Hi, I'm Patrick/Fig, a blank slate character the audience can project onto!
Though it was ten years ago I started this blog, it is only today that I'm getting around to making a proper intro post.
My icon is from my kickstarter cameo in Tales of Alethrion. Hilariously, they made me tall.
This used to be a Homestuck fantroll RP blog way back when, but these days I mostly talk about Touhou.
Occasionally I also post snippets of original worldbuilding from my tabletop fantasy setting, Disl-Aum.
I play Medieval 2 Total War competitively, FFXIV casually, and several other games incorrectly.
I am employed to dubious ends in the dark art of Javascript.
It is my sincerely held religious belief that cinnamon goes good with everything.
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to kick your feet strive, but not to yield
Fandom: FFXIV
Ship: Nika/Minfilia
Characters: Nika Perseis (WoL), Thancred Waters, Minfilia Warde
Words: 1553
Rating: Gen
Read on ao3
title credit goes to nois!
There are no more songs in the Rising Stones. In Revenant’s Toll, maybe, and in the inn outside there’s always something to hear - a dirty joke, juicy information, lies, half-truths, insults, flattery, and the ever-present sound of music. Nika himself sometimes plays there, and those nights are when most people come. Those nights feel like a relief he can’t find behind the door to the Scions’ residence.
Because the Rising Stones have, for the most part, become silent. Or his idea of silence, anyway. It’s not literal, there’s sounds of footsteps and quiet conversation, but that’s all there is and it makes him want to pull all his hair out. There are people, familiar faces, bloodshot eyes, clinking of cups against wood, but it’s all so muted and muffled.
It feels vaguely familiar. Nika was young when his father died and when he moved to Limsa, and the first few years, as he and his mom settled and started building a life there, were marked by a similar sort of eerie silence. There were conversations, but never ones that needed to be had. How would a child know how to ask what happened to his father and how would a mother be able to answer? So he looked for ways to fill that void elsewhere; in the docks, on the streets, in company of absolute fuckers. And when he finally summoned the courage to ask what his father was like, all he got was, “you have his eyes.”
They have never talked about it since. And Nika’s since been running from that same silence that now stares him in the eye. It’s a silence of grief, and Twelve know he’s never been good with grief. Twelve know he’s never tried to be.
But there’s nowhere to run now, is there? Behind the wooden door lies sound, distractions that don’t matter in the long run. Here, with the Scions, there’s silence, but there are also faces that matter. Barring Thancred, of course. Thancred mattered, in another life. Now, his quips only serve to make Nika’s jaw clench. His drunken rambles that were once funny now make him a fucking disgrace that nobody seems to notice but Nika.
And maybe Nika himself is a similar kind of disgrace, running away from people that need him most. And maybe that’s all the drink he’s had tonight whispering in his head, and maybe he too cared for Moenbryda. He had a song he wanted to show her once it was done. Now, he’ll never have a chance to. Maybe he liked her sense of humor and her optimism.
And now she’s gone. Just like his father. And she left behind the same kind of silence, too.
Nika closes the door as quietly as he can. Rowdiness buzzes in his ears still. He rubs his temples violently, willing the headache away. Minor injuries, cuts and bruises from the fight with Nabriales are starting to ache too. He just needs to sit, for fuck’s sake. Hair falls into his face, sticks sweatily against the back of his neck, loose, hot, stifling, and he marches down the small staircase and throws himself on a nearby chair. He ties it up in a practiced motion and somehow that takes up all his remaining energy. He slumps down, throws his head back and takes a deep breath.
The solar’s door opens. Nika opens one eye to see Minfilia and Thancred talking in a hushed tone. Thancred nods and puts his hands on Minfilia’s shoulders, as if assuring her of something. Nika closes his eyes again and kicks the table. His pale, scrawny fingers on her shoulders are offensive enough to kickstart his anger into action regardless of his physical and mental exhaustion.
Unfortunately, in the quietness of the room, the kick rings out like a shout.
Nika immediately regrets it. He doesn’t want to open his eyes and see the worried glances people are certainly throwing his way. It feels like pity and he doesn’t want pity, unless he’s seriously confusing pity and general care. He’s too aware of himself to discount that option. Still, he doesn’t want to look. He slumps down even further and lets the shame of it pass through him.
“Is something amiss, Nika?” Minfilia’s voice rings in close proximity, worried.
“I’d say our Warrior of Light has yet to let go of his anger for the Ascians,” Thancred supplies and Nika’s eyes open.
“If you of all people aren’t angry at them, Thancred, then what the fuck are you doing with your life,” Nika says and he would flinch at the way he says Thancred’s name, like venom. Thankfully, he does too.
“I am angry, Nika. But I don’t allow my anger to destroy the Rising Stones.”
“Instead you destroy your fucking liver–”
“Cease, both of you!” Minfilia says and both men press their lips in tight lines. “I understand the situation we find ourselves in isn’t optimal, yet we must keep our composure.” She shoots Nika a reprimanding look. Nika shrivels under her gaze. She then aims it at Thancred, who looks away. “And what we mustn’t do at all costs is fight with each other.”
“Of course, Minfilia,” Thancred whispers. Nika thinks he sounds a little ashamed. He decides to keep what little dignity he has by not saying anything. “I’m off to do as we agreed. Hopefully, we’ll soon have results!”
“Pray take care, Thancred!” She gives him a nod which is his cue to leave as inconspicuous as he can with his tail dragging between his legs. Nika watches him go. “Why do you keep antagonizing him, Nika?”
“You know what he’s done,” Nika simply says. “You know what it’s caused.”
“He’s making amends,” Minfilia argues. “He’s trying to ameliorate the damage he’s done. I’ve already forgiven him for it.”
He sees the message behind her words. They can’t afford not to forgive a skilled and, however much it pains Nika to say it, a valued member of the Scions. It’s as diplomatic as it is kind. He could never match in this regard, not truly, so he holds onto his grudges like a lifeline. Thancred’s betrayal struck deep. It’ll take more than cooperation, if anything at all, to heal those scars.
“I am under no such obligations,” Nika replies. “I will kill his enemy in battle if he aims for Thancred’s neck, but it doesn’t mean my goodwill extends elsewhere.” There’s a finality to his tone that makes Minfilia pause.
“As you wish,” she says after a pause. “But if I may repeat my earlier question, are you quite alright? You look like you’re about to keel over if you do so much as stand up.”
“That bad, huh?” He laughs, but it’s a choppy, insincere thing. “I suppose I am.” A moment of silence. “I’m just so fucking tired, Minfilia. I’m angry at Ascians. I’m angry at Garlemald. I’m angry at the likes of Teledji Adeledji. There’s only so many arrows I have for each of them. And only so much patience, too. Besides, fighting shit hurts. It’s hard on the body.”
“Would you like me to help you to where you can sleep for a little?” She offers and a part of him wants to say no, to show he’s her pillar of strength yet again, to say he’s truly a man she can rely on. Instead, he just nods, and suddenly she’s helping him up, her warm body against his side, her soft hands against his waist. And she smells like that perfume F’lhammin makes for her, and he can’t help but bury his head in her hair.
“I just want things to stop for ten fucking seconds,” he says in the silence broken only by their joint footsteps. “Can it stop?”
“There will always be a need for heroes,” Minfilia says quietly. “You’re this era’s hero. But it doesn’t mean you have to do it alone, Nika.”
“I would’ve stayed in Gridania or Ul’dah if the Waking Sands–” His fingers press in a fist. “I don’t want to be a hero, Minfilia, but until you find a suitable replacement, I’m the best you have.”
“Then I shall pray that the day soon comes where you won’t have to be a hero,” she responds. “Or at the very least, a few years of peace, so another can rise in your stead. But until such a day comes, I will endeavor to make sure it’s a little less painful.”
Nika’s quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice is raw. “That’s all I ask for,” he says. He doesn’t comment on the way she guides him to the couch in her solar, finds a light blanket and places it over him. His heart beats wildly in his chest, but he feels a small, but steady current of calm reach his bloodstream.
A part of him wants to kiss her. A part of him wants to sit her down and pull her in a kiss, breathe in more of that perfume, but he doesn’t somehow. When he reaches out to hold her hand, she holds it until he’s dozing off and well on his way to the land of dreams.
What more could he ask for, anyway? She makes him want to stop running away.
For now, that’s enough.
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