#ffxivwrite free day

[midnightmagicks]

FFXIV 30 Day Writing Challenge Day 15: Free/Makeup Day (Rest)

Rest: An instance or period of relaxing or ceasing to engage in strenuous or stressful activity.

 Tap. Tap. Tap. 

The sound of a foot tapping against the ground as a long tail swished irritatedly. L’harir stared upwards towards the horrible tangle of….fabrics that dangled from the rafters. Blankets, pillows, and what looked to be his fabrics. The nice ones. 

No matter what he did, the problem hiding in his rafters always seemed to find his way back in. He was frustratingly good at lock-picking and nearly impossible to hear when he didn’t want to be. With a flick of his head, L’harir tossed his hair out of his face and cleared his throat, hoping to get the other’s attention. 

A small noise, similar to that of a cat you gently poke awake, drifted down. A shuffling of fabrics. And a fur tipped tail lazily draping over the edge were the only indications that someone was actually awake up there. The tail swayed slowly and a voice met L’harir’s ears. “<Helllooo Harir. Welcome back.>” The voice was deep and raspy, evident that the man above was very much asleep. He was much too comfortable in a home that was not even his own. Harir huffed and quirked a brow, slight annoyance creeping in.

“Fareed. Get out of the rafters. And give me my fabric back.” Arms stretched out with a groan, and finally the face of Fareed peaked over the edge, a goofy grin on his face.  “Awwh, but Harir! They’re so comfortable and high quality! How could you deny me a proper rest on such fine fabrics!”

L’harir did not look amused by this sentiment, but that didn’t dissuade Fareed in the slightest. His lazy grin stayed, and he wiggled his tail with a playful energy.

“You could always join me? Maybe a nice nap will loosen you up some. <Come onnn, it’s quite comfortable up here!>”

“If I have to come up there, you will not enjoy it! Give me my fabric!”

Fareed flicked his tail and grinned brighter, disappearing into the nest again. There was no sign of him coming down and all that could be heard was a mischievous chuckle.

------------------ Thank you @placesyoucallhome for letting me borrow L'harir <3 <3 <3 Fareed loves to tease him :)

[soulshards]

FFXIVWRITE 2024, PROMPT #8: SPONTANEOUS (Free Day) tw: none • words: 797

performed or occurring as a result of a sudden impulse or inclination

It wasn’t quite nighttime - not yet. The sun hung low in brightly coloured sky, brilliant hues of reds and yellows spilling out across the horizon as in a few hours, it would say it’s farewell. But it was still daytime, and Bites had a rather impulsive need to go fishing. And they did not want to fish alone.

They walked lazily, long, spiny tail swaying from side to side, as in one hand they carried a bait box, and the other, two fishing rods.

Dark eyes peered at the Inn before them, messy, fluffy hair getting a shuffle as Bites dipped their head to the side. Their friend was staying here, that they were sure of. And though the sun had yet to set, they were sure they wouldn’t mind getting up a little early in order to spend some time together.

Their hand raised to the door, pushing it open as they passed to the counter in order to double-check the room number in which their friend was resting. Once confirmed, they continued on, up some stairs, and a right, before they came before the dark oak door. Locked.

Bites leaned to the side, long arms resting the bait box on the floor, as a curved nail was raised up, and inserted into the lock. After some wiggling around, they felt the soft click of the mechanism before pressing on the handle to open the door fully. They wouldn’t mind.

Probably.

A grin found their lips as the door swung open, the sleeping form of their friend draped over the bed; dark scales with speckles of red that covered so much pale skin, wrapping around his back like a blanket, tousled white hair standing up in random points from his sleep. The curtains were drawn, no light in the room save for that which spilled out from the now open door.

Bites inhaled deeply, as purposefully heavy footsteps brought them over to the bed. They was usually low energy, a little more placid and calm - but sometimes, on occasion, they would let out this more playful side in the company of friends. “Shuunnbaaaiii!” They were not shouting, but they were loud. Loud enough to almost rouse the man from his sleep.

“Get up! I want to go fishin’!” The base of the fishing rods were raised up, coming to jab him lightly in the side. A large hand raised, swiping at the obnoxious intrusion upon his slumber with little grace or any real effort and a faint grumble was heard by forward facing horns. “C’mooon. There’s still some daylight left!”

“I’m sleeping, Bites… go away…” another grumble, more coherent, as the man shuffled on the bed to turn away from Bites and the prodding fishing rods.

The fishing rods were placed to the side, resting against the bedside table - the bait box still lingered by the slightly open door - and the Xaela came to pull on Shunbai’s arm in order to roll him over. It took a bit of effort, they were strong. But this man was large.

“...pleeeaase, Shunbai… Enkh won’t go fishing with me! And Sebit is busy! Don’t make me go sit all on my own…” The pleading was turned up, just a little. In truth Bites would not mind fishing on their own, but the nocturnal habits of Shunbai means it had been a few suns since they last hung out. And that would simply not stand.

Bites would lean against the bed, their grin visible, flashing fangs that had dug into this man's flesh on more than one occasion (out of affection… or frustration). Those same fangs which were now poised by his arm, an eyebrow raised up, letting out a soft ‘Aah’ as if they were about to chomp down upon his scaled shoulder - it was one way of waking someone up. They were nicknamed Bites for a reason.

Squinting eyes glared at Bites now, lips pulled back over fangs as he gave another grumble.

“....fine.”

Bites jumped back up to stand with a wiggle of their tail, fluffy hair bobbing as fangs were hidden behind a big smile. They would never bite their friend to wake them up, no. That’s just cruel.

“Yes! Get changed! C’mon! I brought you a rod, whoever catches the most fish doesn’t have to cook them!”

Feet scampered to scoop up the fishing rods and head back towards the door, grabbing the bait box. They would give him some privacy, at least, in getting up and changed. Some.

Bites would appear back around the door on occasion to make sure Shunbai was actually getting up and making an effort to get changed, before slinking back around the doorframe once they were satisfied he was moving.

They’d make the early ‘morning’ up to him.

Probably

ft. Shunbai @shadesofblades prompt picked by coffee also!

[crystal-verse]

Day 13 - Butte

[writing this for the make-up day since i didn't get to it on time earlier, oops]

"Do you think the Ostall Imperative counts as a butte?" Sae'pheli'ehva asks, one day, swinging his legs lazily through the air as they both sit at the little watchtower by the Tenemos Rookery.

"Could you clarify that question?" Raha asks, tilting their head somewhat to the side. It's still so very -- odd, to walk about with the cowl down, but Sae'pheli'ehva's easy acceptance, and the easy acceptance of the Crystarium's people, does much to soothe any lingering anxieties.

"Like -- " Sae'pheli'ehva begins, cutting himself off with a frustrated noise. This, too, is something new -- an effort to speak, even if all the words may not be composed in the moment. "So, a butte is like. . . a really steep hill or mountain that's moreso than the rest of the surrounding terrain, right?"

"I suppose." Raha agrees. "By that logic, I am inclined to say the Ostall Imperaive does not count, on account of it being connected to the cliffs near the Source, rather than any hills that jut out particularly much."

A quiet hum. "That reminds me -- there's more of Lakeland than just what I've seen so far, isn't there?"

Raha inclines his head, in a half nod. "That is correct, yes."

Sae'pheli'ehva grins down at him, then, eyes curving into little smiles. "Do you think there's Norvrandt's version of the little crystal cave in Mor Dhona we found, back when you were helping me look for the different pieces of Summoner outfits and artifacts and such?"

"There. . . may." Raha agrees, slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I want to take you on an adventure with me, you silly man." Sae'pheli'ehva looks at them as if they're foolish. "And -- this way we'll still be in Lakeland, so you won't be too far from your Tower, so you won't get all fatigued."

"I --" Raha has to close their mouth, from the sudden swell of emotion. "I should like that very much, Sae'pheli'ehva."

"Pheli." The other corrects, that smile still curling his eyes. "If you're Raha, then I'm Pheli, okay?"

". . . alright, Pheli. Thank you."

"Of course." Pheli bunts his head against Raha's shoulder, and -- they will go on their little adventure, soon. But right now, they are simply sitting and enjoying the breeze together.

[chocoblep]

#15: Warming Up to the Idea

Prompt: Freee day! (Achieve)

Illian leaned over the temperature control panel that he’d nearly finished embedding into the wall, screwdriver in hand. He was fairly certain he would have to adjust the crystals below the floor once he finished this step and turned it on, as he’d used a modified version of the one he had in his own workspace. Now that he’d had sufficient time to test it, he’d slowly started installing these temperature controls in other places around Highvale Manor. This particular unit was for the kitchen–specifically, the larder. If he could get it to keep a consistently cold temperature, then they could store more in the space while using significantly less ice crystals.  Thankfully, they’d just cleaned it out and moved the contents they were keeping to a temporary cooler, so if this didn’t work, at least things wouldn’t spoil. Still, he was fairly sure it would.

He finished the panel’s install, and then went to double-check the wires he’d attached to the regulator below. The only differences in this setup was the lack of switch from warm to cold and the presence of two ice crystals instead of an ice and fire crystal from which to draw aspected aether. Once he was certain all of the connections were in place, he moved back outside the larder and began to press buttons on the panel. Setting it to freezing temperatures, he confirmed his choice, and then tipped his head to listen.

When he heard the tell-tale whir of the fans, he smiled and rounded back into the larder to feel in front of the three ducts along the top of the wall with his bare fingers. Satisfied with the cold air pushing into the room, he covered the floor panel and then walked out and closed the door.

“What’s for lunch, Khalan?” he asked, and the cook–an older dark-skinned Miqo’te woman with silvery streaks in her pulled-back dark hair–turned her tea-green eyes toward him. A smile lit her face.

“Oh, done already, are ya? That was quick!” She was already pulling out a plate and setting it on the counter. “Popoto crisps are almost done, and I could build ya a sandwich ahead of the rest of ‘em.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Illian said, swinging his leg over one of the stools that usually went unused at the kitchen counter. Most people ate in the dining room, and Rath seemed to vacillate between eating with his staff and taking his meals privately. It really depended on whether or not he was absorbed in a task.

As Khalan built his sandwich, the pair chattered about different things that he could improve around the kitchen. The device he’d made to mix ingredients for baked goods had saved her aging arms many aches, but her knuckles were starting to get knobby and stiff.

“Should we be looking into getting you an apprentice, or an assistant, to take over when you finally decide to retire?” he asked, not bothering to hide his concern.

“Oh, you know me and my kitchen,” she replied.

And he did. He’d once tried to help her prepare a meal, and gotten the biggest lecture of his life  for it. M’rath was banned from using it, and he’d floated the idea of an assistant or apprentice several times with no luck. He gave her a nod as she loaded up some of the finished crisps onto a plate and then finished his sandwich, sliding the food over to him.

“At least have Lord Highvale look at your hands,” he implored, before crunching into his first crisp and biting back a groan of happiness.

“That, I’ll do,” she replied, turning back toward the stove to pull out the last tray of crisps and set them out to cool. “At my age, I wouldn’t terribly mind an extra set of hands–ah, but they've got to be capable! Not somebody like you coming in to help!”

“Firstly, rude,” he said around a bite from his sandwich. “Secondly, you’re right; I’m not an experienced cook, unless you count campfire meals.”

“Which I don’t. If you’re going to insist on hiring me an assistant, then I need to test them.” She eyed Illian with a stern expression, placing both hands on her soft hips.

“I’ll talk to him about it, and we will bring any prospective candidates to you. I promise.” It was an assurance that he could keep, and as he watched her nod and go to grab the tongs, moving slower than she used to, he thought that perhaps he should initiate that process sooner rather than later.

When he was done eating, he checked on the larder’s temperature, delighted to find that it had chilled to the temperature he’d set. Supplying Khalan with instructions to monitor the panel every half bell and report any fluctuations to him, he set off back through the manor to attend his other duties. Nothing else was going to give him the satisfaction of convincing Khalan to entertain the idea of someone else sharing her kitchen, but they had to be done nonetheless.

[syrcus]

FFXIVwrite 2024 Day 2: Horizon

Non-WoL OC. Minor spoilers for early 7.0 zone & NPC namedrop. Pre-Calamity. loosely a part 2 to Steer 985 words ao3 link

Days turn quickly to weeks, and weeks to moons, but Soley would be lying if he said he felt settled. He did eventually get set up in a room, and a part-time job in one of Tuliyollal's many beachside eateries - his experience helping in the Aalto's galley from time to time helped with that. It's a hot day, a little moreso than normal, and the restaurant has buzzed with activity for the whole of it. It's hard work on a day like today, running from table to table with hands piled up with plates and cups, and even once the customers leave there's much to do. The dishes must be washed for tomorrow, the floors and tables cleaned, the chairs stacked neatly. As both the youngest and newest member of staff, Soley often finds himself handling the majority of the least-loved chores.

     And so began his little routine; every day, after the floors are cleaned and the dishes washed and the 'goodnight's and 'see you tomorrow's said, he fixes himself a drink and walks the short way down to the beach to watch the sun set.

It's strange, he thinks, how the ocean once seemed like such an oppressive force. Mere moons ago, it was a source of dread, the very thing that swept him away from anyone or anywhere he started to belong. Now, he seeks it out willingly, the gentle crashing of its waves against the sand helping to remind him, when he needs it, that he is grounded. That he has a place in this world of his own. The sun creeps ever closer to the horizon line, scattering its fading light across the sea like gold dust. A little boat bobs along the waves in the distance, and Soley finds himself wondering about the place he once called home; had the weather been fair, had they safely reached port? Unless he'd miscounted the days, they should have docked in Limsa Lominsa last week. Even under poor conditions, it would be unusual if they had fallen behind, his mother wore her ship's punctuality like a badge of honour…      He shakes himself a little, stretches his arms lazily to the sky, in an attempt to loosen the thought from his mind. He doesn't care, not really. He's thinking this way out of habit, is all. He's sure he doesn't miss that life, as far as it had been a life - since resolving to stay in Tuliyollal, he has found a path for himself, he has found his own connections with the people here and had ample time to strengthen those bonds. He even has a friend.

     He smiles quietly to himself at the thought. Of all the friends in the world, the First Promise of Tuliyollal is an odd one to make. He doesn't seem to care much for socialising, he sneers more often than he smiles and makes no effort to endear himself to those around him.  By all accounts, he is not especially likeable.       Still, Soley thinks, raising his glass to drink and finding it empty, some might say that about me, too.        It's true that he himself made little effort to forge connections during brief weeks at port.  It's true that, now somewhat settled, he finds himself struggling to approach people.  For all his flaws, Zoraal Ja asks little of him in the way of small talk, or humour, and often seems as lost on the topic of local trends as Soley himself is.  Somehow, the most imposing person he's ever met turned out to be the easiest to be himself around.

     His reverie is broken by a gleeful shriek just within earshot; a young hhetsarro girl - though perhaps not so young, maybe she's just short - laughing by the water's edge, her friend kicking water at her while she tries to splash him back.  A few fulms away from them, a larger group sits around a basket, passing out snacks and drinks among themselves and laying down blankets.  None of them seem to have noticed Soley, lounging on his little rock, and if they have they make no indication of it.  They all seem to be around his own age, some a little older perhaps, others a little younger.  One of the girls gasps theatrically while her friend whispers something to her, and exclaims, just loudly enough for Soley to hear;

     "He didn't?"

     Her friend claps her on the arm, eyes wide, quietly giggling something that sounds like "keep your voice down!"

     The two by the waters edge merge into the main group and for a brief, mad, moment Soley finds himself wondering what would happen if he joined them.  Would they greet him as a friend, listen to his tales from the sea and far-off lands with interest?  Would they welcome him into the fold and share tales of their own?  Or would they view him with suspicion, an unknown element to be distrusted and shunned?      He yawns idly, and casts his eyes to the sky above.  It's become an interesting, inky purple, a little orange still visible right where it meets the sea, thousands of little stars twinkling happily.  The group of teenagers are chatting among themselves, laughing and occasionally shouting at one another.        In another life, could I have been a part of that?  He swirls the dregs of his drink in its glass, vaguely considering launching it at the sea for reasons he can't quite pinpoint.  That would come out of his pay, though, so instead he stashes it in his satchel and stands, making a vain effort to brush the sand (and a stray piece of dried seaweed) out of his clothes and hair before walking away from the group.  Avoiding them means taking a longer route back to his room, but he would rather not pass them, he'd rather not confront the tangled yearning they had unknowingly dredged from the depths of his heart.

[meximango]

Day 18 - Hackneyed - Vaile + Bobby - PG

Summary: Vaile has a short encounter with Cahsi’s retainer.

Part 1 of 2. Part 2 can be found here! --

Vaile had never been in this residential district–or any other than Ishgard’s, if he was being honest. The kind of work he had been so used to did not lead him to safe, well-lit, nice-smelling places like these. When meeting up with an acquaintance (the word ‘friend’ was still strange to him, and he avoided using it if he could), they always met up in a city or at a dungeon site or on the road if they happened to bump into each other. 

The sight of all these houses made him feel like an intruder, even though he knew it was full of adventurer’s abodes, rather than normal civilians. Nobody was going to harass him or try to send him away unless he stepped over a line. Hells, Cahsi had told him plenty of people left their homes unlocked! Only a retainer to keep watch, with a book that visitors could sign to give their opinion on the owner’s interior decorating skills. Apparently, it was a form of relaxation for many, and a way for folks to show off their conquests (‘look at this great beast I slayed and mounted its wings on my wall! Gasp in awe!’) It felt like something from a children’s storybook, and he wasn’t sure if Cahsi was just fucking with him or if that was supposed to be considered normal. No way was he about to test if it was true by going into some stranger’s home and potentially getting caught in their homemade dungeon.

Which is why he had to be sure the house he was setting out to find was actually Cahsi’s. 

This place was too quaint for the likes of someone like him, but he needed something from Cahsi, and she said she’d be at her home all weekend. So he’d bear through it. He was tough. He could handle wading through a domestic setting without his skin itching for a fight. Probably. (and if he thought about it too long, it’d bring him back to that brief year of happiness with Axel. The closest he ever got to a domestic life. No thanks, brain.) 

Cahsi had sent him a letter to him via moogle mail with the most awful, nonsensical map known to man explaining how to find her home, which he’d never been to and hadn’t planned on. But she was ‘too lazy to bother traveling somewhere to meet up, even if it were at a major aetheryle. Please Vaile, I just want one lazy weekend where I don’t have to dress up and put on my weapon. You come to me, or you can wait.’ 

So here he was. Sort of. He was close? He was in the correct general area, as far as he could tell, but all these districts looked exactly the same, and ‘it’s a carbuncle themed house, you can’t miss it’, did not help when there were a surprising number of people with colorful homes themed after the same creature. Cahsi didn’t seem to be wearing her linkpearl right now, as she wasn’t picking up. He sighed. Not worth the trouble for what he needed, maybe, but he’d already traveled…

After another few minutes of aimless wandering and deliberation, he finally went to the nearest retainer bell and rang it until he could get someone to fetch Cahsi’s for him. 

When the familiar, stout figure arrived at the plaza, Vaile wasted no time: “Hey, you! Retainer. Where is she?”

Upon noticing who it was asking, the retainer’s face went from a neutral expression to one of slight annoyance. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly know what you mean. Some manners would go a long way to start, boy.”

“Just tell me!”

“....” 

The lalafell in front of him pretended to examine and remove a speck of dust from his outfit, completely ignoring the reaper that towered over him. Hard to be cowed by a punk with a short fuse when you were already dead, after all. Not much phased Bobby, though he certainly could phase through plenty. Having been around for numerous calamities and no signs of returning to the afterlife, Bobby had gotten exceedingly good at controlling his physicality. He could be solid when needed to do his job, but most of the time he was invisible or a blue-tinged, see-through mirage like right now.

It was a standoff Vaile wouldn’t win if he wanted an answer. “Fine. Hello. Nice weather we’re having, aren’t we. Now tell me where Cahsi is.”

“Mmm? And what do we say? A magic word, perhaps?”

“Oh for the love of–you insufferable mage. Please.” Vaile’s teeth were grit together so hard, he could nearly hear them creaking. His hand itched to reach for his weapon, useless as it’d be. Still, it could be fun to see a scythe swing through the man’s apparition. Would it flicker?

“There, now was that really so difficult? Was that painful for you?” His tone dripped with condescension.

“You are so lucky you’ve already left this plane, or I’d be breaking my promise of no bloodshed on the premises right about now–”

“Tsk tsk, the youths these days are so hotheaded. You’d best work on yourself, lad, or I won’t allow you to see miss Theia anymore. She doesn’t need to associate with ruffians.”

“And she doesn’t need a stuffy retainer like you choosing who she gets to see! Let her make her own decisions. She’s the one who invited me here.”

Something changed in Bobby’s expression, the tiniest hint of approval in his eyes. “Hmm. You’re right, I suppose. She’s handled far worse and prickly than you. Very well then.It’s the home right across from the pool, one block down to your left. You can’t miss it. You’ll find her in the library with some guests–friends. I believe you know them. I do hope you’ve packed a bag?”

“What? Why would I need a bag to talk to her?”

“Why, for the sleepover, of course!”

And with that, the retainer flickered into nothing, no doubt having had his fill of tomfoolery for the day.

Good riddance! A sentiment shared by both.

Vaile quickly reached his destination, the sign in front confirming it was hers. Cahsi’s door was unlocked, and there was note waiting for him, telling him she’d be downstairs. Must be where the library is.

As he approached the door leading to it, he heard muffles voices and laughter. Was he really about to intrude on a ‘sleepover’, and whatever that entailed? It was barely dinnertime!

Better to get this over with, Vaile. Sooner you get in there, the sooner you can leave.

As he opened the door, he heard a sentence that made him regret coming here and wishing Bobby had given him the wrong directions: “This has to be the most hackneyed sex pollen plot I’ve ever read, and don’t even get me started about the characterization!”

Was it too late to turn around and pretend he was never here? Unfortunately, three faces turned toward him and exclaimed in greeting.

“Vaile! You’re just in time. You have to join us!”

He nearly felt his adrenaline spike as though he were about to enter battle. What the hells was he getting himself into…?

- To Be Continued… ? - [next]

[ink-dreams-ffxiv]

Prompt 8: Heretic (Free Day Challenge)

     Rehna sat at the table overlooking the beach. The soft sounds of the rain falling on the sail cloth umbrella added just the right ambiance to her story.

“It was not long after arriving in Ishgard. I had been chosen by the Conjurer’s Guild for both my skills as a student, but also my skills as a teacher. As close as it had been to the Dragonsong War, there was still some animosity towards outsiders. Having ears and a tail did not endear me to my fellow students. That I was also teaching a class on Conjury to the students that heard the voices of the Elements didn’t help matters much either. An outsider, teaching a foreign magic, and one they considered no better than the beast tribes.” She sighed, taking a sip of the fruit juice before her. “I was quickly labeled a Heretic by the students of the High Houses whose status was being challenged.” She listened to the person across the table, a sailor who had been born in Tural. His tale was much like the others she had sought out. A person they had never met, acted, spoke, even affected the same mannerisms and quirks they had come to associate from Home. In this case, Hhetsarro had encountered an Ul’dahn Monetarist of the Lalafel persuasion that could have been a twin for a Pelupelu they had often traded with after having returned from far away places. For Rehna, it made sense, in her experience so far, the PeluPelu were the scrupulous form of Monetarists. They sought fair trade, where most, but not all of those from Ul’dah chased profit and wealth. She wrote out both the Pelupelu and Lalafel’s name in case she came across them in her travels. There was the possibility she could at some point come across both, and perhaps, see this likeness for herself.  They agreed, each other’s stories were indeed fair trade, and with that, she took her leave.  

[cadrenebula]

Prompt #3: Dance

Jesse swept about in one of the dances taught to the Troupe in a private showing for one. The same lively dance he performed the first time their eyes had met. Even if there was no music to accompany his steps, he knew them by heart. A spin here, a sweep of his arms there, a tap of a foot, and a graceful leap. Lost in the music in his head as he put on a show for Elijah. Twirling around before sweeping a hand out towards Elijah, a brilliant smile on his face.

Eli had to admit that he loved the warmth of those golden eyes as Jesse had lost himself in the performance. It was this genuine love of dance that had first drawn Eli's eyes to Jesse. It was like following the sleek likes of a spell but this was a formed into a dance. It was entrancing. Blushing as Jesse ended up before him with an outstretched hand.

"Would you share this dance with?" Jesse grinned as he flashed a wink at Eli.

"What?" Eli was taken aback by the question. "You know I never learned to dance. They consider it unneeded frivolity. Not necessary to our family's mission."

"Just humor me? I won't complain if you step on my toes. I'll do my best to avoid you stepping on them. I am a trained dancer after all. You think I was perfect my first time? Do you think I haven't worked with others who needed to learned the steps. Just take my hand. Please, Eli." Jesse wiggles the fingers of his out stretched hand towards Eli.

"Fine..." The mage huffed softly before taking the offered hand with his own, gasping when Jesse tugged him in close. Blushing at the closeness between them and where one of Jesse's hand had come to rest on the small of his back. "Jesse..."

Laughing warmly as he kept Jesse kept his face close to his partner's. "Just follow my lead." Beginning the steps to the dance as he tugged Eli along with him. Spinning them both into a waltz around the marbled floor.

"Jesse..." Eli's cheeks still colored with blush as he tried his best to follow his partner's lead. "So what brought you to the Troupe anyways? Were you born into it? Chose it?"

Now the mirth and warmth faded some from Jesse's face. The dance slowed to almost a stop. Jesse moved their clasped hands towards his cheek, resting Eli's hand there. "I wasn't born into it. The Troupe is my family but they are my family by choice. Because..." A heavy sigh as he moved Eli's hands to his lips to kiss it. "Because my birth family didn't want me. They couldn't accept who I was. They wanted this boy that I was not. They couldn't handle having a son that was queer. A boy that wanted to dye his hair bright colors and kiss boys. So I left rather than deal with their... Rejections."

"Jesse..." Eli bit his lower lip at the story. Resting his forehead against Jesse's own. "I promise you, I'm not going anywhere. Neither is the Troupe. I love you as much as I'm sure they do. Seems we share that in common. Neither of our birth families approve of what we want." Placing a soft kiss against Jesse's lips. "But I promise that I'm not leaving you. You've taken my heart, Jesse Vilauclaire."

"Now, you're just trying to flatter me." Jesse laughs softly as he gives a small smile. "I'm usually the one trying to lift your spirits, not the other way around."

"I know." Teases Eli as he moves to rest his head against Jesse's shoulder. "I promise to always find you. Even if something happens."

"Heavens forbid something should. But I feel the same. I'll find you wherever we go. Always."

[the-wardens-torch]

FFXIVwrite2024: The Nautilus Bloweth

((I thought I was done with FFXIVwrite for the year, but then I started thinking about the nautilus… So here's Fal being a hater after knocking back a few drinks. Imagine him slamming an empty glass on a table and making all sorts of wild gestures and fart sounds in accompaniment to this rant.))

"Sharlayan was ready to take their best and brightest to the moon and leave the rest of us to rot?!? Why am I not surprised. My dad studied there and he's just about one of the most brutally practical, humorless dicks you'll ever meet. Never did a thing out of the goodness of his heart. But I digress. I'm not gonna discuss my daddy issues. I'd need a few more drinks or to hear a few more of all your nice juicy confessions about sex or murder before that, hmm? No one up for that?

Annnnnyway, the damn Sharlayans are sooo happy to hoard knowledge under the guise of "not interfering" with the rest of the world. But I think I know the real reason they hoard their knowledge. It makes me sound like a backwater hick to say this… shit I AM a backwater hick to the likes of them… but they just enjoy thinking that they're better than everyone else. LOOOVE IT. Did you know they fucked off out of the Eorzean alliance right around the time the Garleans decided to try conquering the world? They think they're so above it all, shit…

You know what I think is hilarious about the Sharlayans? The fact that they have a nautilus as their national symbol. A nautilus! I used to find their shells on the beach in the 'Ciels and old Rymmharr the Maelstrom sailor told me everything he knew about them. See? That's what you do with knowledge. You share it. There are a lot of things to respect about those floating shell... things, but they respect them for all the wrong reasons.

But yeah, I've seen fossils in the 'Ciels that look EXACTLY like those shells I could find on the beach at low tide right now. It's barely changed in gods know how many millennia. They might tell you 'oh well you can't elaborate on perfection you know' and that might be true for the animal, but it should never be true for people. We should always be learning and growing, making ourselves better AND helping others get better! I think it just goes to show the fact that they refuse to change no matter how much evidence piles up about how wrong they are and no matter how close the wolf gets to their door.

And did you know its a scavenger? Mucking and sqeulching and blurping around in rotting whale innards and old fish heads. Scavengers have a damned beautiful and absolutely sacred duty and the nautilus is no exception, but a real scavenger recycles what it eats. It puts life back into the lifestream and nourishment in the soil and in the water. But what do the Sharlayans do? Just take it out of the cycle. They eat the knowledge others produce and keep it for themselves without putting anything back. Greedy fat bastards.

The funniest part of all this is that the damn things swim ass-backwards! Its perfect, isn't it. Fucking perfect. Sharlayans just looking at their own asses, enjoying the smell of their own farts as they pbbbbttthhhh through the water while the rest of us are trying to look forward and keep this damn world together.

And lastly, it doesn't even live in Sharlayan waters! It lives around warm coral reefs! If knowledge is so fucking important to the Sharlayans, you think they'd know more about their own goddamn national symbol.

Knowledge seeks no man, huh? Blow it out your brine-stinking, corpse-eating asses!"

((After this he'd probably try to tongue kiss the nearest person and then start a singalong.

Also "The Nautilus Knoweth" is the name of the BGM in Old Sharlayan.))

[winddragonart]

FFXIV Write 2024 #8: Free Day

Chosen Word: Corn Title: The Cornservant Cometh

K’ome was exploring Tuliyollal by herself, excited to be a stranger in a new city. Even better that these people didn’t know her as “The Warrior of Light” or “The Savior of Etheirys”.

She was just K’ome.

She snagged some tacos from Aunt Tii’s Tacos and made her way to sit at a nearby table.

“Ah, you have already found means to state your hunger.”

Her ears flicked at the sound of a soft voice and a rustle of leaves. Looking around, then down, she spotted… “Corn…?”

“Oh? You can see me?”

She nodded.

“And you can hear me as well. How fortuitous!”

The corn cob with legs “looked” up at K’ome. “I am the Cornservant. It is my duty to make sure no one goes hungry. May I prevail on you to assist in my work?”

K’ome could only blink, taco half way to her open mouth, half the fillings fallen onto her plate.

“I…mean…Can I finish my meal first?”

[midnightmagicks]

FFXIV 30 Day Writing Challenge Day 8: Free Day (Spontaneous)

Spontaneous: performed or occurring as a result of a sudden inner impulse or inclination and without premeditation or external stimulus.

Warm firelight danced across the length of the somehow cozy ishgardian inn room. This room was more like a small apartment nowadays; The occupant practically renting the room permanently. Another nearly permanent fixture of this particular room sat in his usual spot nearest the fireplace, curled up in a large cushioned chair. 

While the owner of the inn room was out currently, E’mal waited patiently within for his no doubt speedy return. Hopefully speedy, given everything that had occurred this choice day. On a normal occasion, E’mal would busy himself with either a book or perhaps a knitting project to pass the time. It wasn’t uncommon for the other to take care of a task or job before retiring for the evening. However, his mind right now would not allow for that kind of focus. So the small Rava, curled comfortably on his side, gazed at a new piece of jewelry that graced his hand.  His left hand, to be precise.

The ring was breathtaking. A beautiful plant-like filigree adorned with small diamonds and pearls that wove to the centerpiece; A violet gemstone array in the shape of a flower. He hadn’t been able to stop staring at it since Ezekiel had slipped it onto his finger. He could feel his cheeks flush once again as he giggled to himself, pulling his hand to his chest in pure glee. 

He was taken completely unaware by the proposal. He knew Ezekiel very well by this point, he’d say. The man was not one to take spontaneous action. So this came as an even greater surprise, in his eyes. He had fully and completely not expected this. How had he missed Ezekiel planning something so important? When did the man find the time? 

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard him; Heavy boots combined with subtly metallic clangs. The knob of the door turned and E’mal sat up straight, staring towards the figure entering the door with a bright smile. He hopped from his seat, tail wiggling happily as he nearly bounced his way to the door to greet his new fiancé.

Mentions @bloodredhands :) This is a sufficient way to announce that Gay Bunnies are getting married in game, right?

[luck-and-larceny]

Decency

It was too hot to sleep and her adrenaline was still too high to really consider it anyway. Malika rolled to her side and the springs of the shitty mattress she had stolen for this shitty safehouse squeaked and creaked under her weight. She'd never heard a mattress creak before, but that was absolutely what this one did.

Once situated adequately (if not comfortably) she stared at the evening's haul.

Pants.

Only pants.

So many pants.

The question "What in the seven hells is wrong with me?" floated momentarily in the air, but was dismissed as quickly as ever. Nothing. There was nothing wrong with her. There was something wrong with everyone else.

There was definitely something wrong with Hollaent Dennmhar–- namely that he didn't have any more pants because Malika had stolen every last pair.

She'd been on her way to another job, but found herself sidelined when she'd heard the Roegadyn snidely suggest that a girl, a stranger to him by all indications, was wearing a skirt that was too short for public decency and that she should 1) be embarrassed and 2) "Get some pants!"

If he had yelled this at Malika she'd have hiked her skirt up even further to spite him. But he hadn't yelled it at her, he'd yelled it at a girl who responded by full-body blushing (adorable) and stammering an apology to him.

An apology!

For wearing a short skirt!?

Anyone with any sense should have been -thanking- her for making the day a bit brighter, not scolding her into an apology for it.

Malika did not make it to her original job that evening. She'd have to try again the next.

She knew Hollaent– or at least of him. A modestly wealthy "decent" man (an oxymoron if Malika had ever heard one), he thoroughly enjoyed calling out people for their perceived "sins" in an attempt to "clean up the dirty streets of Ul'dah". Most were unaffected by him; he was just a weird man who loved yelling and that yelling changed nothing. Malika typically ignored him, too.

But today he'd gone too far!

He'd forced her to sneak into his home while he was busy berating the "trash" of Ul'dah. It was his fault that she carefully checked every closet and dresser she could find and stole every last pair of pants.

Likewise, it was entirely his own doing that kept her hidden nearby when he returned home and made her spirit away the pants he had worn during the day as he bathed, blissfully unaware that there would be no pants for him to change into whenever he should decide that pants were a necessity.

But she wasn't completely heartless. If she were needlessly cruel she'd be no better than he was, after all. Tsk. That wouldn't do. She couldn't leave him completely without options: she'd left him a short skirt he could wear in place of pants.

Now, Malika rested on her shitty, creaky mattress in an intensely shitty, run down room and reflected on the fact that she had not eaten the whole day, she was miserably hot, she had not even a single gil to her name, and that she'd pissed off her client by delaying her actual job by another day. All she had to show for herself was pants.

So many fucking pants.

And that realization made her smile.

"Fucking worth it."

[storms-path]

FFXIV Write 2023 Day 27 - Sole

If Arashi had been told as a child that she would one day be sitting at a table sipping coffee with a picturesque view of the end of the universe, watching carefully a man who had all-too-recently made it his life’s purpose to duel her to the death, she’d have said she didn’t talk to strangers, especially those that talked nonsense. If she had been told the same thing as an adult, she’d have given the teller a flat look and walked away. And yet, she mused, sipping just-slightly-too-hot coffee, here she was. And there he was. In a constructed body, true, and more likely just a lingering echo, but Zenos viator Galvus sat opposite her all the same. Watching her intently through a glowing helmet.

Arashi had noticed his attention several days earlier while assisting the staff of the Last Dregs with their maintenance of Elysion. One of the Karellians had been watching her intently as she worked, not even bothering to be subtle as their gaze followed her to and fro. Arashi wasn’t unused to such attention (being the Warrior of Light led to someone getting quite used to such things), but something about it felt uncomfortably familiar. And so Arashi had hatched a plan. As she worked, the Karellian watched her. As the Karellian worked, Arashi watched them. A good deal more subtly, of course.

It was the strangest thing. It was obvious in the being’s movements that they were the former crown prince. The practised fluidity. The predator’s gaze lingering over his fellow workers, sizing them all up. The voice (when Arashi dared to get close enough to hear it) was him to a tee, even muffled though it was by his helmet. And yet… He was gentle. He was compliant. He worked without complaint and took orders without question. He laboured, for the first time in his life, for the betterment of others. It was like watching a tiger take up dancing lessons.

It hadn’t lasted long before he had noticed her. But he hadn’t exploded into violence or worse, one of his uncomfortably passionate rants. He appeared nervous, more than anything. As if he hadn’t been watching her every move for days on end. It was, truth be told, the only reason she hadn’t cut him down where he stood. Instead, against her better judgement, she had chosen to “escort” him to a quiet table and a pair of hot drinks. Against her worst expectations, he had accepted without a word.

The silence stretched on dangerously, the outcome of the confrontation hanging on a blade’s edge of unspoken words. Truthfully, Arashi wasn’t sure what to say. She’d thought the man dead and… well, not buried but safely filed away at the edge of space. Apparently the ambient dynamis had other ideas. What do you say to the ghost of a man you killed twice over? Finally, Arashi settled on:

“Why are you here? How are you here?”

The helmet gave no emotions away, but Zenos shrugged in what Arashi could only guess was an awkward fashion. It looked unnatural on him, stolen body or otherwise. “Some trick of our slain foe, I can only imagine. I was ready to embrace my end by your hand, my friend, but to my utmost displeasure, I awoke again. It appears my tale is not yet told, much though I laboured to write such a perfect conclusion.”

Yes, it’s definitely him alright. Arashi stifled an irritated sigh. If she ever encountered Meteion out there in the stars again she would have strong words for the little songbird. Still… “Next question. You knew I was here for weeks and did nothing. Why?”

Another shrug, Zenos’s helmet turning away. His slightly tinny voice sounded, for the first time, uncertain. Arashi took another sip from her steaming mug. “I… You were the victor. We gave everything we had in our clash and in the end it was you who walked away. This is a soldier’s body, but it has grown weary of war. And so, it seems, have I.”

Zenos didn’t mind the spray of coffee that erupted out of Arashi’s mouth and splattered his gold-and-blue helmet. The revelation had surprised him too. But the truth was, as he had laid breathing his last next to his friend, he had only felt… empty. Unfulfilled. He had challenged the mightiest warrior in all of creation, pushed her beyond her mighty limits, achieved his heart’s desire… and had died feeling only like he had somehow missed the point of it all. Arashi had finally finished coughing up her coffee and cleaning up her mess. It was strange, seeing such an unguarded side of her. Strange to see her out of her usual armour as well. Like looking through a soldier’s belongings and finding a pair of knitting needles. How much of you have I never seen, my friend? What joys have you known outside of battle? How have you managed to find them?

Arashi looked at the man in front of her in disbelief. Zenos bloody Galvus, monster of the empire, hunter of the Warrior of Light to the literal end of existence, was tired of war? It was laughable beyond belief. A cruel joke from a crueller man. And yet, watching from the shadows, using all of her sister’s hard-taught lessons, she had seen the truth in it. Seen him choosing a path without violence, seen him learning how to nurture and grow instead of maiming and slaying. Perhaps it was all an act for her benefit. But she suspected not.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” The words were appraising, an undercurrent of curiosity and hope inextricably tied together. She wanted to believe, deep down. Zenos couldn’t help but look at the blade between them. The blade she had used to do battle with him. Spattered with coffee now, rather than blood. But no less dangerous for it. She could have cut him down in an instant.

“I am. I know not what I am, truly. Some echo of the man I used to be, perhaps. His last regrets given form. Or perhaps I am myself entire, given an undeserved last chance. I embraced the role of a monster wholeheartedly, threw myself into the role without regret, and yet now I find myself here questioning the point of the whole insipid play. I, who wrote its words with blood and fire.” He couldn’t meet her eyes even with the helmet protecting his gaze. It didn’t feel right.

“Let me ask you a question in turn. You surely knew who I was before confronting me. I made no effort to disguise my observations, nor to mask myself as you watched me in turn. Yet you have not cut me down. I am certain that you still wish to do so, or else you would not have come armed as you are. Why have you not done so?”

It was a question Arashi knew was coming, but she still found herself unable to answer it. Was it that she wanted to believe even he could change his ways? Was she curious to know what had stayed his hand from continuing their contest? Those may have been part of it, but…

“I suppose I’m tired too, in the end.” The words felt right as they left her mouth. “I’m tired of looking over my shoulder expecting to see you there. I’m tired of trying to prepare any countermeasure I can for when you come for my loved ones. I’m tired of sleepless nights spent wondering if I’ll walk away from our next battle or not. I’m tired of the play. I wanted to know if you were too.”

Zenos nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. It was a terrifying thing to put away his role after so long, but it felt necessary; vital, even. He knew not how long he had left to toil amongst the stars, but he knew with certainty that he could only do so by letting go of what he was. All of it, the whirling passion and the crushing boredom and the singular, incandescent spark that had driven him to such a wildfire of damnation. It was terrifying, truth be told. But he had never felt so free in doing so.

Arashi was silent for a long moment. Then, incredibly, she smiled. At him, her greatest enemy, his only friend. “That’s what I was hoping for.” She placed her mug on the table between them, sitting next to her massive blade in a ridiculous manner. Her hand was outstretched. “Let’s shake on it, then. You give up your little crusade and I don’t put you in a shallow grave.”

Zenos chuckled, gloved hand meeting Arashi’s as they sealed the deal. It was an impossible dream, setting aside his only joy in life in a desperate pursuit of other, simpler pleasures. His true self would have railed against such a thing, fought with gnashing teeth and ripping claw until all that he had left was unmade as well. But he wasn’t that man. He was… not an echo, for an echo could only repeat the voice of its source. But something else. Something new.

They spoke for a while, of the cafe, of the harvest, of the clutch of dragon eggs and the recent hatchlings. Of all manner of unspeakably tedious things. It was… nice to enjoy such base things. How strange that he had never realised it before. Finally, Arashi made to stand, empty cup and neatly cleaned sword held in each hand.

“I’ll let you get back to it,” she said, trying and failing to hide the smile in her eyes. “Keep this up, Zenos. You’re almost pleasant company.” And then she was gone, vanishing in a casual pulse of aether and leaving him alone amongst the stars again.

Zenos would not last forever. A lingering echo will eventually fade to nothing. But the time he had left he spent working with his fellow lost souls. Forging bonds. Making friends. Finally seeing, after so much time, the true value of it all. And when at last he let go and joined whatever was left of him in the aetherial sea, he found himself content. And Arashi, watching him go, felt something she never thought she would feel for the monster.

Grief.

[chocoblep]

#29: The Fruit Cart Debacle

Prompt: Free Day (Crash)

“It’s always the weirdest shit on these jobs,” Hinan murmured as he bent to pick up another banana and wipe the excess dirt off of it. He looked down at the unconscious man at his feet. Tossing the banana into its crate nearby, he picked up an entire bunch and did the same, clearing a little more space around the man so that he wouldn’t be stepping on any fruit when he maneuvered him into a sitting position in the back of the cart and tied him up. This petty fruit thief would be riding with the fruit he’d tried to thieve as far as the next town, where Hinan would drop him with the local authorities.

He’d nearly finished repacking the cart when the man groaned, his eyes fluttering open. He jerked against his bonds, nearly overturning the cart–again–as he tried enthusiastically to free himself. Hinan sat on the back of the cart, effectively keeping it in place and staring the man down until he stopped.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Hinan said, polishing the last apple on his bicep before settling it with the other apples. “Say, what’s your name?”

The man tried to speak around the strip of cloth that had been shoved into his mouth and tied around his head, and Hinan laughed because it sounded decidedly like a muffled, “Fuck you.”

“Right, forgot. Gagged. Well, in that case, I’ll call you ‘Chop,’ because if you try any of that shit you pulled again, that’s what I’ll do to your hands. Got it?” he leaned closer to the man with an intentionally sinister smile, fixing his bright orange gaze on the other’s face. The man quieted immediately and nodded. “Great. Now that we understand each other, you’ll be dropped off with the Yellowjackets in the next town.”

 He moved to stand and signal to the driver to go again, and then sat back down on the back of the cart as it wobbled into motion. “Or should I call you ‘Burns’ instead?” he asked no one in particular, glancing over to see the man shaking his head with a horrified expression. “Honestly, overturning a fruit cart… What was going on in that melon of yours?” He looked over to the man and smiled. “Oh, right. Gagged. Guess this’ll be a one-sided conversation. Oh! I got it! ‘Peel!’ Thematically fitting.”

[eorzeanflowers]

FFXIV WRITE 2023 Prompt 3: Free Prompt - Sisters

(Characters: Linneas, Deta and Pola L’rae, Timeframe: Post Calamity)

Pola pulled their sister up the cliff face, their muscles groaning with exhaustion. The trek they had made so far was a long one, over many mountains in Albathia’s Spine. The sister’s armor clinking in the cold mountain air, Pola let out a long sigh. Deta turned her head to the side inquisitively, waiting for her sister to say what was bothering them. Pola just gestured outward towards the path they had just trekked.

Deta smiled, her hand covering her mouth. Opening her eyes again, she unshouldered the pack of supplies and went to take Pola’s pack off for them. Pola acquiesced, laying down on her back to rest their shoulders. Deta looked at the simple supplies and stifled a giggle. It was still strange, all these years later, the lack of technology like their home shard in this realm. It was so… Rustic. Deta stared around in delight at the mountainscape before them, basking in the setting sun. The sun had long been shuttered on their shard, the Astral aspect of all its aether forming a clouded barrier long before Pola and her sister had been born.

Pola started to grumble under their breath as they started to gather small rocks to serve for their campfire. The mountain outcropping they found themselves on proved to have many suitable for that task. When they returned, the nouliths carrying the small bundle dropped them in a heap before returning to her side. Pola then carefully arranged them in a circle and started to get the pot out of their pack.

Deta tumbled the kindling from her pack in the center, and with a whisper and her blade’s focus set the kindling ablaze. She then pulled out the preserved meats and shriveling vegetables out of Pola’s pack. As Pola carefully set the pot hanging from a single noulith, Deta filled it with a spell of water. As she waited for it to boil, she picked out the bits of food that were to be thrown in, chopping up the vegetables on the small board her sister had laid to the side. Pola then went to Deta’s pack and started to unroll the cloth mats they had for sleeping. Blankets were stacked to the side and the pillows were fluffed. Another sigh escaped their lips as then just collapsed on one and was immediately dozing.

Deta looked up after finishing chopping to see her sister fast asleep in her armor. She chuckled softly, going to the now boiling pot and dropping in all the prepped ingredients. She tapped her focus again, activating its menu. Picking a soft song for it to play, she took off her own armor, setting it next to her sleeping mat. Keeping an eye on the cooking stew, she set upon Pola and gently removed each piece of armor. Deta smiled as her sister sleepily tried to stop her gauntlets from being removed, but with a firm grip Deta managed to remove them.

The stew now finished, Deta poured out portions for each of them, then set Pola’s near her head. Blowing on her own, Deta wasn’t surprised Pola was still asleep. Pola was the muscle of the two, thus they led the way through the mountains. Deta contentedly sighed, slowly savoring her cooking. The sun now fully set, darkness was all around them. The only light that of the grand moon and their fire pit. Deta thought on the beauty of the realm once again, so much yet to see and hear. She couldn’t help but be excited! Pola likely had other ideas, but Deta was a bit of a romantic. Her stew quickly finished, she set upon doling out the remaining bits into containers to keep for the following days. 

Laying down next to her sister, she couldn’t ask for a better place to be… Or a better life to live. She was sure, even with their grumbling, her sister thought the same. With that thought in her mind, she drifted into easy sleep.

[cfs-melkire]

Fracture

'Twas only once he was before her, with her eyes laid upon him, that he realized that he had nothing of import to say. Nothing whatsoever.

He had been so focused on reaching her side that he'd not given the matter any thought. There had been a struggle, a mad scramble, to get through the crowd; he'd excused himself, quite hastily, at least a dozen times as he pushed or pulled his way around or through a knot of locals. They were, he thought, entirely like a herd at graze: content where they stood, not inclined toward movement, and stubborn about it to the utmost. Not that he'd had any first-hand experience with such things. No, herds were but one more subject from his scholarship.

She was, at least, not difficult to track. Once he'd caught the sound of her voice, there was no mistaking it, not even in this cacophonous rabble. Hers had strength behind it, and there was a cadence to it which was distinctly Dalmascan in ways which no transplant could ever hope to imitate. She spoke with the whole, the totality, of her breath: from the diaphragm. He'd read that such people made for talented singers. He nearly tripped at the thought of her carrying a tune. He kept his ears trained on her, put to good use his musculature – his room at Lidenbok Books featured a crossbeam which had proven sturdy enough for exercise – and pressed forward until, at last, he burst through the last tangle of gathered onlookers who were still waiting for the foreign dignitary's arrival.

Hakan's first thought was that she was lost. She moved in stutter steps, which suggested hesitation. Her eyes scanned the crowd as she rose to the tips of her toes now and again, which suggested she was looking for someone. Her hand rose here and there, as if to wave for attention, but the way she drew it back down suggested that she'd been mistaken.

She was dressed in much the same attire as when she'd visited Deiter's shop. Oh, the dress was different, as was her scarf, but they looked as plain as the last set. He found this charming. Had he been asked, he might have said that it was because she was as destitute as he was, or that she had the coin to afford better but cared not enough to bother.

He'd just taken in her attire when her eyes found his, and time seemed to freeze. This was fortuitous, because that was when his realization struck him. He was afforded precious moments in which to find his footing… both physically and mentally.

"Miss Janeth…! Are you quite alright?"

He fought to keep a wince off his face; how had that been the best he could manage? Shameful. He noticed, though, that – while she did glance to either side first – she smiled and stepped toward him. 

"Mister… Hakan, wasn't it? From the book shop?"

He tried for a smile of his own, and found himself hoping that it did not look as forced as it felt. "Yes, yes, that's right."

One of her hands reached up and tucked one of those curls behind one ear. Then she adjusted the knot on her scarf to pull it tighter. "I'm fine, thank you… no need to concern yourself, I'm just…."

'Lost' would have been a mistake for him to voice; it implied a lack of competence. 'Concerned' would have been reading too much into it. He set out on a different path. "In need of another pair of eyes? Perhaps a good set of ears?"

She looked a little startled at that. He let his smile grow into a grin and he flicked one of his ears, just the once; she saw this and laughed, half from shock and half from sheer delight, or so it sounded to him. "I'm… I'm so sorry, that was rude of me… yes, please, if you wouldn't mind, just a little ways. I was accompanying my employer, you understand; she and I got separated. Betti is her name, she's a little portly old woman, bless her, but she can move like the wind when she wants to."

They walked together from there, as she gave him a more detailed description of her lady. Miriam Janeth did not, to her credit, give the task of locating the old woman wholly over to her chaperone. She continued to peer over the heads and shoulders of others and wave for attention. No one responded in the affirmative, no answering call or wave from Old Betti, and so they pressed onward up the street.

"I had hoped that we had found a new regular in you," Hakan said as they continued their search. "Mister Lidenbok tells me that our shop is like a bottle of Leá Monde: once you've had a taste, it's common to crave another."

"Are you calling me common, Mister Hakan?" she said, a wry little smile supplanting the look of frustration on her face from their ongoing search.

He laughed. "No, I am calling our books delicious. I sometimes purchase one myself, for a little nibble here and there." He was pleased to raise her spirits so. "How fared the cuisine?"

She stumbled as they squeezed through a a small gathering of Seeq. He held out a hand, and she caught it for support. The touch was electrifying; as soon as she was steady on her feet again, they each let go of the other. She was shaking her head.

"I'd forgotten all about that. No wonder as to why: nothing came out quite to our guest's liking! Put it right out of my head, can't even remember what I made, except that Betti liked the sweets."

He nodded, but before he could press further, cries from the crowd overtook them. "He's coming," and "they'll be up here soon," and "Give me a boost," and all manner of like conversation. It made it rather difficult for him to try and pick out Betti's voice, which Miriam had described for him, from the crowd. He told her as much.

"Then let us find a tall step with space for you and I," she said, "and we'll be able to see better from there. If I know my lady at all, she'll be doing the same."

They set out at once, and it was not a handful of minutes later which saw them standing together at the top of some steps which led up into a public bath. Their timing was at once fortuitous and poor: whatever good the vantage point afforded them was at once dashed by the procession coming up the way, a procession of soldiers and draft animals and wagons and a very ornate, ceremonial-looking carriage. Jolted by the sight of strange colors and armor, he asked, "Did anyone happen to say who this is or where they're from? I hadn't heard specifics."

"An emissary from Bozja," she said. She had to yell to make herself heard over the enthusiastic cheers of the crowd, or she would have had to for a fellow Hume, even though they stood shoulder to shoulder; the Viera's ears struggled not at all to pick out her words. "Some nobleman come to discuss common interests and propose some manner of treaty."

He nodded, distracted somewhat by the sheer size of the soldiers. There were Humes among them, but most of them were some manner of race he'd not yet met; they resembled Miqo'te, which he had met indeed, and he figured these must be Hrothgar. He opened his mouth to ask if she could describe Betti for him again, but he was interrupted in short order.

Said interruption came in the form of plumes of smoke which suddenly burst up and down the square. The procession was entirely engulfed by them, and he could hear cries of panic from the crowd, could hear one of the soldiers barking orders, could feel the rising surge and tide of fear as it shot through the assembled Dalmascans. Cries turned into screams as people turned to flee.

Hakan and Miriam had a better view than most; he thrust an arm in front of her and drew her back behind him, interposing himself between her and any danger. His ears picked out the shift of mail and plate armor as the soldiers encircled the carriage, and his eyes caught, however dimly through the smokescreen, the faint silhouette of a man or woman emerge onto the top of the carriage itself. His breathing hitched as he noted the outline of a blade… and the head turning towards him.

A cry from one of the soldiers, which only a Viera could have made out at this distance: "His Grace! His Grace is wounded! He's… he's not…!"

The silhouette vanished, Miriam asked, "Hakan, what–? What's happening–?!" and he replied, with all the dull tone of a man shocked to find himself in the middle of history in the making, "Assassination."

A moment later, his hand found her shoulder, and he turned her about. "Run… run!"

They ran into the public bath as smoke continued to billow outward from the square, to seep into the surrounding structures, reaching for their heels as though it were a sluggish starving beast.

His peace was fractured that sun.