, a mischievous smirk on her face. She raises a hand in farewell and departs, disappearing across the grand thoroughfare. Smiling to herself, Aureia sets a foot on the bridge and climbs. There are few people about, and those who are pay her no heed. The sun shines brightly, the wind all but calm. If she didn’t know better, one could say it is as close to a spring day as Ishgard can get.

A shadow waits for her at the apex.

Her heart plummets. Thancred’s figure is unmistakable as he leans against the thick stone railing, arms folded across his chest. He watches the thin foot traffic with a narrowed eye, his eyepatch returned to its customary place. The hilts of his dual daggers glint in the harsh light. She doesn’t need to ask what that means—he is prepared to escort her to Camp Dragonhead and beyond, if needed.  

A creeping sense of déjà vu settles over her as she crests the bridge. She brushes it aside and squints, shielding her face with a hand. A day ago, she would be annoyed—angry, even. Now she feels nothing. Anger would be better than nothing.

“Thancred.”

“Aureia.”

The faint breeze tugs at her hair. She slows to a stop a foot away, arms folded and hands tucked into her armpits. She must keep things civil. Treat him normally. Perhaps if they pretend nothing happened, they can keep their working relationship intact. “How is Alisaie?” she asks.

“She dances on the edge of consciousness, straying in and out,” he replies curtly. “But the chirurgeons report that she has taken to the antidote well. She will recover. It is only a matter of time before she is on her feet once more.”

“I see. Is someone with her now?”

“Tataru has relieved us of infirmary duty, if that is what you ask.”

Her jaw clenches. “I only wanted to know if someone she knew was nearby. I would hate to be in her shoes, awaking in a strange city, no friends in sight. Or worse, a Fortemps brother.”

A measly, half-hearted joke. One made at the expense of Artoirel and Emmanellain. Haurchefant would chastise her gently for it. Gods, what is wrong with her?

He snorts. There’s no retort. No witty repartee. Instead, he stares intently at the bridge and the tenements beyond and the mountains beyond that. There’s a terrible yearning in his face, desire turned desperate. He may be here physically, but his mind is elsewhere. Ishgard is no place for him, not after his year in the wilds. Then again, perhaps there has never been a place for him. They both once called Ul’dah home, but it rang true for her in a way it did not to him. A city of import, yes, but he was only ever a passerby. He is a wanderer, always on the move. If he could up and disappear now, where would he go? He vanished and found Alisaie. Perhaps he will do something of the like again. Yda and Papalymo are still missing after all.  

Her heart pangs with grief. It has been so long since they were all together, gathered in Minfilia’s solar at the Rising Stones. A different age. A different life. Even should those who remain be reunited, it will never be the same.

“You were not at the meeting,” Thancred says.

She grimaces. “I wasn’t aware there was a meeting.”

“Perhaps you would have had you not disappeared.”

“Perhaps I should be free to go where I please and not where I’m expected. I’m not bound hand and foot to the Fortemps Manor.”

“Quite. Though you are not above aristocratic hospitality when another manor has caught your eye. Or so I hear.”

How the hells…? Not even day. Not one day and already he knows. Not one day and already he is judging her. Does his envy truly go that far? Did he expect her to chase him down at the infirmary after what happened in that alleyway? He gave her leave not to. He told her that if she did not come, that would be the end of it—

There it is. The anger, surging up out of her like a burst of mana.

She bites her tongue, desperate to keep her temper in check. How easy it is to simmer in her fury. Anger is powerful. Addictive. It is satisfying to ride the waves of her righteous anger, to give into it utterly. But behind the pleasure lies exhaustion.

Why is she angry? What does she blame him for? Fucking her friend behind her back? What happened between him and Hilda isn’t any of her business. The misguided kiss the night before? She fell for it as much as he did, it would be hypocritical to fault him for it without blaming herself. The cold shoulders and bitter remarks? Natural responses to the way she needles him. If he knows exactly where to press to make it hurt the most, she knows, too. Perhaps even better.

To try to unravel who wronged who first is impossible now.

Her heart seizes. It is as if a hand has reached directly into her chest and wrapped its fingers around it, squeezing tight. “I’m sorry,” she manages, the words rasped and raw. It isn’t good enough.  

“Thank you, Aureia darling—”

She scowls at the epithet, but says nothing. Either he forgot her request or he has ignored it on purpose.

“—I am certainly not the one who merits an apology. That would be Alphinaud. From what I hear the poor boy almost made himself ill with worry. For someone who fancies himself quite the leader, he was certainly discomforted with the notion of planning this endeavour without your gracious input.”

“Well, then I’m sorry for making Alphinaud uncomfortable.”

“He wished to stay at his sister’s side this morning. But a Scion’s presence was necessary, and so a Scion attended.”

“And you could not have attended? Your presence is as valuable as mine. If anything, you have a far more tactical mind than I.”

He glances sharply at her, brows drawn together. “A tactician? Hardly. Not after the mistakes I’ve made.”

“Give yourself more credit. You have a plan. I’m the person they send in to execute it.”

A pained look crosses his face and he turns away, dropping his gaze to the ground. He stares determinedly at the flagstones, shuffling his weight from foot to foot. She half expects him to shove off and abandon her then and there.

But he remains. Restless and fretting, deep concern plain on his face, but he stays all the same. For her.

“I know,” he says after a moment. “And I know how heavily the burden weighs on you.”

She pauses, hand brushing the hilt of her rapier. “I’ll stop them. I promise. I haven’t forgiven them for kicking your ass in Dravania—”

“Hey now.” He makes a face and runs a hand sheepishly through his hair. “I seem to recall events quite differently. I dealt them a blow that time, not the other way around.”

His fingers catch on the knotted tail at the nape of his neck. She remembers all too well what it felt like to rake her fingers through his hair, the elated feeling of tugging that tie free. A memory she should set aside along with that blasted kiss.

Her feelings for him are a dead end. Unwanted and unjustified. Why should she chase the fleeting remains of their broken friendship when Aymeric—good, kind Aymeric—is in love with her? He offers her something that Thancred is incapable of giving. She cannot relinquish her one chance at happiness. Not when she is with someone who has shown her so much grace and compassion. She can’t imagine anyone doing for her what Aymeric did last night.

She is lucky to have found such fervent love in this bitter, wretched world. It may never come again.  

There is nothing Thancred can give her. No desperate touch can mend their relationship, no fervent kiss can restore them to who they were that night in the waterways. If he wanted her then—if he loved her then—he should have said it.

It is too late now.

She exhales a long breath. “If you say so.”

Aureia and Thancred fall silent, neither one keen to look the other in the face. The bright sun beats down on them, happy and hopeful, oblivious to the tension between them. To the outside observer they may be no more than passing acquaintances engaging in idle small talk, awkwardly waiting for an opportunity to exit the conversation. But to someone with a keen eye and an ironshod heart, they are no more than two sides of the same coin bent on moving in divergent directions.

This is an ending.

It will be a long time before either of them understands the truth of it.

Notes: I’ve had this fic spinning in my head off and on since January 2023 and I’m really happy that I’ve finally been able to bring it to fruition. Aureia and Aymeric near and dear to me—even though they have their issues and it’s not going to be an easy ride since the fundamental problem with their relationship is that he loves her more than she can love him in return. I’m excited to explore more of their dynamic in the future; they have a whole saga throughout the rest of Heavensward and all of Stormblood and I’m ready to dig my teeth into it. As for Aureia and Thancred... there will be a few more bumps in their journey before they get there. Thank you so much for reading! This is my favourite fic I’ve written in a long time, I’m very happy with it. I hope you enjoyed. 💖

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

on our fates alight-- aftermath (1)

Alone in the inn room, Fourchenault was struggling to regain his composure. He'd collapsed the moment the doors shut behind him.

I need to get up.

He needed to get up--put up his wards, see if the aetherical currents could permit him to raise Barnier on the linkpearl. If he couldn't, he needed to cast the mirror-spell to speak with the older elezen.

I need...a moment. Mayhap...two. Or three.

His muscles were still trembling from the fight, and he could faintly feel the beginnings of the adrenaline crash. He needed to get up, he needed to move--to ensure his safety before he became completely useless for several hours. And yet...

He...he was semi-Primed! He'd encountered Sebastian Astralyas on the lower levels of the Moraby Drydocks. Fourchenault had been warned that Odin's Dominant was extremely violent, but he had been hoping that he could appeal to Sebastian's more logical side. Yes the probability of the younger hyur listening had been low, and he was well within his rights to protest...

But he hadn't been expecting the man to charge him--let alone semi-Prime. Nor had Fourchenault expected that he could fend off the Dominant. It had taken everything he had--but somehow...he'd fought the semi-Primed Odin to a draw. A feat that could only be accomplished by a skilled Eikon-hunter with powerful armor and weaponry. Of which he had refused.

Perhaps I should have said yes to Montichaigne's offer. Feeling a bit steadier, Fourchenault slowly got to his feet. Now that the battle high was fading in earnest--he could feel the fight in every muscle in his body. His earliest estimation of several hours was insufficient--he would need at least a day to recover physically and aetherically. As such he wasn't too sure if he could even put up his protective wards.

I...do not think anyone will be after me. Certainly not Odin. The fight had drawn the attention of the Malestrom--and by now, Sebastian more than likely had fled for safer harbor. Grimacing, Fourchenault staggered over to the bed, shrugging his shoulders. His noulith array tumbled to his feet onto the rug, normally he'd be more careful but he was so gods-damned tired...

And then Fourchenault froze. He stared at the weapons--which despite the fight, still looked pristine and whole. Even though he'd used them to block a blow from Zantetsuken.

I thought...I thought for certain they'd...they'd... Fourchenault felt his legs give way as darkness descended. One of the last things he remembered was his body suddenly tipping towards the bed--instead of the floor--

Sleep.

A sensation of being pulled down, as if he'd been taken up in some current's undertow...

No harm will come to you as long as I'm here.

...he could have sworn he...was the only one...in...the...room...

[eorzean-tale]

FFxivWrite2024 - Prompt #10: Stable

“Yes, from what the card tells me your granddaughter…” 

CLICK-CLACK-SCRAPE

“...should be quite successful with her new bakery as long as she…”

CLICK-CLACK-SCRAPE

Maudine fought to keep her gaze focused on old widow Tremon’s watery blue eyes when all she wanted was to glare past her and shout at Gwen. Her coworker was pacing around just outside of her sanctum, her heels clicking and scraping on the stone floor. The old woman didn’t even seem to notice, but Maudine felt each ‘click’ as an assault to her concentration, each ‘scrape’ an affront to her focus. She plastered a pleasant smile on her features that made her feel ready for an asylum in her efforts to get through this, while inwardly cursing her colleague with every hex she could think of and make up on the spot. 

Half a bell later saw the widow ushered out the door, with as much friendliness as she could conjure up with her temper having risen to a boiling point. Her head bobbed low in a small bow. “Adieu madam Tremon. Same time next sennight, non?” The heavy oaken door slammed closed before the old woman had a chance to reply, and Maudine rushed down the stairs in a flurry of angry silks rustling around her long legs.

Gwenolie wasn’t there.

Calling out for her was the last thing Maudine wanted to do as she stepped through the arch that separated the waiting parlour from her card reading sanctum, even if she wanted, non! Needed to speak with her right this instant. It was just like her to be a nuisance right up to the point that…

“Salut Maudine!” 

Gwen jumpscared her as she popped up out of nowhere, or more accurately a corner that had failed to draw her notice, and Maudine thought she felt her hair twitch with the stop-flutter of her heart.

“ Fury!” 

Her pastel-pink haired colleague pouted at first, looking as surprised as Maudine had been, before she hiccuped with laughter. It was part apology, part the release of nerves, and the soothsayer found her anger fading with it. She released the last of it in a sigh.

“Tea?”

“Y-yes please! You should have seen your face!” 

“I’m sure it was as perfect and lovely as ever,” she countered with a twitch of a raven eyebrow - her version of an eyeroll. “What were you doing, hiding in that corner? For that matter, why are you down here to begin with? We talked about this - I don’t need any distractions whilst I’m with a guest.” 

Something changed in Gwen’s eyes, and Maudine knew she had made some sort of mistake. It felt like a feline spotting a certain opportunity and pouncing on it.

“I’ve been thinking about renovations!” 

Soothsayer and enchantress stood there for a moment, just staring at one another. The two of them were both Elezen, but other than that could not be more opposed to one another in appearance and temperament. Maudine cultivated a mysterious, occult air. Favouring blacks with dark green and purples to keep it from becoming monochrome. Her skin was so light it seemed to glow in the dark like freshly fallen snow, and while she could be warm her allure was drawn from a certain amount of inaccessibility. From a sternness that suggested she could dominate everyone in a room if she so chose through a mixed force of personality and occult secrets. Her playfulness was a treat that had to be earned.

Gwen on the other hand, was all pastel pinks. From her dress to her hair, and even her eyes. They were slightly mis-matched, the different hues only noticeable when someone was taking a really good look at her. Where Maudine sashayed, Gwen fluttered. Light and bubbly, moving from one obsession to the next without warning. 

“We just finished the last one,” Maudine opted to point out, immediately identifying it as her second mistake by the way Gwen’s shoulders rose. She was taking a deep breath, the kind that prepared for a flurry of words that wouldn’t be interrupted by something as mundane as needing more air. 

“That’s right, so now is the perfect time, non? I mean you’ve been complaining quite a bit about how my very existence is a nuisance. Yes, yes, when you’re with a guest I know but what am I supposed to do, not exist? Besides, with your friend Winter staying here and now our new friend Cillenne coming over, we could really need a guest room. And then we can move all of this,” she continued the barrage, gesturing to, well, everything, “...upstairs for your privacy and make it into a tea room! Or a book club. Or a tea book club room. Or…” 

It was a lot to take in, but luckily for Maudine Gwen had gotten stuck on whatever she wanted this space for. Her space.

“We agreed that the ground floor would be yours, and the basement mine,” she pointed out, though she had to admit that the thought of privacy appealed to her. Gwen tried to adhere to her wishes, but an open arch separating the waiting parlour from her sanctum was hardly ideal. “I also don’t remember agreeing to having anyone else stay over.” 

“Exactly! You invited Winter over without asking, and I got to do the same with Cillenne.” 

With anybody else, that would have been a snide remark. Not so much with Gwen. The way she beamed at Maudine had her swear that she was either the best actress in the city, or genuinely felt that this was a fair exchange. Besides, a guest room would be nice. She adored Winter, but sharing rooms with her was an exercise in frustration. She never put anything back where it belonged and Maudine could swear she didn’t know what a closet was, or what it was for. Her Viera friend didn’t even have that many clothes and yet she still magically managed to drape the floor and sofa with them. 

“Assez juste,” she agreed, suspecting that she was being manipulated, and not for the first time either. It made her feel strangely proud. “What is this about a ‘tea book room club’?” 

“The title is still a work in progress,” Gwen was quick to point out. “But wouldn’t it be lovely? It could function as your waiting parlour as well, instead of this cramped old thing. Besides, Winter gets dangerous when she is bored, and I doubt Cillenne wants to sit still either. They can’t help you with your cards, you’re too particular…” 

She paused when it looked like Maudine was about to protest, but the raven-haired soothsayer decided against it before any words left her lips. It was a fair assessment, after all.

“And they can’t help me either.” 

No reason was forthcoming, Maudine realised after a few awkward heartbeats of silence. She knew it though. When it came to being particular about their work, Gwen and Maudine were more alike than either wanted to admit. 

“So what do you think?” 

She let out a breath that came dangerously close to a sigh, and judging by the squeal of delight filling the room after, Maudine knew she had agreed without actually agreeing. This was becoming the story of her life at this point. At least whenever Gwen was involved. As the other woman raced upstairs to start planning in earnest, she briefly wondered if she'd ever tell her that she was starting to like it. This dynamic. Maybe once the renovations were finished, she decided to herself, knowing that there would always be another renovation in the future. 

[dawnslight-aegis]

10. stable

Yuriko Kazarishi had grown up hearing her grandfather despair of the wild streak that ran in the women of his family, but her eldest daughter would have put all her rebellious aunts and cousins to shame. And how could she not? Kaede was born malms from civilization, to a mother too young to know how poorly she had chosen in her choice of husband. Her entire pregnancy, and the first few moons of Kaede’s life had been spent in travel, fleeing the Garlean Empire by sea from Doma to Thanalan, and then overland towards the great beacon of peace and knowledge that supposedly lay beyond the highlands – Sharlayan.

Even when they’d lived in peace and temporary happiness, Kaede had been restless. Too sharp, too fierce, too perceptive for her father’s liking, especially once their second daughter, the gentle, sweet, biddable Ayame had been born. And then when their family had been torn apart, it had been Kaede’s willfulness and strength that had kept Yuriko from losing both her children, rather than just the one. Though she tried to love one daughter enough for two, to make up for what they both had lost, the damage had been done. Kaede’s faith in the constancy of love, and her worthiness of it, shaken perhaps beyond repair.

After they had come to La Noscea, she had only grown more tempestuous, like a summer storm. Too willing to draw blood, and shed it in kind. That someone would put a blade in her hand was inevitable, and she took to it like she was born to it. It was then that Yuriko became certain she would lose her someday, watch her cast herself into the Navigator’s winds and hope that one day she would return, calmer and gentler for it.

So it was that as her eldest grew, Yuriko found herself parroting the words she had heard so many times in her youth. Words that she had hated then, but now wished she had heeded.

“You need someone stable, my summer child. A home for that wild heart of yours, who will keep it safe, even when you cannot.”

For years she was met with an eyeroll and declaration of how boring that sounded, and of course her first choice had been a foolish boy who was as inconstant as the waves he had grown up on, but Kaede’s tune changed after the Calamity ravaged the land. So many lives lost, people they had known and loved gone forever. The guilt of surviving made them all smaller, clinging to one another like children. And when Kaede spoke of settling for the first person who had ever treated her gently, Yuriko could not stand to see her daughter’s spirit dimmed, as hers had been for so long in her first marriage. Irynbryda was a good partner and a good friend, kind and sweet, but a mother could see the panic and dread in her child’s eyes when she spoke of marriage, even when all others were blind to it.

For the first time, Yuriko had taken Kaede by the hands and told her to seek her own path, make her own choices – to stop trying to fill the hole her younger sister’s absence had left in her mother’s heart. That she would not tremble or weep as long as Kaede deigned to send a letter home, every now and then.

Perhaps she would not have chosen for her daughter to run off in the middle of the night with a handsome highlander, but neither could she judge her, considering her own choice of second husband.

Yuriko received few visits but years of letters, some long and some brief, and never did they mention that her wayward daughter had found love. Family, yes – names that appeared more and more often, with fondness and with exasperation. A xaela girl as close as her own shadow. Elezen twins with whom she seemed annoyed at first, but slowly grew fiercely protective, as if they were her own siblings. Friends she had lost, and missed bitterly. But it was the one she always spoke of with careful formality that slowly caught Yuriko’s attention. Ser Aymeric she wrote, or the lord commander, but never his name alone. And later, he disappeared from the letters altogether, replaced with vague references to a mysterious “friend” of hers.

And then there were no letters at all, but her homeland was free, and the alliance was moving to do the same for her husband’s. It was in a war council Ala Mhigo – hardly the first place she would have expected – where she finally set eyes on the man she suspected her daughter had fallen for, and she wasted no time taking his measure. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy, confident bearing but sharp, intelligent eyes that seemed to miss very little – her own resemblance to her daughter included. He turned white as new fallen snow when she revealed herself, and wasn’t that curious, if Kaede and he were merely friends?

Speaking to him privately revealed that her assumptions had been correct, but also other things. Ser Aymeric was more soft-spoken than the lord commander had been at the war council, considerate and sincere, and polite to a fault. He was, in a word, a gentleman. And though her husband groused and grumbled about the “trussed up Ishgardian dandy” that Kaede had chosen to bring home – in a sense, anyway – Yuriko thought that perhaps her daughter actually had been listening to her words of caution all those years ago.

It was only when she saw them together that she was sure – her daughter turned from storm gale to cool summer breeze, truly happy in a way that Yuriko had not seen since she was a child. Her spirit remained unbroken, tamed but not fettered. Everything that Yuriko had ever wanted for her, and despaired that she would ever allow herself to have. The dangers Kaede faced were innumerable and beyond understanding, but in this, at least, Yuriko could rest easy, knowing that her daughter was safe.

[talesfromeorzea]

Fears

FFxivWrite2024 Day 9 Prompt: Lend an Ear

Ruru sat at one o the tables of the Rising Stones fast at work mending the sleeve of her Red Mage gear. The tunic had taken a huge gash in it during a recent skirmish. Suddenly the doors to Dawns Respite swung open and Alisaie strode out the young Elezen looking extremely distraught. The Lalafell studied her for a moment before asking quietly, "So the exact same as Thancred and Alphinaud then for the both of them?"

Alisaie simply nodded thought she would not raise her head to meet Ruru's eyes. Ruru knew why, the girl didn't want her to see how upset she was and while she thought it foolish the Lalafell kept her piece knowing full well the girl would speak when she was ready.

In her time knowing her she had found that Alisaie would talk a great deal if she knew and trusted you. Throughout their travels in Ala Mhigo and Doma the two of them had chatted for hours many a night while the others slept.

Right now Alisaie was trying to be strong, trying not to let every other Scion within the building see that she was scared. Her brother who she had always had to lean on over the years was not long ago had been returned to them from the former Black Wolf of Garlemald unconscious by the phenomenon. Her other rock of support Urianger just fell to that very same phenomenon this morning mid sentence along with Y'shtola.

Can't say the whole thing don't scare the shit outta me as well, Ruru thought to herself as she focused on the sleeve stating aloud, "Well we got some o the best minds looking into what in hells it might be. Shouldn't be to long before we have an answer lass."

The young Elezen simply nodded tersely and then sat down not far from the Lalafell staring at her hands and Ruru could see she out of the corner of her eye the girl was forcing them to remain steady. Ruru finished her last stitch then stood stretching asking, "Say Alisaie when was it last we sparred?"

The Elezen looked up meeting her eye the look in her eyes clearly screaming she thought the Lalafell had lost her mind. Then she got contemplative for a moment before saying, "I think it was…before we took Doma Castle was the last time."

Pulling on the now mended tunic and reaching into her belt pouch Ruru pulled out her Red Mage stone and called the rest of the gear to her in a burst of aether. She paused a moment making sure the stone re resonated with the tunic and simply stated, "Well then sounds like high time we do again come on. I know a spot where we won't be disturbed, grab yer bird from the stable and I'll lead you there."

"Don't think you'll get the better of me because I am distracted," Alisaie warned as the girl jumped up heading toward the doors.

Ruru gave her an impish grin and replied, "I'd be highly disappointed in ye if I did lass."

Alisaie gave a huff and left. Ruru chuckling followed and together they made their way to the stables and got their chocobo and Ruru then led the girl off to a secluded corner of Mor Dhona. The Lalafell then dismounted drawing her sword and focus and facing off against the girl as she did the same.

In moments the young Elezen was dashing forward slashing and striking at Ruru who met and parried each attack before launching into her own strikes. They went back and forth like this for sometime Alisaie not holding back Ruru only holding slightly back because she wanted to allow the girl to vent her frustration not get further so by being easily bested. Its not that she wasn't skilled. It was just Ruru had not lived this long as an adventurer without learning far more than the girl had. It was experience not skill that would have Ruru easily win.

Finally after a chunk of time Alisaie breathlessly stated, "I think I'm done for the day with this,"

Ruru nodded her own self breathing heavily and she simply sheathed her weapon as Alisaie did the same before flopping down on the ground. Ruru joined her and waited head tilted giving the girl the silent que that she was listening whenever she was ready to speak.

After a chunk of time the young Elezen stated quietly, "Ru I'm afraid. I'm scared that wherever they are being dragged to that all those who are gone are in terrible danger. I….am afraid I am going to lose everyone."

Ruru nodded replying softly, "More than understandable Alisaie and I can't guarantee that your fears are unfounded. But, I can say that remember all of them are quite capable. Thancred and Y'shtola both have survive being dragged through the Lifestream by a forbidden magic and you know full well Urianger has been through a lot in his time. Yer brother is a lot tougher than most give him credit for. I saw him go toe to toe with one o the Heavensward and best the man while I fought another at the same time. He's faced dragons o the First Brood without a hit o fear. Trust in him and them to get themselves through as they would you in the same way."

The young Elezen gave a sigh and the tension in her frame lessened she then gave Ruru a genuine smile stating, "Aye your right, no sense assuming the worst. And when they all wake up from whatever this is they'll get an earful for causing me to worry about them."

Ruru grinned back, "Thats the spirit lass,"

Alisaie then stood stretching and whistled for her bird Ruru followed suite and together they rode back to Revenants Toll in silence. Ruru was convinced that at least for a time she had assuaged the girls worries. Ruru felt she was doing that enough for the both of them. The elder Lalafell unfortunately had seen a lot of dangerous things in her time so her mind played out far crueler scenarios than she suspected that the girl could dream of.

Whatever has taken them had better hope to whatever gods it prays to that they are unharmed. Cause if they aien't whatever it is will answer in ponzes o flesh for every ill they've suffered. Ruru told herself silently as the pair returned to the Rising Stones.

[witchfall]

warm bright eyes [e]

[Jullus pyr Norbanus/Warrior of Light/Alphinaud Leveilleur] [~3200 words] [explicit - MMF threesome]

Tension pools in Izzie's body, right alongside confusion. Somehow, despite all her years on the road, she'd never run into this question before, of…a tent’s suitability for…things. [read it here or on ao3]

---

The setting sun glitters yellow-gold over the salt flats of the Lochs.

What had turned into a visit over Starlight became a whirlwind of activity requiring Jullus to stay longer than he expected. After some issue involving the actual fucking Twelve — one of them had nearly stolen Alphinaud from them all — Jullus received command from his superiors (such as they are) to remain until the threat was resolved. And to keep their favorite twins safe, besides.

Jullus watches Izzie tease Alphinaud about setting up the tent — the Elezen’s too-long arms flying into the air in frustration over it — and a smile alights across Jullus’s face.

While the time away from home pings him with guilt, he cannot say it upsets him overmuch. All the more time to imbue memories upon his heart of the two people who cleave him to the very earth.

---

Luckily, for now, they have a moment of quiet. The (former) Scions’ camaraderie zips about the campfire with ease, dipping into shocks of teasing as Izzie finds herself comfortably ensconced between her chosen two. Her legs stretch into Alphinaud’s lap while her body curves into Jullus’s side, ears lowering over his shoulder like little dust mops.

“The marshmallows aren’t as good without the chocolate. Don’t waste them by throwing them,” Noel demands of Izzie, blue eyes winking with joy in the firelight. “Throw something comparatively useless. Like Jullus’s shirt.”

But that particular brand of teasing is…still new. Even Izzie tenses like a burr to it, snapping with easily triggered embarrassment in response, regardless of the fact Noel teases her like that constantly.

Jullus says nothing. Izzie catches the offered bag of decadent chocolate, pouting. "Stop flirting with him for me," she says, popping a chocolate in her mouth. "It’s too cold for that."

“Yes, do remember that our tents are not soundproof,” Thancred mutters.

“Shut your damn mouth,” Izzie hisses.

The conversation moves on, spiraling outward and inward like one of those loop-de-loop kites Jullus saw in a shop once upon a time during the warm season.

His arm tightens around Izzie’s waist as he slips into thinking. He watches Alphinaud’s fingers draw patterns into her bare thighs.

Tonight, they will get to hold her close under the stars. Not much privacy to be found here, true, as Thancred had made quite clear, but wouldn't they need to figure out how to be quiet in the first place? When they come to visit him in Garlemald, there’s a low chance he will be able to keep either of them in any kind of fine house.

He ignores the shame of that in favor of…the wondering. He thinks of her in his small office-slash-bedroom made out of an old train operator office, sprawled in comfort upon the actual mattress he’d obtained recently, her naked body buried beneath piles of woolen blankets.

He can’t pretend. At least with Alphinaud, their connection is the type that makes him feel safe and curious and cherished; they are of one mind split in half, able to while away the hours talking about any number of things. They’ve kissed no few times. They enjoy the ways their bodies slip together, like touching cool water and emerging clean.

And they are united in how Izzie drives them both to utter distraction.

Jullus is deeply aware that Izzie and Alphinaud are connected by the very soul in a way unique to the Viera. Their hearts, their very past lives yearned to join together, or so the stories have said.

But Noel has commented that some strange connection exists between himself and Izzie, too, formed by Izzie’s sheer force of will that he survive. He can feel no such thing. He hasn’t a lick of context for what any of that could possibly mean for someone aetherblind as he.

He does know, however, that touching Izzie is like fire to ceruleum.

The moment she comes to visit him, he won’t be able to think about anything else. There will be no considerations of decency outside of the bare minimum, which is that they are out of sight and as much out of earshot as they can manage.

Much like tonight. If she is willing.

At some point, the teasing starts back up again. He misses the catalyst for it, but he senses Izzie’s hackles rise like static building under his arm.

"Oh my gods!" Izzie hisses, throwing a chocolate right for Noel's head. "Stop it! Come on! And you," Izzie says, turning pointedly to Thancred, "are one to fucking talk! You and Urianger have been doing it under our noses for years at this point. Lay off!"

Alphinaud looks down at her with a knowing smile, his dark eyes shining like ghosts in the firelight. Jullus is caught by the expression; how the man’s face so easily takes on the qualities of the paintings he so loves.

Izzie frowns. "What?"

"Nothing, beloved," Alphinaud says — and he means it. His palm smooths out some of the knots in her leg. "They are just teasing you."

"I know that," she mutters, petulant.

So Jullus takes his opportunity.

His arm tightens around her waist and his mouth comes close to her ear so no one else will hear. This close, even for a half second, the heat of her skin curls toward him; her lemony scent sends his mouth watering. His body’s reaction to her is primal. He wonders if that will ever ease. He doubts it fully. He hopes not. "Don't worry about it, mea vita. It won’t matter."

He’s so deeply predisposed to the sense of her movements, like his body has accepted her as an extension he must watch, that he nearly sighs aloud to feel her coil just slightly in response.

He will take her problems and snap them in half over his knee. If she wants him — wants them both — tonight, it will be done, regardless of teasing.

And he knows her well enough to know…to hope…that when given the opportunity, she will jump rather than think too hard about it.

---

Izzie, Alphinaud and Jullus retire with casual ease to their tent once the campfire is down to red-gold embers — even if one look inside them would reveal the simmering beneath their skin. They won't be able to resist close quarters for long.

Not when every moment together is preciously hoarded like gold.

Jullus zips the tent closed. Within, their three bedrolls are pushed together, making one large mat with various warm quilts. A heater whirs pleasantly in the corner (all of the tents are provided with one) — creating a nice blanket of sound both within and...hopefully...without...

Tension pools in Izzie's body, right alongside confusion. Somehow, despite all her years on the road, she'd never run into this question before, of...a tent’s suitability for…things. She peels off her coat and her outer layers with rote speed, her back to the boys as if to get it over with so no one would have to be concerned about her wanting or her worries.

She's down to her smalls — for that split second of a moment! — when Alphinaud whispers: "Izzie, come here."

She freezes at the tone in his voice, her long-sleeved sleep clothes in her hands. His soul hooks into hers, pulling. "Um," she whispers, utterly at a loss. "Do you...shouldn't I...are you sure this is a good idea..."

"Hush. Come here."

Well, her willpower was already weak. She has secretly always liked it when he was commandeering, especially now that she knows it is all for her sake.

She turns on her bare heel to see Alphinaud lying upon the bedroll, down to his last layers of his Sage gear — that forever weirdly tempting set of white tunic and loose pants — with his hair down and arms outstretched toward her. Jullus kneels beside him like a knight in waiting, face unreadable.

Unreadable by choice, because if she interprets it, she will combust in a loud explosion of wanting and Thancred will be very mad.

So Izzie burrows into Alphinaud's arms, finding immediate comfort in the scent of him, the feel of his body around hers. She leans her ear into the sound of his heartbeat, of his quiet sigh of relief. There is no need to doubt. There is never need to doubt when he is around her like this...she could do anything he asks of her...

Jullus's careful, callused hands turn her slightly. He kneels down between her legs, his body hovering over hers, gaze the intense sort of blue upon her. "We have to practice, don't we?" he whispers, so quiet, so fucking incendiary. One of his hands smooths her hair out of her face. His thumb lingers on her lips "There's not much privacy back in Garlemald just yet..."

Izzie swallows, dry. Alphinaud hums gently in her ear.

"And I will not be able to keep my hands off you when you visit the first time," Jullus says, leaning just over her mouth. "There's a chance I might just abscond with you to the nearest alcove."

"You wouldn't," Izzie says, half-teasing, almost scared. He's far too serious for such shenanigans. And she wouldn't ruin his reputation like that.

"You don't know what I would do for the chance to hold you, my life."

He pauses for a single moment more over her lips. As if to give her a chance to say no, to say she's truly uncomfortable with this, to say she doesn't want to risk it. She could not say that and be truthful. She already feels herself sinking into that beautiful pastel where she doesn't have to think anymore.

Suddenly, Alphinaud's hand goes to her forehead and pulls her face back, exposing her neck. "We will keep you quiet, my love," he whispers.

Her eyes flutter shut. Jullus's lips descend to her neck just as Alphinaud kisses her half-open mouth. Levin skates down her spine. A sharp breath comes in through her nose as their hands slide through her hair, over her breasts, down the divots of her ribs, her waist, her hips. She vaguely recognizes Jullus scooting down her body, lips leaving a trail of wanting, tongue slipping over the curves of her bones, across her scars.

Then he yanks aside her smalls and presses his mouth to her cunt.

Her reaction is immediate. Her hips jerk into his mouth and he half-growls with delirious need, hands slipping under her thighs to lift her toward him. He throws her legs over his shoulders, pressing himself closer. Izzie forgets, sometimes, how strong he is.

She finds herself unable to cry out, instead moaning into Alphinaud's mouth as he holds her tightly to him, arm about her neck. She is truly trapped, barely able to writhe against them.

And then Alphinaud replaces his mouth with his fingers. Those long delicate things, tasting still of dusted cinnamon somehow against her tongue — right as Jullus presses his own fingers into her, tongue still against her apex.

Izzie's whole body spasms, eyes squeezed shut so tightly against the instinct to call out their names. "Shh, shh, you're doing so well," Alphinaud whispers into her ear, breathless. "Gods, to see you like this..."

She nearly bites his fingers but she does not — instead swirling her tongue about them in a way that makes him tense hard behind her.

She is not entirely helpless in this game.

She comes apart not much longer after that. Jullus moans into her as her body flutters around his tongue, desperate for the very essence of her. But she, too, can scheme on the fly...and the moment he finally releases his bruising hold on her hips, the moment she can move her body of her own accord, she sits up to seize Jullus about the jaw.

She tastes herself on him first, claiming him in a kiss so total that his body nearly collapses into her dominion. She is half in his lap, kissing him until they can’t breathe, her fingers nearly pulling on his hair. She is intent upon devouring him right there. He would let her, she knows. He would let her bury him within her very being, kept all to herself forever.

It’s only fair, isn’t it? If Alphinaud is in her soul…then someone else must infuse her body.

She whispers, so quietly against his mouth: "Do you think you could be quiet while coming inside me?"

Jullus takes in a breath through his teeth; his whole body jolts to painful attention. But he has no time to say anything before she's spinning herself about until her tail is wiggling at him and her nose is at Alphinaud's stomach, pushing aside the fabric there.

Jullus sees where this is going, and a cuss falls out of him. "Fuck."

"Are—are you sure, beloved?" Alphinaud whispers, his face so dark a pink to be a dangerous red now.

"Oh, very," Izzie whispers back — before pulling down his waistband and taking him in full with her mouth.

The sight is so agonizingly perfect — her hair spilling in red sheets across her strong, freckled back onto Alphinaud’s snowy skin, her spine curved just so — that Jullus can do little but follow his instinct in this regard. He leans over her back, lips to the nape of her neck, one palm to the valley of her spine, and he presses himself inside of her.

He silences himself by fastening his mouth over her skin. Every single neuron in his body lights up with pleasure and wanting, hearing her squeak around Alphinaud's cock when he takes her, the full softness of her surrounding him so completely.

Alphinaud throws his head back. One of his hands goes to his mouth, squeezing to smother his cry, while the other threads into Izzie's hair between her ears, half-pulling.

Neither of them can last long like this. Jullus can scarcely believe the beauty of her muffled cries against Alphinaud — and while he would prefer her able to sing out loud for him, for them both, there is something so deeply lovely in how she has to smother herself or be found out. How she wants to save it just for them.

His fingers dig into her waist. He tries to keep his pace controlled, something akin to quiet, but the sight of her so taken between them is intoxicating, heady, everything he could ever dream of. He leans down again, hand rough in her hair, yanking it aside to nearly bite down on the meat of her shoulder as he comes hard inside of her — an insane part of him wanting to leave a mark that would never fade.

If he cannot touch her soul like Alphinaud, by every star, he would mark her body with proof of his conviction. Fill her, paint her, kiss every last jut of bone and muscle.

Alphinaud comes not long after that, back bowing, eyes squeezed shut from the effort of not calling her name aloud. He yanks her up by the head into a long, searing kiss, leaving Jullus, suddenly boneless from exhaustion, to kiss a trail across her hips, arms still circled about her waist.

They collapse then into their shared bedrolls, a tangled mess of limbs and sweat, ears buzzing, fingers numb. Izzie is pressed between them on her back. Jullus sprawls possessively over her, face buried in her neck, while Alphinaud pulls her half onto his body, her head lolling into his chest, where her ears can align with his heartbeat.

Alphinaud's arms encircle them all.

Let the gods march in, Jullus thinks, sleep tearing him down into the void. Not even they could pull me from this.

---

They are a little more sane by the time the blue light of morning pools in.

And in an unusual twist — one perhaps inspired by Izzie recalling her old life — Alphinaud still sleeps while Jullus and Izzie wake.

Jullus leans over her body, propped up by an elbow. He stares down at her, his muscles sleepy and honey-like as he takes in her bare, morning-lit body, a silken sort of pink beneath him. His fingers slip her hair from her face and out of her mouth. He rumbles with quiet laughter. Nothing about her is ever truly peaceful.

Her hands come up to touch his chest as she curls into him. One palm spreads over his beating heart.

“Is it very strange for you?” she asks, voice so quiet. “That we…that this is how we…connect?”

He searches her face, so wide open. A nightblossom moments before moonset. “What do you mean?”

“I…” Her gaze goes to that middle distance, like she could physically summon the words in front of her to sort them out. “I find myself…shocked by it, sometimes, how badly I…want you like this.” Her fingers stretch up toward his collarbones. “Because for a long time I…worried such things were just…surface level because that’s how people around me…talked about it.”

He curls a finger in one smooth lock of fire red hair. “I know it’s not surface level, sweetling,” he whispers gently. It hits him slowly, molasses pouring out. “Are you worried it makes it seem like you love me less?”

Izzie’s shoulders loosen. She nods, a little jerky motion. “I know it has to be different, from Alphinaud, or else…there’s no beauty in that, if it was all the same…” Her eyes flutter shut for a moment. “...and you do complete me in a wholly different way than he does. I need you to know that. That it matters to me, so much.”

He leans down and kisses her gently on the lips — slow and gentle as the light outside, quiet and intent. His hands cradle her head, fingers in her hair. “I do,” he says against her skin. “Of course I do.” He noses her jaw aside and presses a kiss to her heart’s vein in her neck. She gives the softest, tiniest sigh.

They had both been raised by societies that wielded sex as a strange double-edged weapon, with rules as impossible to pin down as the people who lived in those worlds. A dark vein of shame haunted them both. You’re being frivolous, you’re hedonists, you’re corrupted and too voracious and selfish. You’ve ruined her; she’s supposed to be nothing to you, a notch. You are dirtied by the power of how much you want the other — to say nothing of the presence of another man, which makes you not only frivolous but deviant.

“I love you,” she says, relieved.

Looking down into her sea glass eyes — glancing at Alphinaud, a snow prince in the morning light — he does not know how any of that could have ever been true.

“And I love you,” he says back, because it is the easiest thing in the world to do so. He grins, all teeth, down at her. “Now come here. Our time together is always so limited, you know.”

Alphinaud, poor sweet Alphinaud, wakes to the sight of Izzie’s back pulled in tight against Jullus’s chest, one hand around her mouth and the other two fingers deep inside of her, her whole body lit up like fireworks.

“Well, aren’t you audacious,” Alphinaud half-growls at Jullus, the cat having caught the mice at play. He leans in to steal the man’s mouth in a kiss of his own, hand tight and possessive about his jaw. The other goes to Izzie’s waist. “The nerve.”

Jullus chokes down a laugh, quite at the taller man’s mercy as he pushes them over, smothering them both.

They are, the three of them, quite distracted for long moments after that.

[fheythfully]

FFXIV Write 2023 - Day 15: Portentous

Frederick’s mother is an elderly woman even for Elezen standards, with a harsh countenance and a posture as tall and stiff as a stone tower to match. Amelia’s uncle had given her the short version of his family history before she’d departed for Gridania – his mother, the only daughter of a wealthy Ishgardian family with her beloved husband lost in a skirmish only ten summers into their marriage, leaving her widowed and Frederick without a father. Furious at her homeland’s commitment to throwing bodies at the Dravainian droves with no end in sight, she packed up her house, her grieving son, and promptly moved to Gridania – and so Amelia has a vague notion of what to expect, when the carriage drops her off and she meanders listlessly into the city.

The woman is not difficult to spot. Even in the chaos left behind by Dalamud’s fall, her presence commands attention like wildfire.

“Madame,” Amelia whispers, dropping into a shallow curtsy. Her own mother would have slapped the back of her head at the discourtesy, but it is not even Amelia’s typical stubbornness which droops her shoulders and voice alike.

It is just flat nothingness. She can’t even recall the journey here. 

Madame Estelle Ducasse examines her from head to toe with a sniff. After a terse moment, she turns on her heel and sets off further into the city. The command to follow is obvious.

Amelia picks up little on the journey to Mme Ducasse’s manor. She has a vague sense of the same kind of busywork that she’d seen in Limsa Lominsa, masters and their apprentices working alongside the common folk to restore the damage Dalamud had wrought. There is not a smile or the sound of laughter to be found, and somewhere in the distance, someone is quietly crying.

It is not much different from the misery she’d left behind in Limsa Lominsa.

They walk past a guarded gate where a Wildwood man nods them along and up a winding paved road, the houses on either side just so on the side of grandiose. Lanterns have been flickered on in some of them to greet the settling dusk, but Amelia can’t see anyone out, even as a curious face in the windows.

“We have arrived,” Mme Ducasse says, the first words she has spoken in the entire journey here. Her voice further belies her age with its creaky tenor, but there is a cultured cadence to it that makes Amelia automatically perk up with attention. A stately home stands before them, no more and no less grandiose than its neighbors, with candles lit in the front windows to welcome them home. Mme Ducasse steps up the front steps with a familiar elegance and inserts a large, iron-wrought key into the lock.

“You shall unpack and retire for the night,” she instructs in a voice which books no arguments. “Should you be hungry, a cold supper has been left for you in the kitchen. Breakfast is served at seven bells and your presence is non negotiable. Someone will come by to wake you at an appropriate time.”

“Yes, Madame,” Amelia murmurs and steps into her new home.

.

.

She cannot sleep. She has spent the last several bells tossing and turning in her soft, freshly laundered sheets before giving up and meandering back down into the kitchen. She raids the icebox, one of at least four that she can see, until she finds some milk. Searching the cupboards for a cup takes another several moments, but she finds fire shards while she does so, and deciding against using the large stove set against its own wall, grabs a deep shard-bowl sitting to the side of the sink to place the shards and mug of milk into. It takes her longer than it usually would to concentrate and light the crystals, but eventually she has her warm cup of milk in hand. The kitchen’s large window overlooking the shadowed garden draws her to it while she sips and waits for the shards to cool.

She has made it through half of her cup when a voice says,

“Child, just what are you doing?”

Startled, she whips her head to spot Mme Ducasse standing in the entrance with a pinched frown. “It is the middle of the night,” the old woman continues. “Why are you not in bed?”

Amelia flushes. “I couldn’t sleep,” she mumbles. Mme Ducasse’s frown deepens.

“Speak up,” she barks. “I can barely hear you, muttering under your breath like some street urchin.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Amelia repeats herself, louder.

Mme Ducasse examines her. “Whyever not? Was your room not to your liking?” Her voice remains neutral but her eyes do not. Amelia recognizes the pending judgment in them, the spoiled, rich Old Sharlayan girl, thinking herself too proper for the likes of us dancing the fine edge of propriety.

If this was any other day, she would have straightened her spine and put those accusations to rest. But it is not like any other day, and it hasn’t been for a while now.

She drops her eyes and clenches her fingers tighter around her cooling cup. “The room is wonderful,” she says. “Thank you for going through the trouble for me. It may be just the journey catching up with me, and…” she trails off, ashamed for her own judgements in others’ time of grief. She clears her throat. “It’s the crying outside, Madame. It’s been making it hard to fall asleep.”

She looks up to meet the eyes of the old woman again. Mme Ducasse examines her with a peculiar look on her face. “The crying,” she repeats to herself. She tilts her head to one side then another, the frown on her lips only growing. “Must be my godsdamned ears,” she says after a moment, before sniffing and fixing her eyes on Amelia once again. “Well, then finish your milk and back to bed you go, lest you be gracing me with your pallid presence in the morning.”

Amelia remembers at the last second not to murmur. “Yes, Madame.” The Elezen nods sharply at her and leaves. Amelia watches the space to ensure she was not returning, before turning back to the window and the moonlit garden. Perhaps one day I'll have the energy to explore it in the daytime, she thinks.

She sips her milk. In the distance, someone’s faint weeping continues.

[starres-stuff]

FFXIV Writes 2023 | Day 2 | Bark

“Dimitri over here!” A voice called across the vast room that they were called to in Camp Broken Glass. It was no more than four bells in the morning, perhaps five at this point it was difficult to tell in the snow-white hellscape the Sharlyan now stood in his crimson curls whipping against his face from the bitter wind that blew from every direction despite the fur hat he had been issued on arrival. How life even existed here was beyond him. The snow was beautiful but it felt like a tomb, a proper analogy to seeing the conditions they had arrived at.

“Hey, Jienuex snap out of it!” The voice called again “I think we are going to have to defrost his brain, Azane. He looks as if he has already lost all ability to function in this weather.” Dimitri knew that voice, despite the fact he did feel like he was lost in a trance, what dragged him out of it, however, was a warm giggle that came in the same direction. Ah, Azane, the woman who had turned him down more times than he could remember. She never had a reason for it, only that they would never work out. One of many heartaches of his youth and to this day she still had the power to move him from his thoughts.

“I was thinking!” He called out in reply, as he started across the creaky wooden floor towards the other side of the room where the Brother and Sister stood wrapped in large coats and hats like his with pink cheeks and noses sticking out to interrupt the bleakness of this day with familiarity.

“Do not do that! You know what happens when you think too many things catch on fire.” It was a third voice that was all too familiar to him and off to the side his eyes cast where he found the dark brown eyes of Weland, the man who had won Azane’s heart, the one man in all of Sharlayan that Dimitri might have actually been jealous of.

“Here I have a cup of coffee Dimitri, it tastes very strange. I don’t think I’ve ever had a cup like this before. It is oily and very bitter.” Saewara, her name sprung to his mind as soon as he heard her voice. A talented alchemist and the product of an affair between a member of the Forum and his Thavnarian maid. She was a beautiful woman and like many beautiful women he knew she was very invested in other beautiful women. She had been his best friend as long as he could remember and he made a beeline for her side and the cup of coffee she offered him.

“So they drafted us all for this little soiree into Goodwill Ambassador.” He said in a hushed voice, not wanting to draw the attention of anyone else in the room, but at the same time tilting his head to listen to the various dialects of Common tongue and regional languages that drifted around him. He could understand each of them, something he didn’t often admit to and while it could become overwhelming in a room this size it was one of the easiest ways to to learn about others and quickly. In this room, there was a lot of concern for the Citizens and a lot of anger about even being here when all the Garleans had done was destroy lives across the Star.

“Wait till you see her Dimitri.” Saewara whispered “I think she is one of the Commanders here. Her name I’ve heard is Lucia Junius. She comes from Ishgard but she is not by any means an Elezen.” Leave it to his friend to key in on the most powerful woman in a room she had a knack for it and it also came with the price of listening to her prattle on for days and nights about how lovely said woman was. “Mm, yes I had read about her in the dossier I was given in Ala Mhigo. I believe her to be Garlean in fact her last name fits the Empire’s naming conventions. There is another who seems to be in charge here, Maxima Priscus, also Garlean. They may come from a defected unit or even defected on their own due to the standards that the Empire has held for the last oh forty cycles or so.” Sipping the coffee which he found to match Saewara’s description precisely he wrapped an arm around the shorter woman and drew her in to help keep them both warm against the elements, which brought a smile to her face.

“It is scary here Dimitri.” She would murmur “Last night when we first arrived, we were in the caravan about two bells ahead of you I think. The camp was filled with non-stop barking. At first, we thought it was just a single dog but Zehex caught sight of an entire pack roaming just on the outskirts of the camp. There are a lot of guards here but really I just want to go home. I haven’t been to sleep since yesterday. When I tried I kept waking up from a nightmare that the dogs were chasing me through the snow! I would slip and then.” Saewara stopped speaking and sniffled softly before she whispered “Before I woke up all I saw was a puddle of blood on the ground and all of us but you lying near it. Did you know I am scared of barking?”

“I am used to it,” Dimitri replied calmly, giving the woman a tight side hug to remind her she had support here. What he did not say was that her dream had concerned him. He had spent the last ten cycles at least researching and studying occult-based knowledge. In fact when he was finally accepted to the Studium that had been his major. “Dogs have a sense you could say. My sister's dog, Dolly, tends to bark when she feels something is not right. They are protective creatures after all Sae, and some believe that they are able to sense spirits around them. We have come into a grave situation, I have not heard a death count as of yet but I am certain parts of the City are the final resting place for many. I could see the smoke rising around the capital on the road here. I am sure they are scared just like we are. Many of them lost their owners in this tragedy.”

He had barely said his thoughts when he heard for himself what Saewara and the others had heard before he arrived. First, it was the baying of a hound, the distinct mournful wail caught his attention with little effort, he had always felt they were the Sirens of the dead the way their voices sounded but soon it was not the only call into the night as other barks joined with theirs until it sounded like the camp was surrounded by multiple packs of canines who had found them as the most stable and safe place in the area. In truth, it made the Sharlayan shiver and hold his friend closer for it was such an eerie sound.

“I think they are lonely,” Azane said from the other side of him. In his conversation with Saewarya, the others had moved in towards them creating a little pocket of warmth. Good thing they were used to being close together like this or it would have been an awkward thing. “I want to cry listening to them. I wonder if there is any plan to take them food or at least water.” She stopped there, turned, and then buried her face into Weland’s chest before she said too much and lost control of her emotions in public. After all, Sharlayans were always serene and poised. That is what they had been taught since they were children.

“Hopefully the meeting starts soon.” Dimitri would finally say trying to distract himself and his friend from the barking. It was such a lonely sound but it almost made sense in the canvas of snow for it to exist but that didn’t make it right or better in any way.

“I would like to hear a status report on the Tempered.” he continued on “Father was certain that was where I would end up assisting with my occult knowledge. It is still strange that they are tempered. to me. It is well known that the Garleans struggle with Aether and I had always had the mind that they would be the last that could be Tempered. They also share the lack of dedication to the Twelve that we have. It does present quite an interesting topic of discussion about tempering if what I have heard is true.” By the time he finished speaking, two figures stood at the center table with a map they had spread open and the room had begun to quiet. This included his friends. The only sound that remained now besides muffled voices here and there was the baying of that hound he had heard and the barks that would reply back in the distance.

[driftward]

Title: Theoretical Debate Night Characters: Professor Zoissette Vauban, Professor Y'shtola Rhul, Bartholomew Summary: Two professors alike in dignity, Debating with such ferocity, One wonders what causes such adversity, Bringing strife to our university? Notes: Year of the OTP University AU

Bartholomew gestured to his cohort.

They were students. Students at the Studium in Sharlayan, the greatest center of knowledge of all of Etheirys, and they were gathering to answer a very important question.

Exactly how much did Professor Vauban and Professor Y’shtola hate each other, and why.

Bartholomew creeped up to the edge of one of the lecture rooms. Behind him were two other students, and on the other side of the door, two more. He’d managed to convince them to come and listen to the heated argument that he was certain was about to erupt. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes, the two professors would seize a lecture hall and, well.

He leaned in to listen, occassionally peeking around the edge of the doorway, and his co-conspirators did likewise.

Professor Vauban was the taller of the two. A very tall Elezen, built like a pillar, with short ears, and brown hair. She was drawing aetheric diagrams on the board, along with some arcanist geometries, and other equations Bartholomew didn’t recognize. Standing nearby was Professor Y’shtola, a Miqo’te with silvery hair. They were both wearing long coats appropriate to the Stadium, but while Professor Vauban’s was the typical blue of a visiting professor, Professor Y’shtola’s was a custom black one of some sort.

He wasn’t sure why she’d been allowed the exception, and frankly, he was too afraid to ask.

“Alright, so we agree on the basics of the additive model of aetheric energy as described in the First,” Professor Vauban was saying.

“Naturally.”

“And of course we also agree on the conversion formulations, as well as the different states of activity, and how each element has a natural tendency as to where it wishes to stabilise in its energetic continuum.”

“Well documented natural data. On these matters there is no disagreement.”

“But on the origins of aether…”

“I believe I have made my position clear that the idea of an ‘origin’ for something as fundamental to existence as aether seems unlikely.”

“Okay, but what you are proposing is an unstable circle that gives rise to aetheric flows, with each state dependent on the priors, but no state serving as the originator.”

“That is correct.”

“But that would mean that basically everything is built on no foundation.”

“You still hold that your axiomatic model is the accurate one, then?”

“Well, yes. From a few base axioms and their fundamentals, I believe we can build upward and outward the entire ecosystem of aether as we understand it.”

“And what are those axioms based upon, I wonder? What more fundamental energies or concepts exist beneath them to hold them afloat?”

“Well, none that have been discovered or hypothesized yet. That - that is what makes them axiomatic.”

“I propose that we perhaps have the same model from different perspectives-“

“-do not start with lens theory with me-“

“-and that your axioms are not as fundamental as you may believe. What supports them? Themselves? You’ve simply made a flat loop, from which naught can be explained.”

“And I am proposing no such thing, you are simply trying to force my theory to conform to yours.”

“No force is required. I merely believe that an axiom alone cannot stand, and so propose that while my theory posits a horizontal self-sustaining circle of aetheric flow, yours does not speak to flow but rather to construction. But a loop forms nevertheless, with the supports of the axioms coming from what you consider the upper reaches of complexity of your theory, and then, returning to simplicity, grow outward again. A vertical hierarchical view.”

“Okay see but the problem with -that- view is that you are proposing that simplicity arises from complexity, which means that you are saying in an energetic enough system we might be able to achieve a static one?”

“Precisely.”

“Absurd.”

“What is absurd is your seeming unwillingness to entertain the concept of such a system.”

“No, what is absurd is the model that you have proposed. Your so-called horizontal loop at least boasts the strength of internal consistency, even if the reach of its predictive ability is … questionable-“

“I beg your pardon.”

“-while this vertical one you are attempting to shoehorn into my axiomatic theory predicts a reality in which a sufficiently powerful chaotic energy would give rise to order.”

Bartholomew snuck a glance while trying to appear he had not snuck a glance. And he saw that Professor Y’shtola’s ears were starting to swivel back. He quickly backed away again.

“Do not think yourself so readily able to escape your little side comment. Questionable predictive ability?”

“Your horizontal closed loop model has a known problem with overemphasizing divinational concepts while being unable to properly model events that occur by random permutation.”

Was it just him, or was Professor Vauban losing that lilt to her voice?

“And I suppose that you are so proud that your theory works so well within the common model, while ignoring the questions your very own experiences raise regarding its ability to handle closed timelines?”

“I do not need a closed loop to model those completely. That is well within the scope of the upper branches of the axiomatic theory.”

Her voice had seemingly gone cold for a moment. Or perhaps it was just his imagination, as she continued on.

“…though it does admittedly require the use of undecidability.”

“How unlike you, to concede to the undecidability theorem so quick. I thought it a coward’s way out, and a lack of willingness to explore a potential mystery.”

“Oh, are we on to personal attacks now?”

Ah, Professor Vauban’s voice had definitely gone cold now. He snuck a peak just in time to see her posture stiffen as she stood up rather straighter than she had been.

“The basis of undecidability is rooted in logic and arises from it, not despite it. There are simply some truths within a framework that cannot be reached from its roots.”

“Not by your axiomatic theory perhaps.”

“Oh well perhaps we can just nip on down to Alexander, wake it up for a moment and ask it a few questions. You experience one closed loop and decide to over model it to everything.”

“As if you are any better. After we are done with our field trip to Alexander, perhaps I might propose we go and visit Omega? I am certain that its experiences will shed much light on your insistence in a reality with such a poor basis as to need to be fixated on a few simple axioms that are easy to digest, rather than any harder truths that may be able to be found in more complex frameworks.”

“Are you saying that I am only arguing for the axiomatic framework because I can not handle a more complex system?”

“I am uncertain. Were you perhaps implying that I am enraptured so entirely by my personal experience that my theories are perhaps unmerited?”

Bartholomew looked and was entranced by what he saw. The two women had come to a standstill. Professor Y’shtola had grown increasingly, and obviously, agitated as the ‘discussion’ - and he was certain that it had left that definition some good minutes earlier - had become heated. Her ears were back, and her tail twitched dangerously, and now she had her arms crossed, and he was glad her expression was not pointed at him.

Opposite her stood Professor Vauban, who stood tall and regal, shoulders back, hands folded behind her. Where Professor Y’shtola was barely constrained fiery rage, Professor Vauban was an anger that ran as cold as ice. Her frown was small, but her expression was glacial, and he was also glad to not be facing her. In between the two, he imagined a plume of steam, where the glacier met the volcano.

In the distance, a bell began to ring, and Bartholomew almost jumped out of his skin, lost as he was in the scene before him. Almost immediately the two professors shifted. Professor Vauban looked up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath in, and letting it out slow. He saw her shoulders slump as she shook out her arms. Professor Y’shtola closed her eyes, and faced the floor, letting out a long, slow breath, and she began to smooth down the front of her long coat. Her tail went from dangerously swaying to a more relaxed swishing back and forth, and her ears pulled forward once more. By the time the twelfth and final bell had sounded and faded from earshot, the two professors seemed to have completely abandoned their previous ardor.

Professor Vauban smiled at Professor Y’shtola. Bartholomew frowned, as it seemed to be a genuine smile, with warmth, as she rested a hand on her hip, her posture fully relaxed. Professor Y’shtola leaned against the desk, and he thought he saw a small, subtle smile playing on her face.

“Well,” said Professor Y’shtola. “I believe the arrangements for our lunch today were in your hands.”

Bartholomew was suddenly sharply aware that he had stuck his head out rather too far, and so, for that matter, had his compatriots.

“Quick, before either of them -see- us” he hissed at the others, as he quickly made a hand gesture to all of them, and they scattered. He himself scampered to find a nearby support column to attempt to lean nonchalantly against. A place where he could watch to see what the two professors could possibly be up to. And just as important, a place where he could continue to sneak glances while he eavesdropped on their conversation.

Professor Vauban looked up at the ceiling as though lost for a moment, tapping a finger against her chin. “Arrangements? Is today special somehow?”

Professor Y’shtola chuckled, and crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Even on this day, your nature never changes.”

Professor Vauban’s face fair glowed. “Of course I have handled lunch. I made special arrangements with one of the ship captains who headed out to the new world. He claims to have found a new kind of fish that is -very- delicious. It has been delivered to the Last Stand along with some preparation instructions from Nyx. Failing that, well, the backup plan is fruit tarts and tea. A sweet lunch instead of a savory one, and there is always dinner tonight.”

“I suppose we are still beholden to Urianger’s plans?” asked Y’shtola.

“I am afraid so.”

“And neither of us have any idea what, exactly, he is up to.”

Professor Vauban sighed. “He insisted on the surprise, even though he knows you mislike such things.”

“Yes, well. I suppose we must indulge them every once in a while.”

Professor Vauban shrugged at that.

“Well then. We have no further business here for the time being. Shall we?”

“You go on ahead. I have to take care of something here, but I will catch up.”

Bartholomew took a sharp breath in, and he looked out and away from the lecture room. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Professor Y’shtola strode out of the room, her head high, but her posture relaxed. If she saw him or knew he or any of the other students had been out there, she gave no indication, and he sighed in relief as he watched her go.

One down, one to go.

Scant moments later Professor Vauban strode out into the hallway. He watched once more out of the corner of his eye as she crossed her arms, and watched as Professor Y’shtola left.

He caught a glimpse of her face, as he tried to surreptitiously sneak a glance, and he was surprised to see a different sort of smile on her face. Softer than he thought he’d seen before.

He shook his head and pointedly looked elsewhere.

And then he heard as her footsteps headed towards him.

He froze, but did not face her. Maybe she was going elsewhere, maybe she would walk right by him.

“Master Bartholomew, is it?”

Well, hells.

He turned to her, and was glad she was an Elezen and he was a Roegadyn; he had a good head of height on her. Despite that, he felt himself backing up as she approached him, both hands clasped behind her back, and a huge grin on her face. Almost manic. And her eyes, well. Her eyes.

It was the biggest grin he thought he had ever seen on anyone’s face, and if smiles had brightness to them, hers would’ve blinded him.

She continued to walk towards him, and he found himself backed up against the selfsame column he had been leaning against. Unable to go any further, he just stood there feeling helpless as she got entirely too close to comfort. And then, a bit closer. Despite the differences in height, her face was uncomfortably close to his.

“P-Professor Vauban?” He said, weakly.

“She knows all five of you were out here eavesdropping, you know,” said Professor Vauban in a voice that was as sweet as the smell of honey on a spring breeze.

And then she turned away from him suddenly, and was striding away from him, hands still clasped behind her back, humming a merry tune.

He collapsed to the ground, realizing he was very aware of his heart pounding in his chest. He looked around, but none of his friends could be seen.

“Oh gods,” he murmured, getting to his feet before practically fleeing down the hallway.

-*-

It was late, after normal hours, when Bartholomew at last worked up the courage to approach the classroom where he thought he could find one of the two professors.

He stuck his head in the classroom to see Y’shtola finishing cleaning up. He walked in, and stopped a few feet away, fidgeting nervously.

Professor Y’shtola looked at him cooly, and he swallowed, remembering to bow.

“Uh, Professor Y’shtola, my name is - I am Bartholomew. And I would like to apologize, not only for myself, but on behalf of my friends, for, uh, eavesdropping on you and Professor Vauban earlier.”

Professor Y’shtola’s ears folded back every so slightly, and he felt his nervousness increase.

“And wheresoever are these friends of yours, that they cannot speak up for themselves?”

“Uh, elsewhere, ma’am. It’s not their - that is to say, it’s my responsibility. It was my idea to, well, spy.”

Y’shtola crossed her arms and shifted her weight, examining him from head to toe. If Professor Vauban had made him feel small, Professor Y’shtola made him feel almost inconsequential.

“While it may not have been a formally scheduled session, it was meant to be open to the public, much as our later classes were. The doors were left open for a reason, after all. Nevertheless, I would know why you felt the need to try your hand at subterfuge.”

Bartholomew turned red. He had looked at the schedule, but had somehow either not looked for or missed that the use of the classroom was indeed for an open session. That almost made sense, though.

And probably nobody showed up because of their respective reputations for such heated debate. It was almost unseemly, but he would not be voicing that opinion just now.

“Well, uh, I didn’t know it was open. But I was curious - we all were, really - about why you and Professor Vauban hate each other so badly.”

“Hate one another? Whatsoever gave you such an outlandish idea?”

Bartholomew was confused. “Well, uhm, the way you two were going at each other was pretty intense. And it’s well known that you two argue a lot, and I’ve read some of the comments in your journal entries.”

“You should read our commentary in earlier works,” said Y’shtola with a small and knowing smile. “Her work on Nymian mathematics is exemplary. And I believe she had no few kind contributions to my own body of research.”

“Oh. Uhm. I’ve only really read your, ah, recent respective theories on aether. Or rather, uhm, your comments on each other’s respective theories on aether. And, uh, well you two sometimes really get into it. Hells, uhm, pardon me, sorry. But, right. Yeah. Just listening earlier, I thought at any moment one of you was going to, well, channel enough aether to wipe the other clean off the floor.”

Y’shtola laughed. “Well, this is a university, it is not? Some ideas must needs be challenged to be properly exercised, and our research in particular borders on the philosophical rather than the material. I think it only natural that the defense of such allows for some passion. After all, despite our words, neither of our theories are any closer to being able to be proven or disproven.”

“…if that’s the case, why do you two get so upset about it?”

“Upset? Hardly. However, it certainly invigorates the mind, does it not? Our debate is a harmless enough exercise, one which invites further argument. I most concede, that her model is better at predicting certain phenomena than mine, while mine has its own strengths and merits in the same. Through such debate, we can cover further weaknesses, and probe for areas of improvement.”

She looked at Bartholomew with a twinkle in her eye. “And also it inspires the curiosity of the student body, even if their inquiries do wind up misguided.”

Bartholomew turned red, and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly while Y’shtola laughed at him.

“So you’re telling me then that you don’t hate one another. Instead you’re, what, friendly rivals or something?”

“Or something, indeed. If you must know, then I tell you true. Of all the mysteries I have uncovered and truths I have found, that one which is most precious to me is the truth of her heart,” said Professor Y’shtola. “Professor Vauban is my spouse.”

Bartholomew blinked at her incredulously. Of all the answers he might have gotten this day, that was the most unexpected.

While he was standing their flabbergasted, Professor Vauban walked up to the both of them, smiling broadly at Bartholomew with that slightly unnerving manic grin of hers.

“Oh, you two found one another,” she said brightly.

“Quite so. Bartholomew here has offered his apologies on behalf of himself and his cohort, regarding the earlier eavesdropping incident.”

“Oh, very good,” said Professor Vauban cheerfully.

“I, of course, have accepted on both of our behalfs. Did you know that their curiosity had naught to do with our theories, and everything to do with the nature of our relationship?”

Professor Vauban tapped a finger to her lips, and tilted her head at Bartholomew. “We are married.”

“Yes, I have just informed him as much,” said Y’shtola. “I am wondering if perhaps it is not common knowledge. Certainly, apparently not as common as knowledge of our occasional little debates.”

Zoissette looked chagrined. “Maybe it is because we are not here all that often?”

“Well, I have many and more mysteries to uncover, and you yet heed the siren call of adventuring.”

Zoissette shrugged helplessly. “I like being useful, and it lends itself to field work. Which I enjoy.”

“And we have seen what dangerous matters you get up to when performing lab work on your own instead.”

Zoissette groaned as the two began to head out. “Will I never hear the end of that? Besides, I still think it better than your periodic swims in forbidden streams.”

Y’shtola smirked.

The two continued to banter as they left, leaving Bartholomew behind. He just watched them go, staring, unable to believe that these were the same two personalities he had witnessed earlier.

Clearly, he had much and more to learn about Professors Vauban and Y’shtola.

And just maybe, as he considered their words, maybe from them as well.

[umbralsound-xiv]

Paint and Pleasantries.

Wounded though i was, it was... Inadvisable to go to Thanalan proper. Though i'm quite sure i could defend myself, there was no need to take unneeded risks. ...Though, there was nothing stopping me going to Ul'dah and having a look around...

Bexy Amalaryssia paces with idle footsteps along the vibrant carpet; she'd always been fond of the colour, but this sun her eyes were far from admiring the vibrant shade of red. Instead, icy hued eyes dance back and forth, offering a smile to any who would meet them, even if her attention did settle on any passer by for a little longer than it otherwise would. Then, another pulled into her view; an Elezen, turned away from her, and enough that she couldn't see his face without drawing close. In a deliberate yet relaxed manner, she comes to rest on the railing, peering out below. "This part of the city feels like it always used to be busier, don't you think?" Idle chatter, her head barely turned to meet his gaze.

Orpheus Trentieme would straighten his back upon the sound of another's voice, a moment's hesitance to realise he'd been spoken to and not some other. He moved to look at her with only a turn of his head at first. There was a deep inhale, something to settle the nerves, before he finally responded, "…Some nights, it is. Occasionally, you'll see groups of people that have meandered in… most likely for a more intimate chat… The area provides a decent amount of privacy, despite it's public nature."

Bexy Amalaryssia: "The water would muffle the quietest words, i imagine." Briefly indicating the centerpiece with a dip of her head, she offers a warm smile. "The Quicksand, you can barely hear yourself think, these suns. The Emerald Avenue isn't all that much better. Suppose you have seen anything interesting from your time observing?" Her words hung with genuine curiosity, gloved fingertips smoothing over the ridge of the rail as her ears tilted in his direction to better listen.

I doubt he'd seen what i was looking for, and i'm not dense enough to simply ask outright. He could just as easily be one of them, just without the mark. ...There's so few of them left alive that know my face. Would they recognise me, as a group? Mm. Suppose that remains to be seen. I can't be too careful.

Orpheus Trentieme notably did not smile back. However, the neutrality of his face did not appear to be malicious or bored. It simply was. "Yes, precisely. Not to mention the sound itself being rather relaxing." Running water, that was. He liked the smell of the water, as well, compared to the arid surroundings. "…There were a ball, about a turn ago. Perhaps there'll be another this coming Heavensturn." He turns to look below, trying to recall anything of note.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "I have been to one, once. Cycles ago. They seem almost as commonplace here as they do in Ishgard, now. Though, a very different set of formalities." A note is hummed from painted lips, and even though the smile wasn't mirrored from him, her own hadn't diminished an ilm. "I too find myself drawn to the sound. Most places i go… It's always the waterfalls that catch my attention. Do you have a favourite?"

Orpheus Trentieme hummed thoughtfully. "I've been to my fair share," he murmurs, "In Ishgard." He nodded in agreement, casting a glance her way. "The one here wasn't nearly as rigid, however. There weren't any dancing cards, for one… It looked pleasant, fun." He shakes his head. "I haven't seen many more than that one there… Do you have a favorite?"

...I had my suspicions from the moment he spoke. The moment i laid eyes on him, perhaps. I like to think i know my Ishgardians well enough... Consider that i married one. And i've known Mist for quite some cycles, now. And then, there's Mattisaux, and... ...Gods, come to think of it, i know a fair few.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "I've been to one or two up north. I've a friend who had to go to them plenty in her youth. Despised them, for much the same reasons you mentioned, i think." Again, her attention drifts to the pouring water in the middle of the room. "…I have a few for different reasons. But i think the Burning Wall is my favourite. Honourable mentions to Raincatcher Gully, and Greytail Falls."

No surprise for the Burning Wall, consider that the mark of my Goddess is not so far from it. Raincatcher Gully reminds me of... Being so much younger. I think it was one of the first waterfalls i found, on my travels throughout the realm in my teenage cycles. Greytail Falls i've eyed many a time during my respite in Coerthas. I wonder what it is, that makes the sound of running water so... Soothing?

Orpheus Trentieme let loose an amused huff of air through his nose. He still did not smile, but his eyes squinted just barely in delight. "Yes, I began to grow weary of them myself, growing up." His shoulders dropped an ilm, relaxing as much as he could around a friendly stranger. "They're harder to enjoy, if matchmaking is forced upon you at them." He knows of Greytail, the other two he's barely heard of in passing. "You're well travelled, I take it?" He questions, curious, "…Are you an adventurer?"

Bexy Amalaryssia: "You are Ishgardian, then?" Her tone rises in interest, looking over him in a more appraising sense than the subtly prying one she had earlier. "…I like to consider myself to be. There are still places i am yet to go… Thavnair, the New World. But i'll get there, eventually. Work keeps me busy enough, these suns. Not quite an adventurer, though suppose it's not all that dissimilar." She quietly throws her gaze around the room, before her attention returns to the man in front of her. "I'm a mercenary. Yourself?"

Not something i'd be willing to say all that loudly, here. Plenty of prying eyes and ears, and the wrong word will soon draw them to me. ...Not that i can see anyone close by. Still. Better to be careful.

Orpheus Trentieme canted his head to the side, looking over her with a new eye as well. "I am," he confirms, "More often than not my mannerisms appear to give me away." He enjoyed the way she touched on the places she'd like to visit. That sense of wonder in another being was always nice to behold. He takes a moment to observe her, noting the way she shifted her gaze. "Ah, a mercenary… Dangerous line of work," he comments, "I'm an artist, myself… There's a great deal less bloodshed, I'm afraid."

Bexy Amalaryssia hums, gloved fingertips gently tapping on the railing. "Looks can be deceiving sometimes… But, i will admit i had my suspicions. You carry yourself well." She compliments, brightening even in the face of his words, well aware of his observation of her. "Dangerous, yes. But rewarding. And by that, i mean more… Morally and emotionally rewarding. Coin is nice, but it doesn't compare to a sense of… I don't know. Doing the right thing." Slowly, her head rocks to one side, as she mulls over his occupation. "An artist, you say? Of what medium? Or multiple?" The Seeker's expression cracks into a grin. "A great deal less bloodshed, you say, but not devoid of it?"

Orpheus Trentieme turns to her fully, then. Her reasoning for being a mercenary intrigued him… After all, it would be her own moral compass when it came to 'doing the right thing,' no? Subjective at best, prone to abuse at worse. He hardly knew her well enough to argue, regardless. "Thank you," he says. It felt nice to be told he carried himself well, rather than being told he was too uptight. "Surely you've seen more interesting things as a mercenary than in people watching," he remarks. "Oil painting, memoriam portraiture… though I've expanded a touch while I'm in Ul'dah. But… outside of work I enjoy painting en plein air."

I've always been fond of paintings, though i have no talent in it myself. Kind of like looking through a window, whether you are greeted by a beautiful landscape on the other end, or a long lost face, frozen in time.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "I have seen things that beggar belief. I have seen the look of hope, from those who thought they'd lost it. Smiles warm enough to kindle even the coldest hearts. Lovely things. Harrowing things. Some sights that will live forever in my thoughts. Though i wouldn't trade it for anything… People watching does have a comfort to it, far from the battlefield. Each person is interesting in their own way, should someone look close enough." Head shifting in the other direction, it's just enough that her ribbons follow. "Have you a favourite subject to paint?"

Orpheus Trentieme lifted his brows just barely, vaguely surprised by her answer. It sounded rather… different to what he expected from his question. Almost poetic, by comparison. "Are you an independent?" He asks, "Or do you work within a group of other mercenaries such as yourself?" There's a tender pause as mis-matching greys flick to the ceiling in thought. "…Flora," he answers, "Plant-life can be delicate and full of potential, be it beauty or succor. Have you ever been to the botanists guild in Gridania?"

Though i must be careful not to say so much, i don't... Genuinely think he's one of them. There are thousands of people in Ul'dah, so it's already unlikely. Besides. He's nice. Pleasant, well mannered, well spoken. Not that the worst of us can't be, but from those i've met from the compound, none of them have exactly been exemplary citizens.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "Mm, no. I work with a collective. My job is to get everyone home. There isn't a gil-coin shiny enough to make me forget that." Bexy gives a more earnest smile at that, bowing her head. "From the cooks that fill our bellies, to the crafters that repair our gear. Each is as dear to me as the next." A somewhat enthusiastic nod is offered at the mention of botany. "No time recently, but i have visited. I think it's a remarkable thing, to paint flora. Blooms are so… Fleeting. Perhaps why they are treasured so dearly. To capture them in an image, to hold for an eternity… I think there's a beauty in that… Don't you?"

Orpheus Trentieme was rather impressed by her disposition, truly. She seemed oddly grounded, compared to some other sellswords he's met in the past. His gaze towards her softened, his demeanor as affable as he could muster. "There's nothing quite so beautiful," he agrees, "The way in which most plants will stretch out towards the sunlight, or spread their roots in search of nourishment… the way in which they sup up the rain after a storm… It's compelling really. And so they bloom brilliantly, a most treasured honor to their survival, fleeting though they may be. We can only hope to strive towards our own blossoming as people, yes?"

Bexy Amalaryssia smiles all the warmer, tail briefly waving at her heels at his words. "Exactly this. On a base level, we aren't so different. We seek out the things that will help us grow, or we risk withering, unable to bloom to our full potential. There are few things more lovely than seeing another; especially someone you hold dear, blossoming in such a way. Tell me… Do you have a favourite flower? The answer can be quite telling, i think."

There's a lot of be said for flowers, either for specific ones, or for them in their entirety. A favourite subject of mine, for certain. ...I wonder which he'll pick?

Orpheus Trentieme watched her tail briefly, before his eyes fell back onto her face. "It changes," he murmurs, though he answers with the first that comes to mind, "Currently I'm rather fond of hyacinths." He wondered what that would tell her about him. "…And yours?"

Bexy Amalaryssia: "Oh, lovely flowers, Hyacinths. They say harsher winters make for better blooms, and they never fail to come back in the spring. Resilient. It's a fitting favourite for an Ishgardian." She beams, though her eyes widen at the question. "Oh? Hm… It's probably not so much of a surprise, for a Seeker. Roses. Azeyma roses, in particular."

Orpheus Trentieme: "Brilliant red," he comments, eyelids relaxing. He could envision it in his mind's eye, every striking note and shade. As for his hyacinth, her answer appeared to amuse him. Resilient…. He paused, blinking twice. Noting her appearance. "…Does red happen to be your favorite colour as well?"

Bexy Amalaryssia: "It's grown on me over the cycles. Yes." She smiles, turning to face him a little more fully. "The colour of love. Or life. Or death. I find it brings a little warmth to me." Looking over him with some faintly hidden amusement, she considers. "…I suppose it isn't really a fair question to ask an artist his favourite colour. I wager you have several of them."

Orpheus Trentieme squinted his eyes again, a spark of delight hidden within cloudy irises. "It suits you," he compliments, "It's a bold color for most, you wear it well." He suspected she was likely just as bright, based off of her previous statements. "I can find any one shade of each hue to be taken by," he says, nodding, "But, my favourite would be purple. A deep plum, to be specific. It's subtle, quiet, but… arresting, in a sense."

I used to like purple. Suppose, i still do even if i don't really wear it anymore. Not that i've outgrown it, but... I see the colour, and remember who once was, before the aether took my eyes and made them the icy hue they are now. It's a bittersweet thing.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "Thank you." Bexy's head half-dips with the compliment, cordial and polite. "Purple is a favourite of mine, though not something i wear all so often, these suns. Though i am generally drawn to the lavender-like hues, there's some appeal in the darker shades. The colour of elegance, of nobility, purple. A darker shade would mean you had to look for it, something not so easily noticed. There's a sort of wonder in that, i think. Darker colours are more… Thought provoking. Is that why you wear them? Or is it a sort of… Homage to the fallen, with your memoriam work?"

Orpheus Trentieme perked his brows a bit, looking over his own outfit for a moment. He did favor dark fabrics, though he wasn't necessarily sure why. Bright felt wrong to wear. "Oh--- that…" He mumbles, looking a touch bashful, "I'm afraid, despite all of my knowledge with matching color I… don't quite know how to dress myself in a way that doesn't clash." That roused a half-laugh out of him, breathy and faint. "…I'm a dour sort, anyhow…" He pauses, then makes a practical comment, "…And it doesn't stain quite so easily, black."

Bexy Amalaryssia: "Mh, true, that. All of my combat gear is black, though fashion isn't exactly at the forefront of my mind in the heat of battle, even if i don't neglect it entirely." She turns almost completely now, resting on the railing with only one hand, stealing the occasional glance to the courtyard below. "You don't seem like such a dour sort, from our… Admittedly brief conversation. But i think there's at least a drop of it in every Ishgardian i've met. And i've met a fair few."

They say that the snows froze more than the land when they came for Ishgard. Part of me thinks that's true. It hit some harder than others, i think... But there's always a hint of sorrow, or melancholy in most i've met. I think Laurent is about the happiest Ishgardian i know, come to think of it. But then, he's never minded the cold.

Orpheus Trentieme knew himself best… though, it reassured him to know he hadn't given her that impression quite yet. They'd just met, after all. "I've heard of healers who tend to favor white on the battlefield--- how horrid must that be to wash blood from?" His hands clasp behind himself, eyes drifting to the courtyard himself. "…I don't doubt that. I believe we're a very inward people. Particularly those who are considered to be of higher standing, I'd assume. Ul'dah is almost refreshing in a way. Similar to Ishgard in some regards, but at least the people here appear to be more outward with their intentions."

Mm, wearing white on the battlefield is a double edged sword, i think. It's easier for me to see at a glimpse where my own healers are, even if it makes them more visible to our enemies. ...And it makes it an awful lot easier to pick off our enemies. If they can't be healed, it makes it just that much easier. Still. I usually kill them first, but i learned recently that if i must keep one of them alive for... Interrogation purposes, a healer makes for an interesting target...

Bexy Amalaryssia: "…I dread to even think. Though i suppose if they are wounded, it is easy enough to find out where." A brow is slowly lofted, though her smile doesn't budge an ilm. "…I think so too. But inward isn't always a bad thing. You know what you want, and what you stand for. Not all people are so self realised. Though the rigidity of a higher standing is no doubt stifling, it makes for a more driven self, when you are released from it." Following his gaze down, her attention jumps from one person to the next. "In Ishgard, you can talk in circles for bells, depending on the company. Here… Things are a lot more direct, true enough. But i feel that some of the intricacies of conversation, the little pieces you might pick up when you otherwise wouldn't… They can be missed."

Orpheus Trentieme: "I can agree… there is some element of delicacy in a conversation that more often than not tends to be quashed when I'm speaking to an Ul'dahn native." Another breathy half-laugh rouses from him, "…When I began regularly staying here, for longer periods of time, it often caught me off guard." How many times has he had to dance around someone else's crass behavior in favor of his own comfort? The embarrassment of it all, to be in a situation like that. "T'would be saintly," he ventures, gingerly joking, "To have a warrior clad in white come back from the heat of battle, victorious, marred red from head to toe. One could write a riveting tale of such."

Bexy Amalaryssia curls her lips at his amusement, finding her own in the sound. "I'm quite familiar with it. The company i work with are made of a good many people, from those as far as Doma, to as near as the Shroud. It's quite the clash of mannerisms, as you might imagine. Though some might butt heads, we get along well enough. It makes for interesting conversation, regardless." Humming, she runs an index over the railing. "…There surely are many a poem and ballad penned of such. I've never been one for knights in shining armor. That just means they've never had a fight worth their mettle."

Orpheus Trentieme let loose a proper laugh at that, stifling it quick with the back of his hand. "…No, I suppose not! Knights in shining armor may be more for romance in a tale, besides." He stops to mull over the thought, his expression soft. He'd have to mull that over some more, to find some meaning or blessing behind a knight's armor--- which was holier? To be unscathed or to appear as though you've weathered several battles? "You sound very fond of your group," he says, "…They must treat you well."

They do. My every need is seen to. There is always something to eat. Always someone to tend my wounds if needed... But those are the most basic things. Always someone to talk to, and listen. People i trust with even my darkest secrets... As they trust me with theirs. People i trust with my life.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "There is so little i would not do for them." Speaking of them brings such warmth to her features, she's practically glowing. "My friends… My family. They have been with me through the most wonderful cycles… And the most difficult, too. No company is perfect… But it is mine. Though it is simply a job and a place to stay for some, it is… So much more than that, for me. Perhaps why i was tasked with protecting them. Or at least… Ensuring we all make it home. Regardless of whatever contract we take, that remains paramount."

Orpheus Trentieme nodded, enjoying the way she lit up when speaking on them. "It is a large burden to carry," he ventures gingerly, "Though, I imagine to you it is no such burden." He appeared contemplative for a moment, considering something. How nice it must have felt, to have a company of people you could call home--- family. One's friends. "This conversation has been most lovely, however I fear it's time for me to be off… If I may ask you your name, Miss?"

Bexy Amalaryssia: "You would be correct in saying i think of it so. To see them happy and home, safe and well… It is a significant responsibility, perhaps. But no burden, to me." A small, understanding bob of her head is given at the mention of a departure. "Indeed it has. Bexy, a pleasure to meet you…?" She trails, a question implied for his own, in turn.

Orpheus Trentieme nodded, acknowledging her words. Honorable lass! Surely the people in her life were happy to have her. "The pleasure is mine, Bexy," he offers with a shallow, polite bow, "Orpheus de Trentième. Perhaps we'll meet again in the future, should you frequent these halls." His studio wasn't hard to find, either.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "I should like that, i think. It's nice to see a friendly face in Ul'dah, from time to time." Her tail sways from left, to right, then back again, lightly bowing her head to his gesture. "It was lovely speaking with you. Enjoy the rest of your sun, yes?"

Orpheus Trentieme squinted, looking friendly despite the lack of overt emotion to his face. "Yes… it would be nice," he agrees, before stating, "I shall, thank you. Do take care." And with that he was off, in whatever direction his studio happened to be in.

There was no harm in giving him my name, i thought. It was easy enough to learn it, and it wasn't as though i'd left a papertrail. Asides. He gave me his own, in turn. It's nice to have a friendly face in such a place. Even if the ones i'm searching for are anything but.