#joshua losstarot

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

Escher: Was. He does not look back fondly at it.

Isillud: Head exploded when he discovered men could marry each other but won't do it himself.

Joshua: "Look, the House needs an heir-"

Rossignol: Maybe. Who knows?

Ireul & Sirolimus: "E-ehhh-!" *blushes*

Is your WoL married, or is that something they want in life?

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

Without taking new pics, post one of your OCs as

A romanceable NPC

2. Quest Giver NPC

3. Final Boss

[housedeaubemarle]

FFXIV Write 2024 #29: [Extra Credit] - Souvenirs

For @escherstrange-ffxiv and her wonderful boys whom I am very fond of <3

~~

Dearest Joshua and Izzy, I couldn’t wait to give you these, so I included them with all the other things I sent home. The Hingans call these padded coats ‘hanten’, and they are wonderfully warm, being lined with good cotton. These particular ones were handsewn by a talented tailor whom I chanced to find in Hingashi. When I said I was from Ishgard, she immediately picked up a hanten to recommend to me, which made me laugh – our reputation for ice, snow and dragons precedes us.  The patterned one is meant for Izzy. The Hingans call it ‘yabane’, meant to represent the fletchings on an arrow. It is considered a symbol of good luck and determination – once an arrow is loosed, it aims straight for its target without diversion. The black jacket is for Joshua; I imagined you would look very well in it, with its silver threads sewn into the cotton. There are five different patterns sewn with the silver, all meant to bring good luck and strength. I hope they will serve in the coming moons as the winds grow colder.  I send to you too a box of beautiful sweet delights I’d never seen in my life till now. Its name is ‘kohakutou’ – my hosts say it translates to ‘amber sugar’. I was served some with my tea a few suns ago, and I was enchanted. They look wonderfully like crystals of all colours, and the artisans here do a lovely job of infusing such sweetness that doesn’t overpower the tongue. Please share them amongst those who visit the community centre; I will be sure to bring home more if they are popular.   I’m learning much here in Doma, and I am humbled each day by all that I do not know; it’s a good feeling, unexpectedly. Eddy continues to be a favourite at our inn, and I’m just beginning to be concerned that I may have to hire a new lady’s maid in Ishgard, despite all of Eddy’s blushing protests. As for myself, I have a newfound love for the horses of the Steppe (though I’ve not forgotten the Apkallu of La Noscea, Izzy; one day I'll get to see them in person and be charmed all over again). I fear my hosts may be getting tired of my requests to return to the Steppe to visit the Noykin for more opportunities to ride. I find the horses are only slightly slower than Chocobos when they gallop, and their gaits require getting used to, but they are magnificent creatures all the same. My first sight of their herd roaming the plains under the vast blue sky is something I will never forget. I daren’t imagine trying to bring them to Aldenard, as they are very much a part of their tribe as the Xaela themselves, and it would take far more negotiation and discussion than I could afford at present – but I hold out some flame of hope in my heart.  Regardless of all my excitement, I confess to missing you all (I know I haven't even been away a moon - I am a spoiled creature). I am due to return in about two sennights, if all goes well. I hope you are keeping well, and that your days go smoothly. I’ve given Rem an earful for keeping news from me, so I hope to hear of you and from you if time should allow. Please also let me know if I may do anything or bring anything back for you from the East. Till I next see you, Halone bless and keep you all. Your cousin, Oudine. P.S. I think of how Wil might behave around the falcons here and it makes me smile. Please give him my love; I hope he enjoys the kohakutou too.

[vagrantstory]

happy late birthday vagrant story!!

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

See the stone set in your eyes See the thorn twist in your side I'll wait for you

#Studio_Boxroom Chaos/Spriggan, Mist P 37, W 4. Rooms 2, 4, 6.

Meme pic below the cut.

It was inevitable that someone would request this when I took it.

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

#4: Reticent

[One year after fleeing Ishgard.]

Laura kicked the door of apartment so hard it banged against the wall. "Here we are, home sweet home. Don't mind the mess, I ain't had time to tidy up." She stepped aside for the boy, watching him take slow, cautious steps inside.

Though she had promised his brother, finding Joshua someone who would take him in was harder than she expected. Everyone had an excuse or other: too fragile, too sickly, too high maintenance, too duskwight. Those who did want him were worse, and that was how Laura Treegarden gained a charge.

Though shorter than most trips, the journey from Mor Dhona to Limsa had changed him: He hadn't spoken much, but now he was downright reticent; jaw clenched, lips pursed so tightly it looked glued shut, and she was certain the light had gone out in his eyes on the boat ride. "I'll get ye a bed tomorrow, just sleep on the couch for now, ay?" A tower of binders clattered to the ground. "Paper's quite soft when ye get used to it, heh."

He did not laugh. He huddled at one side and stayed there, hugging his knees and stared straight into a corner.

She was not prepared for this at all. Where did one even begin to take care of a teenager, let alone an Ishgardian fugitive? "Joshua," she started, scratching her head, "I know this is a lot for ye to take in, and, well, I guess I'm sayin' it's okay to be mad. But life's gotta go on, and, and well, oh I know! We could grab some parchment an' quill t'morrow and write a letter t' yer brother-"

"No need." That would be the first words he uttered all week, and now she had an inkling of what he was thinking. "Ah, yer mad."

"..."

No sooner had she started to comb for ideas did the answer stare her in the face - a battered axe, chipped and dull, leaning in the very corner he looked at. "Ah, here's an idea." She grabbed it and held the handle out to the boy. "This here's m' old axe. Shoulda tossed it after I cleaved the skull o' the man who brought me outta Ala Mhigo - got sick of his ideas for me, y'see - but that's an old memory ye ain't interested in. Anyroad, ye take this axe now, and when yer angry at the world what done you wrong, ye hit something with it. Rocks, trees, maybe when you're older ye can aim for beastkin, I dunno. But it's a start. Go on, try it."

Joshua slowly looked up at the axe, then at her, slowly arching his eyebrow, incredulous at her terrible life hack. He would say, "What the fuck, lady," but he still had not grown out of noble Ishgardian upbringing yet, though it certainly took seed in him.

To her, it was progress. Any progress was always good. Her chest swelled with pride at a job well done. "That's a start, boy. We'll put some life back in ye yet."

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

♪ Boys and girls of every age, Wouldn't you like to see something strange? ♪

♪ This is Halloween, this is Halloween Pumpkins scream in the dead of night ♪

♪ Our man Jack is king of the pumpkin patch Everyone, hail to the Pumpkin King now ♪

♪ In this town, we call home Everyone, hail to the pumpkin song! ♪

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

Escher, Isillud, Joshua, Rossignol: Fucked around and found out.

EVERYONE QUICK describe your oc story in the worst way possible

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

#7: Morsel

Even the tiniest morsel of meat was daunting to look at.

The bile rose, the stench clawed into his nostrils. The trouble had passed. They were home. He was safe. Why then did roast dodo smell like a rotting carcass?

Gloved hands clamped his mouth, digging into his cheeks. Eyes shut, pushing his last meal back down. Down, foul remnants. Ears hurt at the echo of his own gagging.

When he could finally pry his eyes open from the tears that glued it shut, the plate was gone. Joshua and Ofanleitasyn sat beside him, his brother's hands folded in front of him, Watching. Chewing. The lordling nudged a glass of water at him.

"I cannot," Isillud heaved. He gulped the water, letting it soothe his burning throat. "I'm sorry," he rasped.

Joshua said nothing; the Roegadyn returned to the kitchen shaking his head. "I'll stick to fruits and veggies for yer dinner wi' Faurox, milord."

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

#19: Taken

"...than your crass as hells invitation. Good day."

Before Isillud could open his mouth to speak Joshua grabbed his arm and dragged him away, leaving the woman dumbfounded in the middle of the Crozier. He didn't look back as he stormed through the crowd, some quickly stepping aside once they saw his face.

This is enough.

The taller elezen dug his heels into the ground, pulling them both to a stop. Joshua whipped around, a silent "What?!" glare at him.

"You've made an enemy of that house."

"Many houses stand antagonistic to each other," the younger one retorted.

Isillud wrenched his arm from his brother's grip, though the fact that his hand practically wrapped around his did not escape his notice. "Our house fell because of our enemies, Joshua. You would do well not to repeat history."

Joshua exhaled puffs of white air, willing himself to calm down. He crossed his arms, "Fine, how would you have put it?"

Isillud focused on a wall, putting his answer together. Back straight, he cleared his throat and put on his most polite voice: "I regret to inform that I am unable to attend your soirée, however I could direct you to a cage of trained opo-opos that may serve as similar entertainment, if you please."

Silence. Slow blinking. And then, laughter that rang through the street. "Ahahahaha!"

The tension broken, Isillud's shoulders relaxed. "A naturalist told me that opo-opos have their own fighting style."

Joshua wiped tears from his eyes. "What, really?"

A sage nod. "Indeed." He arched his back, arms spread out, and raised one leg bent at the knee. "This is the Anxious Ape stance."

An eyebrow arched. "Do you take me for an idiot?"

The bent leg stomped the cobblestone street, hands raised in front of him akin to a pugilist's stance. "And this is the Bobbing Baboon."

"And you say they fight like this?"

"I mean if I am to be a performing animal..."

"Pft." Joshua copied his brother's last move: Arms out, one leg raised. "And do they have any insults to go with it?"

Seeing that Joshua had taken the bait, Isillud smirked. "The naturalist said they only heard one." He reached out to smack Joshua in the head. "Ook!"

"Ack!" The younger brother wobbled, putting his foot down when his hand flew up to swat the hand coming for him.

"See, you've learned an insult! You could be an opo-opo fighter too!"

His smile betrayed the fight in his voice as he charged. "Bitch."

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

#18: Hackneyed

Good entertainment in Ishgard is so hard to find! Last week Lady Chassaigne hired a fortune teller to entertain her guests and I felt utterly sorry for that poor girl. Not only did she look like she learned to read her deck a week before the event, but she had no grace nor practice. Her delivery was stiff, and don't even get me started on her fortunes! "Today fortune smiles on you," as opposed to what? She could have thrown her cards up in the air and it would have been more interesting than her dull, hackneyed lines.

The problem is that everyone loves a good fortune teller - why else do we still tolerate that buffoon heading the Astrologicum - but finding one who balances accuracy and showmanship, ah, there lies the rub. The ones who are all spectacle embellish their lies with sparkles and ribbons; the ones who can see distress all with their plain speech. And don't get me started on the 'Echo-blessed' adventurers; not a single one possessing the slightest etiquette, like the one who called Baron Serrurier a Lord. Fury, everyone felt the mortification that night.

However! The servants have been whispering about the Losstarots, word has it the elder brother can bring the dead back to life! I knew you'd agree that would be quite a show. There were other rumours that he can scry into one's darkest secrets, but that would be too scandalous, of course. Naturally I was curious and as my luck turned out, I found the brothers walking along the Crozier. The elder lord really is as handsome as they say, even moreso in person with those piercing green eyes- anyway. I invited him to dinner and offered an introduction to some people who would be interested in his services, and you would not guess what happened. Why, his brother, that brat of a lordling, stood between us and said:

"If you seek entertainment for your guests milady, I'm certain any hunter can fetch you a cage of trained opo-opos for a very affordable sum. I assure you they will be classier than your crass as hells invitation. Good day."

And then he just pulled his brother away without letting him have a word! Who taught him to speak like that to his betters?! I certainly would not be surprised if that one was an impostor, what with that odd lilt in his accent, trying to pretend to have an Ishgardian accent, no doubt! Anyway, I found a lovely string quartet for the evening and nothing of value was lost.

Honestly, I don't know what the Aubemarles see in them.

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

＃3：Tempest

"Close the flap, Izzy. You're letting the rain in."

The storm battered against their tent that not even tying the flap down could stop the brothers from hearing the wind howl outside. Joshua huddled at the other end of the tent while Wil nestled itself snugly in Isillud's coat, folded and placed beside his pillow. Isillud tucked his legs close to his chest, concerned for his brother and the storm.

He didn't need to ask; Joshua understood. "The Garleans have left Dalmasca. Nobody will be patrolling the cliffs in this storm." The younger elezen looked up from his book, "Though once it subsides, we must enter the city immediately."

His brother's uneasiness did not go ignored. "A gil for your thoughts," Joshua offered.

Isllud sighed, reaching to pet the crow. "What if it's gone? What if we came for naught?"

"Look, you want to listen to an aetherial tart-"

"The 'aetherial tart' was our mother."

"She looked like our mother, you said," Joshua corrrected him. "But there's no reason for Sydney to lie. If the Dark is calling you, then it most likely. We'll figure the why of it when we enter." He snapped the book shut and pulled his blanket to his chin. "Time passes faster if we rest now."

Isillud rested his hands on his stomach as he lay. "I wish grandfather was here."

"I wish he was too." Joshua turned to face the tarp. "So I can kick his arse for foisting this on us."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Dew and salt mingled in the morning mist, a sunbeam shining over the ruins. "There it is, Izzy: Old Lea Monde."

The tide had subsided to reveal a ruined city, the waters of Valnard lapping at the edges, seeping through cracks and creating rivers where streets used to be.

"After you."

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

#22: Duel (Take 2)

"Really, Izzy? Traditional Hingan wear for a duel?"

"This is practice garb. I'm not wearing fine clothes for training."

"The rapier isn't a difficult weapon to learn." "In reality you will likely fight against someone who doesn't. This will teach you to adapt."

"Let's see if your teacher is worth their salt."

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

#16: Third-rate

The sword was unbalanced. Specks of rust dotted the blade. Calling it a third-rate weapon would be too generous. "This is not a good sword," Joshua said.

Ireul wrung her hands some more. "The blacksmith is...working on it."

The young elezen was not impressed. "I am reliably informed that your family owns a weapons shop in Sharlayan." He handed her the sword, handle first. "What would they say when presented with...this?"

Ireul grimaced; even she knew the sword wasn't worth the metal used to make it. "That it needs a little bit of work..."

Joshua was unimpressed.

"...Okay fine, it's a shite sword. But the smith really needs to feed his family, leaving his two young kids at home while he goes adventuring isn't an option! Do you really have it in your heart to let a Dalmascan family go hungry?!"

"Miss Aberystwyth, I run a community center. If I ruin my reputation selling shoddy wares, more than one Ishgardian family will go hungry, I guarantee you that." Sighing, he reached into his pocket and counted a fistful of gil, dropping it into her hand. "Still, never let it be said Joshua Losstarot does not care for the welfare of a struggling Dalmascan."

Ireul blinked; he had given easily twice the value of the sword. "The man can get through a week with this. What's your plan?"

"The plan is you will have a week to convince him to embark on a new career path."

"I can't do that, he only has one leg! This is all he can do!"

"What about a desk job? Transcribing? Accounting? I don't know, he's your project, if he starves from lack of business or gets killed trying to use this sorry excuse of a weapon to defend himself, that won't be very heroic of you, will it?" After a few failed attempts to fasten the sword to his knapsack he gave up and flung it into the wagon, landing on a crate with a dull thunk. "Best of luck in your endeavour."

"Thanks, I guess." The au ra watched Joshua ride off into the dunes. When he was out of sight she slapped her cheeks and put on her most determined expression. "Ulfrid!" She marched to her butler, "Change of plans! We're going to save a terrible craftsman from himself!"

"Ehh?!"

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

Extra Credit: Morsel (Director's Cut)

cw: choking on food, throwing up, implications of eating disorder

One plate for each brother, two types of meat: A slice of roasted dodo and a slice of steamed cod. Joshua picked up his fork and jabbed into the meat. Too little for a meal, but enough for the lordling to give his compliments to House Aubermarle's chef. "It's lovely, I can see why Oudine recommended your steamed cod."

Ofanleitasyn smiled and nodded before all eyes turned to the elder brother.

Isillud looked at the dish as if it was an abomination. Back pressed against the chair, fighting the urge to push the plate away, he looked like a child forced to face his worst enemy. Wil gently placed a hand on his shoulder, "You don't have to, Izzy. Say the word and I'll eat it."

For years he thought his inability to eat meat was due to stress but now they were home, they were safe. Had his body grown accustomed without it after so long? One deep breath. Two. Isillud shut and opened his eyes. His lips drew thin, jaw clenched, pushing the bile down.

"I can do this," he said, slender fingers picking up the morsel.

The second he ate it, the coughing started.

He clamped his mouth, nails digging into his cheeks. Ears rang with the sound of his struggle. Chew, damn it, his mind screamed, but his body refused. Every single muscle locked, barring entry.

"Milord-?!"

Joshua gripped the armrest, "Spit it out, Izzy."

Not now, not when he was so close. He could do it. He would do it.

"Izzy- fuck's sake! Wil! Take it out before he chokes on it!" Wil sprang to action: One hand wrenched his lover's mouth open, his fingers plucked out the roasted dodo and threw it onto the table. Isillud threw his head up, gasping for air then immediately doubled over spitting gobs of saliva on the plate while filling the room with the sound of retching, the worst 30 seconds of their lives. When it finally stopped Wil cradled Isillud's head to his chest, smoothing his hair and cooing reassurances into his ear.

Joshua grabbed his glass of water, "You don't have to eat meat to fit in. Not for me, not for them," he slammed the glass at Isillud, spilling some on the table, "And certainly not for your dinner guest."

Bloodshot eyes opened ever-so-slightly, tears blurring the room. It must be nice to be loved by the Dark, shielding you in its embrace that you suffer nothing, nothing at all. I envy you. "That's nice," he rasped.

He couldn't see his brother's face; not that he wanted to. Joshua threw the cod at Wil (who quickly ate it), snatched the plates off the table and stormed off. "It's yours."

The cook looked between them, finally deciding to leave the two alone. "Lots'a fine meals can be made with just fruits and veggies, milord. I'll-" He looked at the glass of water, "-bring you some thin juice for yer throat...and stomach."

"...Thank you."

[housedeaubemarle]

(The Silver Tattler, Is. 10)

~~

“Darling Philomene, is Oudine quite alright?”

The Dowager Viscountess sits in her chair, as upright as always, sipping fragrant Ishgardian tea from a porcelain cup. A sumptuous tea service sits between her and her companion, complete with pastries, water biscuits and a generous wedge of good Ishgardian cheese to accompany the latter. One would think two highborn ladies whose ages totalled to about 130 turns would have smaller appetites than the amount of food warranted - one would be mistaken.

She looks at the older lady before her whose face is full of concern. Seeing as it's her sister-in-law, Perette de Hellyes, as lovely a soul as one could hope to meet, it is genuine.

So she sighs. “Perfectly fine, dear. If the Viscount de Aubemarle hasn't enough sense to keep her name out of tawdry publications, she at least has the wherewithal not to let it trouble her.”

Perette nibbles a madeleine delicately, as the concern is replaced by some relief. “Domin and I had been rather worried - this is the first time we've heard our niece being spoken of in such a manner.” She waves a hand encircled by a jadeite bangle airily. “Not that we really believed you would countenance a match between her and the Losstarot head, fond as you are of those young men.”

Philomene snorts. “Fond, indeed. When have I ever given the impression I was fond of them?”

“Well dearest, you must admit: giving away opportunities to be introduced to members of the ton after just one meeting is a hint if nothing else. And have you not been quite kind to them in public?”

She sniffs. “My generous daughter wouldn’t have heard of anything less. As it is the wish of the viscount, I must do my duty as a member of her household.”

Perette grins, knowing full well the Dowager’s peculiar way of expressing affection: denying it utterly in words but showing it in contradicting deeds. “Such an obedient Aubemarle, my love. I am proud of you.”

Philomene gives her a look before returning to the previous topic. “Well, regardless of my… fondness, if you insist on calling it that, I will not have my darling girl be shackled to such an inexperienced innocent. Lord Joshua is yet to be fully tried in our crucible since the ton has been more concerned with his older brother on the whole. Now they will be paying more attention to him; it ought to be a worthy learning experience.”

Perette's eyes twinkle. “That cannot be the right description for someone who has been through a Garlean invasion.”

Her sister-in-law shakes her head. “There are different wars fought here, as well you know. Garlemald quakes before the judgement of Ishgard's beau monde.”

The ludicrous statement makes Perette laugh, even as she understands the sentiment. “And have you considered that Oudine may have her own plans? She is more than of age, and can make her own decisions without your approval – a union with Losstarot is not exactly that poor a prospect.”

Philomene arches an eyebrow at her. “Perette my love, only you may say that to join hands with a man of that house is not a poor outlook.” She takes another sip, and shakes her head. “Whichever bride Lord Joshua brings into that family is going to need a stomach of iron to confront such an unsavoury history, to say nothing of the veritable wealth of rumours.”

“And if Oudine should find herself in love at long last?”

This gives the Dowager pause, but only to set her teacup down and laugh. “Love! My daughter and Joshua de Losstarot!”

“I don't see why you should scoff so,” protests Perette. “From what I see, he is as eligible a bachelor as any! A steady young man with clear ambition, and rather good looking too. Not quite as handsome as the older brother, but certainly features one may appreciate even up close.”

“Fury love you, sister,” replies Philomene with some incredulity. “Would you marry Lucinne- no, stay; of course you would. She chose Felixient and you agreed.”

Perette shakes her head. “Now really darling, Felixient is a lovely man.”

“Oh yes, and without a single sensible thought in his pretty head, even after becoming a father,” says Philomene dryly and without hesitation. “It says much that your featherhead of a son-in-law is, by leaps and bounds, more acceptable than either of the Losstarots as they currently stand. It will take a few more turns before the reason they had to be reinstated even begins to fade into obscurity.”

Perette's amusement, in spite of this (long-familiar) abuse of her son-in-law, is written all over her face. “And that is your only objection if Oudine should wish to marry Lord Joshua? His current standing in society?”

Philomene narrows her eyes at her. “Perette, what has my daughter said to you?”

Perette immediately raises a hand in surrender. “Absolutely nothing, I promise you faithfully.” She sighs. “I merely think it would be nice to see Oudine in an actual romance for once. The poor dear has never found anyone who suits her. Not that she’s had any head for it in recent turns, understandably, but nonetheless…”

Philomene snorts. “She could if she would but listen to good advice.”

Perette gives her sister-in-law a wry smile. “All your dossiers and reconnaissance have yet to bear fruit, I take it.”

The Dowager rolls her eyes. “Stubborn girl.” But the words have no real critique in them.

“Well,” says Perette, picking up a biscuit and the cheese knife. “Perhaps it's for the best Oudine hasn't actually lost her heart to him. Apparently the younger Losstarot was seen stepping out with a mysterious woman some mornings ago; not too long after sunrise, as I’ve understood.”

A silence falls as she cuts a small corner of cheese to spread on her biscuit.

“He what.”

Perette immediately looks up, cheese forgotten. The Dowager's posture has gone more still than earlier, and from afar it would have been nothing remarkable.

But Perette has known her for well over thirty years, and can tell the glitter in Philomene's dark brown eyes is one of utter displeasure. The twitch of her lips is also tellingly unhappy.

“My dear one, you just said-”

“I am aware, love. He what?”

The thought that she may have spoken carelessly crosses her mind rather too late. Perette sets down the knife. “Now darling, it’s all just talk – I heard from one who heard from another and so on and so on. You know how it works,” she says soothingly. “It’s nothing certain at all.”

Philomene does know how it all works, which is why her frown is relentless. “And where did you hear this uncertain whisper from?”

Perette lets out a breath. “My dresser happened to mention it – with all good intentions, to be fair to her; the Tattler also reaches the Foundation after all, and she'd remembered the name of Losstarot.”

The Dowager closes her eyes in consternation, very nearly trembling with indignation. Pity and gossip from a lowborn woman because a prospective suitor has (apparently) moved on within mere suns – suns! – of (allegedly) courting Oudine: her precious girl, treasure of her years, only daughter of herself and Vouloix de Aubemarle.

How dare he.

From the far reaches of her (unjustified) mental outrage, she catches Perette’s voice. “Darling, it is most likely all a falsehood. Besides, you just said there is no possible chance of Oudine ever marrying him. Why in the Fury’s name should this bother you so?”

“Because!” snaps Philomene, and her eyes open at the same time. “It subjects her to the mortification of even more vulgar rumours! The cheek of it – waltzing with my daughter and then stepping out with some common woman?”

Perette is quite used to these wild mental leaps but this is a particularly tricky labyrinth. Still, she tries to keep up. “Philomene, we have no idea who this woman is, common or otherwise. And I really do think a man ought to be free to converse with anyone he pleases – goodness, where would anyone be if one waltz shackled us forever to conversation with that singular individual and only them? It would be lunacy.”

“That is not what I meant!”

Perette blinks. She has a vague clue what Philomene does mean, but can’t quite parse it. She settles on something more sensible. “At any event, I hardly think he set out to offend – and again, if it’s true which it well may not, did you not also just say he is an inexperienced innocent in the ways of the ton? He’s hardly a rake, from what I can tell – it’s unlikely to be anything but a simple misunderstanding. How could he possibly know a mere walk might be twisted into anything more?”

“Well, he should!”

A deeply hidden part of Perette wants very much to laugh at this farce, and particularly at the petulant tone her sister-in-law has taken. Yet any outward show of humour at this point would probably result in an unfortunate incident involving the butter knife. So she quashes the impulse and turns all her energy to calming down the tempest which has arisen. (And also discreetly moves the knife closer to her side of the table).

“My dearest Philomene, one of your best qualities has always been your maternal devotion to Oudine. I know you desire nothing but the very best for the dear girl. The offense is only natural, to be sure.”

Philomene breathes in, and out. That much is true.

“And if anyone so much as forcibly plucks a hair from her head, I am assured you would go to war with them, be they ever so highly placed as the count of Durendaire, or as dangerous as the Tribunal's inquisitors themselves. So what is the lord of an old, noble and recovering house to you?”

That is also true.

“No one, my love, could doubt your affection for your children. None at all.” Perette refills Philomene's cup. “But you know, my dear, your dedication sometimes overwhelms you, understandably of course. Yet I know you are far too sensible a woman to let it overtake you for long. You must remember your health, dearest, lest you be overwrought – we are not as young as we used to be, after all.”

Philomene finally lets Perette's calming – almost cooing – tone settle over her, relenting enough to even drink the fresh cup of warm tea.

“There now,” says her sister-in-law, still employing her mollifying tone. “Isn't that better? Now we may think comfortably.”

She gives Perette a look. “You are not entirely subtle, sister.”

Perette just beams. “Which is just as well since I had no such intentions.” She picks up a madeleine and places it on Philomene's plate for emphasis.

Philomene, in spite of herself, breathes in and out. “Well. After the service he has rendered, one supposes Joshua de Losstarot may be given the…” she sips her tea again, as if to swallow her feelings, “benefit of the doubt, in the face of… admittedly baseless, vulgar hearsay.”

Perette keeps smiling. “Precisely. An eminently more reasonable approach, I say. You've met the young man more often than I have, so you would know far better than any rumour monger, of course.”

“...well, I can’t say I know him all that well,” says Philomene slowly, allowing herself to be convinced by this notion. “But certainly I know enough that he is not inclined to even dally with women, much less keep a mistress hidden somewhere.”

“There you are then,” says Perette, patting her on the hand. “I’m sure they mistook him for someone else. White hair and grey skin are so common these days after all.”

Philomene’s cup rattles a little more than it should on its saucer, but Perette’s tone is perfectly empty of any implications. She does mean what she says.

So the Dowager merely reaches for the madeleine and bites into it, as her sister-in-law takes the opportunity to change the subject.

~~

“Ah, my son, what a rare pleasure to find you home for a change.”

Remont looks up from where he’s been perusing a journal in the study. He immediately places it back where it’d been on the shelf and strides over to his mother. “My dear Mamma, you talk as if you want me tied to your apron strings.”

She takes the arm he proffers with one hand, while the other holds onto her habitual walking stick. An eyebrow is raised in his direction. “Can you deny that we’ve not had you at our dinner table for the past ten suns?”

“Now madam, it’s easy enough to confess I haven’t been there. Yet do consider how five of those ten have been spent out socialising alongside you and the viscount,” says Remont with an easy grin as he leads her to an armchair. “And I distinctly recollect being in the same carriage as you, both to and fro on at least three of those five occasions.”

The Dowager snorts, though the smile is evident. “At least you have such grace to admit the other two did not see you return with us.”

He stands in front of her, still smiling amusedly. “I’m a wretch and a scapegrace, but not a liar.” He adds, before she can open her mouth, “As much as I can help it.”

She gives him a look, putting both her hands on the topper of her cane. “Hmmph. You have your father’s silver tongue.”

“As precious a gift as his name,” he says, with evident sincerity. It mollifies his mother enough to employ a softer tone.

“Remy my dear, I’ve heard some things from your aunt this afternoon. I should like your opinion on them.”

He bows in assent. “They are yours as best as I may give them, ma’am.”

“It involves your sister in some capacity.”

Only a sharp-eyed mother would have noticed some of the casual ease disappear from his posture, though he manages to keep himself quite relaxed overall. “Oh?”

She looks him directly in the eyes, and it is like looking into her own, which makes it easier for the question to emerge: “Has she a tendre for Lord Joshua?”

Remont is genuinely taken aback, staring at her in such shock that the question seems thoroughly answered. Nonetheless, she waits for him to gather himself so she might have solid confirmation.

“My lady mother,” he says at last, feeling like he’s just climbed over the Coerthan mountain range without benefit or aid of magic or mount. “What, in all the names of the divine Twelve, gave you that impression? You cannot still possibly think the Tattler was entirely correct.”

“I was given that impression, dearest, by your aunt asking me that exact question.”

Remont shakes his head. “Dear Aunt Perette, always on the lookout for her niece and nephew’s potential soulmates.”

The Dowager raises an eyebrow. “As am I, for my own children. Thus I must ask directly since subterfuge is beneath us.” Such a blatant mistruth and his accusatory stare bounces off her.

He sighs. “No Mamma, Dine doesn’t fancy either of our cousins in such a way. She has become very attached to them both, and would seek their good and happiness, but it is no tendre.”

“And she has told you this?”

Remont looks at her despairingly. “Mamma, will you not ask her yourself rather than doubt my word for it?”

“I will not subject your sister to such embarrassment when she has so many other concerns to deal with.”

“And I am worth subjecting to this embarrassment? Have I no other concern?”

The Dowager does, in fact, love her son very much, for it is only a real mother’s affection which could offer, in as dry a tone as could be mustered: “My dear child, when have you ever been embarrassed in matters of the heart?”

“I could start!”

She gives him a wry look so devoid of belief, it should have been immediately hauled into the Tribunal for interrogation and executed for heresy.

Remont throws his hands up in exasperation. “She hasn’t told me in so many words, but it is clear to see, Mamma. Dine has no intention of setting her cap for them, and the feeling is mutual.”

“Alright, then tell me this: has either of those boys any serious intention of courting anyone this season?”

Her son goes from exasperation to bewilderment. “I… I honestly couldn’t tell you. Mamma, why would you be remotely interested in the matter? Are you thinking of adopting them?”

“Don’t be ridiculous; one son is more than enough.” She huffs. “My lord Joshua was allegedly walking out with a young woman of unknown origin soon after the Tattler was published. Just after dawn no less. Your aunt’s own dresser brought the news to her.”

Remont can feel a laugh rising dangerously to the surface. Oudine had told him about her pre-breakfast, not-quite-rendezvous with Joshua. She's going to screech at this unexpected development. “R-really now? Did she say what the young woman looked like?”

“No, she did not,” says the Dowager with a more pronounced scowl. “Hence my question to you, as one who has spent far more time with my lord than I have.”

Remont keeps his hilarity down admirably. “I assure you, Mamma, if Joshua has any, ah, particularly close connection, it is not known to me. Nor, I’d wager, to him, considering how he has little real interest in the matter.”

The Dowager’s eyebrow rises higher. “Is he not the one who keeps speaking about the future of his house?”

Remont smiles helplessly. “It doesn’t quite translate to courtship nor its success.”

“Hrrrmph.” She taps her fingers on her walking stick, looking away from her son and at the fire crystals in the hearth, thinking and digesting the new information she’s received. Remont stays quiet, watching his mother’s face.

“Your sister has always hated being the subject of gossip, yet she has handled this without complaint,” she says eventually, thoughtfully. “Outwardly at least.”

“She’s bearing it gracefully, yes.”

The Dowager looks back at him. There is concern mingled with sharpness in her eyes. “Yet she’s not as inured to it as you and I, my son. I don’t know what you’re both scheming, but for my sake, have a care.”

Remont blinks. “What could we possibly be planning, Mamma?”

She snorts, as she pushes herself up from her seat, using her walking stick. “I hardly know. Call it a mother’s instinct, if nothing else.”

He looks at her for a moment, then breaks into a fond smile, and stepping closely to her, kisses his mother on the cheek.

“Thank you, mother mine.”

The Dowager gives him a look. “And what have I done that's worth such thanks?”

“Why, for giving us life of course. Is that not what you’ve constantly reminded us?” he says with a grin. It becomes wider when she swats him on the shoulder, in quite the same way his sister often does.

“Impudent boy,” she says, though she smirks. “Are you staying for dinner?” When he nods, she smiles in satisfaction. “I will see you and your sister then.”

He bows and watches her leave the room, walking stick softly thudding with every other step. When he’s left alone again, he lets out a sigh, sinking into the armchair she has vacated. He does not look forward to if and when the Dowager discovers the other piece of gossip Oudine is planning to manufacture. Then he pictures Joshua's face when he finds out yet another rumour - now with his specific name in it - is spreading and chokes on a laugh.

“From no scandals to two in seven suns; Fury love you, Joshua de Losstarot…!”

-

End.