#it captures ali and poppy's relationship well i think

[windupalisaie]

unburdened & content

(alisaie/wol | romantic fluff  | post stormblood - a year after ala mhigo’s liberation | 3178 words) 

A pair of arms emerged from the dark and wound around Alisaie's waist. Her hand reached for the hilt of her rapier on instinct, only to remember that the blade usually strapped to her belt wasn’t there. For a brief, fleeting moment, she panicked.

"Guess who?"

The question was caught between velvet and silk, with a light rasp that clung to otherwise smooth words. The warmth of a familiar giggle danced against Alisaie’s neck and her ear, bringing with it the equally familiar scent of petals and spice that mingled with a rich thread of wine. Alisaie relaxed.

"You're far too adept at cloaking yourself in shadow, Warrior of Light."

She did her best to not make the surprise she'd briefly felt obvious and made sure the title was a sharp little knife when she spoke it—much like the ones its bearer often threw around without care. The shadow behind her giggled again upon being unmasked. 

"Caught me," Poppy replied in a rueful, singsong way and leaned forward to prop her chin on Alisaie’s shoulder. "Just wanted to see if my darling little wallflower is enjoying herself."

The jab was gentle, edged only with a hair of playful sharpness. Still, Alisaie glanced sidelong in a way she knew was petulant—eyes narrowed and lips pursed—at the woman who used her as a headrest. When she caught sight of the bright eyes that stared back at her, crinkled with a sweet and genuine smile, Alisaie couldn't help but smile in return.

"I'm enjoying myself as much as I can," she said, sounding droll. She crossed her arms and leaned back into her love's embrace, sighing lightly to punctuate her response.

Parties were never Alisaie’s preferred environment. Forced pleasantries and talk of politics were always Alphinaud’s forté, but she'd learned to endure it all in her own way. She was never sorely missed in the moments between conversations, even after slipping away to the darkened sidelines to catch her breath. 

It’d been a long evening of speeches and socializing. Ala Mhigans were a lively bunch, at the very least, and, to their credit, the celebration could hardly be considered stiff. Alisaie smiled again when she looked across the crowd and caught glimpses of her fellow Scions, who all mingled amongst members of the Resistance and leadership from the Eorzean city-states.

"I have to admit,” Alisaie said quietly, “it’s good to see everyone together again." 

A warm feeling of contentment tinged her words. The hum of agreement Poppy replied with held a similar warmth. 

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" she asked.

The question gave Alisaie pause. The memory of the night they were all together last was vivid despite being years old at that point, and replayed in her mind as if through the clear facets of an unaspected crystal:

Having defeated the Warriors of Darkness and collected their missing comrades, every Scion had crowded into the Solar of the Rising Stones in attendance of an impromptu meeting called by Alphinaud in order to decide the course of their future. It felt like an epoch ago, before their entanglement in the war, in a time when Lyse still counted herself among their ranks and before Papalymo—

Alisaie shook her head to clear the thoughts away. The motion helped combat the stab of sadness that suddenly slipped into her gut like a knife.

"It has," she said in agreement, quiet and just a bit somber. As if sensing her tension, the arms around Alisaie's waist tightened their embrace.

"Well,” Poppy said, “I can see you're clearly having the time of your life here, but—" before Alisaie could even think up a quip in return, Poppy cut the teasing short to continue, "—want to sneak away with me for a bit?"

The question, along with the puff of breath that came with it, pushed against Alisaie's neck and made the skin there prickle into gooseflesh. She turned her head, enticed already, and smirked at the sight of the playful twinkle in Poppy's eyes.

"Lead the way," Alisaie replied. She didn't bother with hesitation, having learned long ago that it was best to just play along with her love's mischief, and was rewarded with a flash of sharp teeth.

Poppy's arms released her, but her hand slid against Alisaie's a breath later until their fingers tangled together, pulled taut as knots. The gentle tug that came soon after was a wordless command to follow.

Poppy led her through the darkened edges of the ballroom with the silence expected of one whose multitude of titles included the darkest shadow. It was a marvel how she seemed to thread the ambient aether around them both to form a cloak of darkness that shielded from prying eyes. Alisaie was ever-appreciative of the discreet ways Poppy always managed to rescue her from the boredom of parties with.

When they broke free of the confines of the celebration, Poppy let the shadows fall away. The palace opened up around them, all gold and buff marble and towering pillars holding up lofty domed ceilings that filled Alisaie with awe. She hadn't explored the massive place so thoroughly before, but noted how all previous manners of Garlemald had been expunged, replaced instead with rightful banners of rich purple and alabaster griffins.

The hoods of the Resistance were styled after the very same majestic beasts, with beaks that dipped down in respect towards the Warrior of Light and her companion, as they allowed the two women past their guard. A grand staircase was ascended, and Alisaie suspected she found herself on the famed Royal Menagerie when they emerged onto a sweeping terrace paved in ecru tile.

"Pretty, isn't it?"

Poppy's question broke through the prolonged, though comfortable, silence that had slipped between them. Alisaie hummed her appreciation at the sight of flowers that swayed in chilled gusts of night air, painted in shades ranging from vermilion to rosy pink. Still hand in hand, they stepped towards the center of the garden and among rows of massive flowerbeds. When Poppy's hand slipped away from hers, it was replaced with a crisp coolness that made Alisaie miss her touch.

"This is where I fought him." Poppy moved towards the nearest plot and bent over to pluck a flower from its bed. There was a slowness to her motions that made it look like she was in pain, or that she feared the bloom she held might shatter at her touch. "A lot of things ended here," she added. The words seeped quietly into the night, heavy with the weight of troubling memories.

Alisaie knew that Zenos met his end on the Menagerie. She hadn't expected it to be a place so serene, though it was clear that the serenity didn't reach Poppy fully. Something about her demeanor changed as she held the flower up. Her eyes narrowed in deep thought and perhaps in anger as the sliver of moon that hung above them outlined her profile with a soft, pale glow. Though the light was scant, it still reflected off her eyes like a flicker of cold flame.

Alisaie watched her, unsure what to say. When her gaze fell to the jagged scar visible beneath the chest wrappings of Poppy’s sparse armor, the red of the flowers briefly brought the phantom, coppery tang of blood to her nose. Her own anger flared in an unbidden flash of heat, directed at herself for not being able to stand at Poppy’s side during that final battle. 

"Many things began here as well," Alisaie said after a moment. She unclenched her fists and shed her senseless anger—it would do her little good a year late, after all—then offered Poppy a determined little smile instead. "Ala Mhigo's unfettered future, for one."

Poppy remained entranced by the flower in her grasp. Alisaie’s words broke through her silent musing and she lifted her head to meet her gaze, seeming startled and unsure. She exhaled a breath that felt like it lasted an age, but also seemed to lighten her burden, if only just a bit.

"I didn't want this place to be soured, is all," Poppy explained with a shrug, sounding sheepish, and glanced back down at the flower that twirled between her fingertips. Its pink petals held fast to the stem despite the abuse. "It's too pretty for that. So I brought you. It can't be sour if there's memories of you here."

Alisaie huffed at the flattery, though a smile still tugged at the corner of her mouth just enough to betray her. Poppy caught sight of it in an instant—fast enough to act before Alisaie could squeeze in a retort.

"Enough talk,” Poppy said and waved a hand before her face, as if she meant to swipe the dreary cobwebs of old memories away. “Dance with me?"

The question caught Alisaie off guard. Her wide-eyed gawping was likely what pulled the smile back onto her partner’s lips.

“Dance? Here?”

Her incredulity sharpened that smile to a wolfish grin. “Why not?”

It was a challenge, if she’d ever heard one. Alisaie stared at the hand extended towards her for a moment before she rose to it. 

"If you insist,” she replied, tone tart. “I'll indulge my dear Warrior."

Fingers brushed together and a step closed the gap of space between them. Poppy's free hand deftly tucked the flower she held into Alisaie's hair, where it made its new bed just above her ear. She smirked at the gesture, though the gentleness of it filled her with warmth.

Poppy took both of Alisaie’s hands in hers. Alisaie looked down at them, feeling calluses brush against her own, seeing scars stretch pale lines across olive skin. Poppy's nails were filed down to minuscule points and lacquered a dusty, petal pink that matched the flower she'd just held. The charming style of it suited her.

Alisaie remembered, suddenly, something her mother often said to scold her long ago, when she was but a young girl who had a bad habit of chewing on her nails while she read: you can learn much about someone with just a glance at their fingernails, and thus you must needs care for your own. She'd never quite understood the meaning behind those words. Not until she saw Poppy’s hands.

She remembered long nails carved into menacing points on the eve of many a battle, ones that were sharp enough to be considered knives in their own right. She remembered the aftermaths, the bandages wound around palms, the nails splintered and shattered, with blood caught underneath, sullied in conflicts won. She remembered still how in the darkest hours they were left overgrown and haloed by purplish bruises, left untouched by self-imposed neglect. 

Those were the hands of the Warrior of Light, of the soldier, of the weapon. The hands that held Alisaie’s then were a stark contrast that bespoke contentment and peace, rather than the hardships of war.

Alisaie remembered, also, the scent of wine on Poppy's breath when she snuck up on her, and caught it faintly between them then in their closeness, still rich and sweet. She thought of how Poppy had always quailed at the sight of a goblet and eyed opened bottles with obvious suspicion. Alisaie was surprised that she'd indulged, especially after having confided in her long ago about the fears that followed after the night in Ul'dah, and the other at Falcon's Nest.

Then it clicked into place: Poppy felt safe. Her myriad of wounds, no matter how countless, had begun to heal. The realization warmed Alisaie further.

"Ready?" Poppy asked, snapping her back to the present with amused impatience. "Or are you stalling?"

"I assure you that I'm not," Alisaie replied, tone tart once more. She straightened her back and pulled Poppy closer. "Lead the way," she said for a second time that night, and knew how she sneered likely made it sound more like a challenge of her own.

Poppy, of course, rose to that challenge in an instant. Their positions were sorted out, with hands finding waists and shoulders and holding one another. And thus their dance began.

Alisaie thought it would be nigh impossible with no music to guide them, but Poppy managed to surprise her, as she always did. She pulled them both along with her usual ease, her movements fluid, following the thrum of some unheard melody that steered her. Alisaie kept up through sheer determination alone, loathe to be outdone by her partner.

"You look a bit impressed," Poppy said after a while. She twirled them around with an effortless grace that somehow managed to come off as smug. Alisaie rolled her eyes.

"Quite. I'm impressed you haven't tripped over me yet."

Poppy tutted her disapproval before a wicked grin lit up her face. She was clearly undeterred by the comment.

"Oho, but you haven't seen anything yet!"

Both her hands traveled to Alisaie's waist and wrapped around her back, pulling her closer before she was urged backwards again. She half expected to be dropped to the ground, but Poppy held tight, dipping her so low that her head brushed against the flowers beneath her. Alisaie stared up at her, silent with surprise, and instinctively wrapped her arms around Poppy’s neck in fear of falling.

The ornate bits of gold sewn onto Poppy's formal battle garb glistened beneath the moon's half crescent and clinked together softly as she shifted to lean over. The sharp pauldron that jutted from her shoulder cut into the night sky above her, and the fearsome daggers that hung from her hips shone as moonlight pooled along the faded scars that cut across her cheek and lips. She looked every bit like the gilded hero of legend she was oft made out to be, and Alisaie couldn't help but be enchanted by the sight.

Poppy's smugness melted into satisfaction, then turned to something even softer. Her lips grazed against Alisaie’s in a feather-light kiss that stole the breath from her lungs, and her eyes fluttered closed when a more firm kiss followed.

She was practically gasping when Poppy pulled away, only to peer down at her warmly from beneath long lashes. The florid sweetness of the blooms that danced all around them clouded Alisaie's already reeling mind.

"You—" words failed her for a moment, as she'd been completely disarmed. "You… you hopeless, senseless romantic! You were planning this all along, weren't you?"

The amorous moment was shattered when another grin broke across Poppy's face. She laughed at the accusation as she straightened her back, pulling Alisaie up with ease.

"Caught me again. It's your own fault, though," Poppy said in a singsong way while her eyes narrowed with mischief. "I love you enough to prance around like a fool, after all. Lucky you," she added, tail swishing behind her in satisfaction.

Alisaie should have been more irritated from the embarrassment of being briefly turned into a blushing, swooning maiden, but no such feelings of contempt ever came. Only a warm fondness filled her, along with an amusement that pushed past her lips as a chuckle that Poppy shared in.

Poppy released Alisaie from her grasp, but didn't back away. Their hands came together again in a wordless want for contact, and they swayed, fingers twined and cheeks pressed together. It was a ghost of their previous dance, though more pleasant with the added closeness.

"I am lucky," Alisaie said after a while, quiet and assured. When Poppy chuckled again in reply, Alisaie felt the sound rumble against her. 

"I'm glad you think so."

There was a frailty and shyness behind the words that made Alisaie's heart stutter. She caught the faint thread of wine on Poppy’s breath again, felt the subtle sharpness of nails against her palms, and her thoughts abruptly turned to the precariousness of it all. The state of the realm, their lives, their love—everything felt so delicate.

It felt like madness, sometimes, to think of the breadth of her love for Poppy. And it was madness, for how could she fall in love with a whirling tempest, or the harsh crackle of a roaring fire, or the sharpened end of a freshly polished knife, or the light, blooming warmth of hope? It was a foolish notion to fall in love with intangible, fleeting things, but Alisaie was stubborn and ever content in that folly, because she knew that the Warrior of Light was no weapon cast in metal to be wielded, nor a statue carved of stone to be worshiped—she was but a woman of flesh and blood who loved just as deeply as she did.

Their love was foolish, perhaps, and it was terrifying. The feeling was fragile, caught between them like a little bird, its frantic wing beats not unlike the fluttering of their hearts. Yet in all its fragility, it also held an unfathomable strength. It was an act of defiance to love a hero, Alisaie knew, as it was to be a hero in love. But together, they were both stronger for it.

"You're so quiet tonight," Poppy whispered, and Alisaie felt the warmth of her curious concern brush across her cheek. "A lot on your mind?"  

"Yes," Alisaie admitted. There was no point in lying, but she didn't quite know how to articulate the thoughts that occupied her. 

Poppy hummed. It was a thoughtful little sound. She pulled back just enough so Alisaie could see that her face was twisted into an unimpressed look.

"You think too much," she said, and it sounded almost like a scolding. And in that moment, Alisaie had to hold back the laugh she felt bubble up at the absurdity of it all.

“Well,” she began to reply without a breath of hesitation, "between the two of us, someone has to."

The jab pulled a pout onto Poppy's lips. Alisaie couldn't help but smirk.

"Seems like my wallflower is more of a nettle," Poppy said, speaking with as much sharpness as the mentioned plant. "Thinking is for politicians. In case you’ve forgotten, we're the ones who fight," she reminded her pointedly. She then heaved a dramatic sigh and moved backwards to step onto a flowerbed, pulling Alisaie along with her. "Though, I guess there's not much fighting to do for now,” she said with a thoughtful tilt of her head, before continuing with her usual mischief: “All that's left to do is dance!" 

They were surrounded on all sides by flowers. Poppy took Alisaie’s hands again and spun them both around. Alisaie conceded, grinning as she gave in to her love's whims, and the fondness that filled her heart made her feel as resilient as the blooms that bent against their movements.

"I suppose I can't argue with that."

Alisaie loved Poppy always, but loved her most as she was then: unburdened and content, twirling among petals, bathed in scant moonlight as she laughed. There were no titles, no duties, no pain. She was purely herself, and that was all who she needed to be.