#kiaran wrath

[kiaranwrath]

And two of my favorite solo screenshots from the pile!

[yascaret]

02

[A brand new leather-bound journal, fastened with a silver clasp in the shape of a coeurlregina’s crown]

I have thought about the way Kiaran makes me feel. It is eyes upon me for the first time. It is the look of someone who does not know me. It is the look of someone who sees in me what they wish to see. Not what I truly am. Though perhaps it is not that any longer. She tires of seeing me. And who can blame her. Another woman whose spirit I have spent.

It is the act of being known that spoils me. It is scars from battle that they find handsome. Scars from torment are unseemly. And this is how it feels: as though my spirit is blemished from the tragedies that have befallen me. But no. There are many others who have suffered far worse. Far longer. It is irresponsible to foist the blame onto something else. Is it not?

I care for her all the same. But she is deserving of a better life. That is what I told her. In the letter. But I will miss the way she looks at me. I will miss her pretty eyes and her pretty smile. I will miss the sound of her voice. The little humming sound she makes when she is pleased. Her thoughtful gifts. The strength of her grip. Her gentle touch. But it is better this way. Surely. I should be strong. I should want this for her. But what I want is to wrap her in my fingers. Not to be let go

I saw Forestay. She feared I might threaten her. And she is angry for what happened. My hindsight is cleared now. I should not have done it. She made clear her resentment for me. And for my wealth. I am left to wonder again if I should be rid of it. As though it is another ghastly blemish on my spirit. But I remember that Kiaran said I should not. Was she wrong? I do not know what to do with it. It sits idle beneath my bed. The ghost of the Kestrel. But it has begun to sting my nose as a corpse would.

I asked Forestay's forgiveness but I do not think that I shall ever have it. That is all right. 

She called me Yascaret. It made me furious. I know not why

She said Y'rissa was wounded in the incident with Kiaran. I feel an even greater guilt for this. Y'rissa is a good and kind woman by my judgment. I would so hate to be the cause of her distress. But it seems that it is too late. Perhaps I should write to her. Would it be crass to send gil to her? I know not what to do. It is a world of which I know nothing.

It is a monstrous thing to harm a person over gil owed for medicine. Is it not? Perhaps I do not know Kiaran so well as I like to believe. Perhaps she took Aja and Pjel from me as an act of spite. Perh

After Forestay I found myself in Gridania. It seemed a world away. A place I do not recognize. The most sensible choice to be away.

I cannot run far enough. There was a familiar face. Kjat. An old friend--lover?--of Aja. She is most beautiful. So much so that it was a shock to find her alone. But she invited me to sit.

We spoke at length of many things. Her terrible book. The way they perceive us beyond the Wood. Plants. Gardening. She has found a means to grow some seeds of Golmore using water crystals. We will exchange seeds. Each of my moko for some of her seeds. She will bring them by the workshop on the morrow.

She is concerned that Aja will mislike her presence there. I hope that she is wrong. It feels an age has passed since last I sat and simply spoke with some one. I enjoyed her company. I believe she enjoyed mine. How long will this be? How long before I spoil it?

It has been two nights since they left. I hope they are well. I know they are strong. But the cold of Coerthas is brutal. 

What if Aja and Pjel return and cannot stand the sight of me. It [[This line is crossed out multiple times. The ink has pooled in spots, the paper deeply scored in places from the force of the pen.]]

[gvnbreaker]

A small package arrives for Aja, wrapped in Starlight paper. Within is two packs of a dozen cigarettes each, the packaging of the box a simple but sturdy paper product with a Doman trademark on the front. The tobacco's high-quality, the brand - if familiar - a luxury one. The packages are accompanied by three cigars of likewise quality. A note accompanies it, written in neat, precise writing. 'Happy Starlight.'

Aja does not see the postmoogle arrive, bound to bed as she is--but even from the lower floor, she can hear the soft flap of their wings when they go. Fewer and fewer letters have reached her in the last several turns. Packages even scarcer--even still, she throws her legs over the side of the bed, feet flat against the hardwood planks. Breathes, hesitates, and hesitates some more. When at last she's composed herself to take on the stairs, reaching the top, let alone the front door, is a near thing.

She touches the note into bruised, cut fingers, thumbs the neat, careful handwriting while she inspects the box's contents. It's thoughtful--she'll give them that, but mystery is always a mixed notion.

Is it Kjat's? Bold. Too bold to send this, even for her. No. It isn't cheeky enough. There isn't a flower, there isn't a threat implied in cigarettes. The paper--she gives it a sniff--isn't infused.

Forestay? Maybe. It seemed a gift unlike Gjola, and why would --

Right. Kiaran.

Aja laughs. A tiny laugh, barely a puff through her nose to mark the crooked smirk, worsened by a bloodied lip half a sun healed. A full, real laugh is hard to muster. And it isn't worth the zigzag of pain it would send through her, she knows. She chances a long, slow inhale, letting the chill fill her lungs. A dull ache sets in. More than the cold, more than the way deep breaths strain her bandaging. It livens the bruising about her ribs with a steady, thrumming pulse.

When she returns to bed, Aja places the box on her dresser. The box is worth staring at for half a bell before she decides it's wasteful not to indulge, and plucks a cigar from the rest.

[wood-warder]

[chainsofaether]

The creak of the ship’s hull and the ocean swells pounding against it were all the noise Yrys had to keep her company as she walked the rows of box, occasionally opening one to check the contents before making notes on the list she had. Row after row of product, their numbers, and prices they should be sold at for Ul’dah.

It was slow work and half the day was gone before she reached the end of the first half. The pale Viera looked down the rows of work she still had and then turn for to the small room in the back of the ship that was for all purposes her on these kinds of trips.

The room barely had space. Just a bed and a desk for her to work at. A small safe that only she and the owner of the ship had the key to. Still a room compared to the common room sleeping for the rest of the crew aside from the captain of the ship, one small advantage of being the daughter of the owner. Not to ignore the need for some secrecy in her work.

Yrys dropped the ledger she’d been making notes in on the desk and then dropped herself in the chair before she even closed the door. After a few moments of letting her legs rest she leans back in the chair and pushed the door closed with a thud and click, the lock dropping in place as it shut. Then back again this time to reach under the table and grab the small sack.

A simple brown bag really, something you’d expect from the markets, a hint of sugar sweet smell spilling from the bag when she opened the top to reach in. Carefully she pulled a number of items from it. An apple, a half loaf of bread with a swirl of cinnamon in it, a wrapped bundle of sweet, and then a small canteen of some liquid. Left overs from a trip to the market before the ship has left, good enough for a lunch.

Lunch was a simple enough affair, each piece devoured with only the barest thought of taste. Most of the bread, then the crisp apple. Hungry as she was she didn’t slow down till the bundle. Some glazed pastry that she tore a chunk of to toss in her mouth before turning her attention back toward the ledge that he so far been ignored.

She scanned the first page completed as it was and then flipped to the next. This one still was missing many of the prices but the count was done with no discrepancies. She picked up her pen and started adding a few numbers to the lines marking anything she was not sure about with a small star so it would be checked once they were back in Ul’dah.

Largely it was just a matter of trying to estimate a good markup price based on the price they’d payed for the items. Sometimes it was as simple as adding some percentage to the price, the item was going to sell easily. For items that were less sure she either had to estimate a good price with her own knowledge, or the items she stared would need to be check back at home to record and current trends. That work was for the actual accountant of the family, she largely just did the busy work making sure nothing was missing as they moved product to and from and making sure the easier work was finished to spare the accountant had less busy work.

While she marked in the numbers her right hand busied it self with tearing apart the pasty and tossing pieces of the sweet bread in her mouth. Soon enough that was gone and all she had left was to lick her lips and fingers for the remaining sugar.

Hand clean and work done for the moment she pushed the ledge to the side and moved toward the canteen. The canteen was hers, just a small metal thing she took on tips. But the liquid inside was more interesting then the usual water. She’d found one of the stalls offering some mix of fruit juice and filled it with that while they were shopping. It wasn’t cold like before, but the dark ship at least kept it cool. Cool enough to enjoy which she did. Though as the first taste hit her tongue her mind drifted back to the meeting the night before.

The red head had been pleasant enough. What was the name? Kiaran? But how pleasant exactly? Too much? She shook her head then took another gulp of the juice. At first she hadn’t considered the offer to go to the private room anything, but then it was offered again later. Even that might have been easy to ignore, just being polite. No, she put the canteen down and capped it, it was when she filled the second drink from another bottle with no explanation that the concern rose up.

She tried to shake the thoughts from her mind, pushing away from the desk and grabbing the ledger.

Then back they came. Was this job for Kiaran safe? Aside from that oddity she had no reason to believe otherwise. She seemed nice enough, but in spite of that her mind went back to the first time they’d met. Why’d she pick her out of the crowd of people watching the fights? A million reason there really with out asking. But how do you ask a host if they drugged your drink politely? You don’t.

So really leaving was the best choice. No hurt feeling, no accusations. She can work and next time they’ll meet in a more public place, not the stronghold of her company. Yrys could only hope that she was wrong.

Focus on the work and worry about that later. As she looked up she realized she was standing in front of the crystals water aspected largely, what you’d expect to find in the Limsa region. Her eyes counts the boxes but her mind was on the problem of the crystal she’d been given by that same red head. Hungry thing that it was she kept it contained in the pouch she’d designed with it in mind, but hungry or cruel only made it more interesting in her mind. Should be easy enough to repair given the right materials. Make it in to something safer for Kiaran to use.

“I wonder if she ever found a healer? I should have asked, not like the crystal will do all the work. Though I suppose if she hasn’t I could make the offer? Would certainly be interesting to have a willing subject.”

Idle words as some other part of her brain finished the count and marked the number at the end. She did  another quick count of the box to just double check her work before shaking her head trying to struggle back to attention of the work in front of her before giving a deep sign and moving to the next row of boxes.

A glance down the rows told her she likely would be here till the night. So she got to it. Wouldn’t do to not be finished before they landed.

((A bit of writing for after a rp with @kiaranwrath. Poor Kiaran giving all the wrong ideas with that drink. Every action gets reexamined now.))

[bex-pendragon]

Bex’s Book Corner #11

September started off as a slow reading month for me, but it picked up near the end. I was able to tick a few more boxes on my reading challenge, and read some other stuff as well. Overall: 3 YA and 2 adult titles, for a total of 5 books read.

1. Girl Squads: 20 Female Friendships That Changed History by Sam Maggs

The title says it all. I’ve been reading this book an entry at a time for several months now. It was really cool to read about all these historic women, many of whom I’ve never heard of. I like to read this kind of book an entry at a time.

I also got misty-eyed a bunch of times while reading this. So many amazing women. So much culture and history. Kinda makes me feel like I’ve done nothing productive with my life, LOL.

This book fulfils the “Book with a ‘20’ or ‘twenty’ in the title” category for the Popsugar Reading Challenge.

 2. The Falconer by Elizabeth May

I really shouldn’t have picked up a series starter right now because it ended on a very rude cliff hanger and I don’t have the next book damn it!

The Falconer is the story of Aileana Kameron. She lives in a steampunk version of 1840’s Scotland. She is the last of the falconers: legendary women who hunted the deadly fae. Still grieving her mother’s death by faerie, Aileanna trains with a lone fae warrior to hunt these creatures, with the intent of avenging her mother’s death. But she’s also a highborn lady, and her widower father wants nothing more than to marry her off.

I love that she got to be angry. Aileana is a deeply flawed heroine who had no problem flinging herself into danger. She’s also an inventor, having devised tools and weapons to help her in her quest.

One thing I didn’t care for was the relationship dynamic between Aileanna and her fae trainer, the mysterious Kiaran. I’m kind of over the whole dangerous bad boy thing, so I didn’t really vibe with them.

I’m not sure if I’ll continue on with this series. It has a lot going for it and it’s very well-written. I think I’m just… over fae stories maybe? I dunno. I might’ve just been in a weird mood when I picked this one up. It ends on a hell of a cliffhanger, but I’m not invested enough to read on.

This book counts toward the “book featuring one of the seven deadly sins” prompt. The main character’s got some serious Wrath.

Content warnings: parental death, violence, blood, injuries.

3. The Shadow of Kyoshi by F.C. Yee

Anyway, I love AtLA, you guys. It’s just one of those shows that’s damn near perfect from start to finish. The strong worldbuilding, character development, and wide-reaching plot are what other writers/creatives should aspire to, ok? It’s that good.

But y’know what else is good? The tie-in novels about Avatar Kyoshi! I’ve been side-eyeing Canadian Netflix for not snapping up Legend of Korra yet. I was still in the avatar state (heh) of mind after finishing my last re-watch of AtLA, so I thought it was the best time to read the second Kyoshi novel.

I read the first, The Rise of Kyoshi, back when it was released. (Last year? It seems like it’s been 84 years, tbh.) I liked it a lot, but I liked the sequel EVEN MORE. In the first book, Kyoshi wasn’t a fully realized avatar yet – in fact, the people around her didn’t even think she was the avatar at all. Another young earthbender named Yun was thought to be the avatar of the age. But they were wrong.

It’s such a great twist on the Avatar mythology: what if the wrong person was identified as the next avatar? What are the consequences of that? The Kyoshi novels explore this question in depth. The death of the previous Avatar, Kuruk of the Northern Water Tribe, left a power vacuum in the world. It was really interesting to see how this reflected in the different nations. At this point in time, the Fire Nation consists of dozens of squabbling clans. This is the main conflict in the Shadow of Kyoshi. The last Fire Lord had two sons: the charming but illegitimate firstborn, and the wimpy second born, Zoryu. The Nation is about to erupt into civil war as the elder son tries to make a play for the throne. As the Avatar, it’s Kyoshi’s job to fix political conflicts.

But Kyoshi is no politician. We see her get to be victorious in some places, but we also get to see her fail. The narrative lets her fail. She’s such a layered character. It would be amazing to see another novel in this series – or even a spinoff show. I’d also love to see a story about Avatar Yangchen, the Avatar who came before Kuruk. But there’s still more room for stories about Kyoshi. She lived to be 230 years old! Of course there’s also an air of tragedy to her long life: I have to assume that she outlives her girlfriend, Rangi. Unless Rangi also discovered the secret of longevity. One can only hope, because I love these girlfriends.

This book did not count toward the Reading Challenge.

Content warnings: violence, blood, injuries, mentions of parental abandonment.

 4. The Inheritance Games by Jennifer Lynn Barnes

They’re calling this the YA version of Knives Out. And it is. But it’s also so much more.

I finally watched Knives Out a few months ago and really enjoyed it. I always enjoy a good murder mystery. (Remember earlier this year when I was freaking out over The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle? Good times!) I really hope we get to see Benoit Blanc solve another murder someday.

The Inheritance Games doesn’t start with a murder – it starts with an eccentric billionaire dying of natural causes and leaving the bulk of his fortune to a girl he’s never met. This girl is our heroine, Avery Grams: a poor teenager who’s lived in the custody of her older sister since her mother died. Avery is introduced as a chess master who’s capable of getting high grades in school. Her life is completely upended when she’s named in the will.

The one stipulation: Avery must move into Hawthorne House and live there for a year, or she forfeits the money. The Hawthornes are an eclectic bunch: the old man’s daughters are distrustful and the four grandsons each have their own agendas. The house itself is a palatial puzzle. There’s a romantic element as well, but it doesn’t overshadow the plot.

If there’s one tiny criticism I can make, it’s that I wish the guy hadn’t been a billionaire. That’s an obscene amount of money. If he’d been a multi-millionaire, it wouldn’t have required that extra suspension of disbelief.

Going back to Knives Out for a second – I kept thinking that there was going to be another twist to that story. The Inheritance Games gave me the twist on top of a twist that I was looking for – and more. I am in awe of how well the author pulled this off. I’m gonna need the sequel ASAP.

This book did not count toward the Reading Challenge.

Content warnings: attempted murder, parental abandonment, parental/grandparental death, car accident, gun violence, mentions of past abusive relationship.

5. Animal Farm by George Orwell

This is another one of those classic books that I never had to read for school. I’ve read a lot of classics, and yet, there’s still a lot more that I’ve missed. Funny how that works out sometimes. Sometimes I’ll pick them up on my own. But sometimes… not so much.

I probably wouldn’t have picked up Animal Farm on my own if it wasn’t for the Reading Challenge. One of the prompts was to read a banned book during Banned Books Week, which fell on the last week of September this year. After careful consideration of the banned books list, I chose Animal Farm for two reasons: #1. It was short. #2. We had an old copy in the house somewhere.

Turns out, I’d given our old copy away during one of my book purges. Oops. Luckily I was able to get my hands on an e-book version.

But holy shit, this story is forked up. And bleak. But also VERY CLEVER. I didn’t know what to expect, but WHOA. I did not see that ending coming, but it made complete sense. Well played, George Orwell. This was a wild ride, my dude.

I’m lowkey terrified of pigs now. That is all.

Content warnings: animal cruelty, animal death.

[shirewalker]

all the questions you have left of the books ask game :) ✿

haha good one xD but also not (this is gonna be long lol)

📚 approximately how many books have you read

goodreads says I’ve read 288 books, so I’m guessing it’s somewhere over 300 based on all the books I read as a kid that I didn’t add (ie: don’t remember lol)

📕 favourite first book in a series

hmm… maybe To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before. Daughter of Smoke and Bone too. there are others I love, but then I think of stuff they didn’t have that the remaining books had and yeah xD

📗 favourite second book in a series

easy: The Vanishing Throne (the falconer). that book RUINED ME! with how good it was. ofc, it set the bar so high that even little old me that generally enjoys at least a bit every book she reads wasn’t able to find more than five things she enjoyed in book three… still, house on fire? watch me run inside and save at least The Vanishin Throne.

📘 favourite third book in a series

Ruin and Rising. PAH! KIDDING XD tell me the truth, you stopped breathing for a second there hmm?? But no, aside the Name Scene and Nikolina Under The Stars (and a handful of other good scenes), r+r was… yeah. ANYWAY! The real answer here is, atm, Ignite Me. HOT DINGITY DAMN WHAT A BOOK!!!!

🛋 book that keep you up all night

houston we have a problem… I know I’ve read a little beyond my bed time before, but I can’t seem to remember ANY book rn xD

😡 book you expected more of

well, the fallen kingdom for one. I expected SO MUCH!! and then!! other books that belong here are: The Subtle Knife, Crown of Midnight, Ruin and Rising, the worst ever: Other Worlds (ranted on in a previous ask)

💰 most expensive book you’ve bought 

I honestly don’t know… which is funny for someone that knows how much they can spend on books… but from those I’ve bought on bookdepository, it was Winter (TLC #4). 

🏆 the best book you’ve read 

listen, I have 41 books on my “it owns my heart” shelf, I won’t tell you all of them (cuz I don’t have just ONE) so I’ll select three random titles: The Night Circus, Cruel Beauty, Uprooted.

🏝 summer book recommendation

I have no idea xD something cute and fast? like To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before. Maybe To Catch a Pirate too, since, pirates + sand xD

⛄️ winter book recommendation

Northanger Abbey :3

🐲 favourite book creature

heck, I forgot all xD hmm….. oliphaunts, giant squid, the suriel.

💋 favourite kiss

hands down to all Warnette kisses tbh. Those two know how to kiss, woah! (runner up is the first kiss between Aileana and Kiaran in The Falconer and the Winter Fête kiss between Alina and Darkles in Shadow and Bone)

👸 favourite princess/queen

Alina Starkov, my Sun queen :’) whaddaya mean she didn’t stay?? NONSENSE!! Okay, I’ll add a couple more: Princess Winter (TLC), Cinder (TLC), Mia Thermopolis (The Princess Diaries), Feyre (shut up she’s a queen)

🤴 favourite prince/king

NIKOLAI LANTSOV 5EVAH!!! OKAY, DORIAN HAVILLIARD TOO!! (but like, from book 1 and 2 which are the only ones I’ve read)

❤️ favourite ship

you want me dead?? *sigh* okey… in no particular order: nikolai x alina, warner x juliette, aileana x kiaran, alina x darkles, tamar x nadia, alina x powers, gwendolyn x gideon, feyre x rhys, penryn x raffe, karou x akiva, among others lol

⛵️ favourite crack ship

I… don’t have one…? wait, according to sources, crack ships can also be those with little to no chance of happening (not just the ridiculous/crack classic)… mmm… malaria x death (as in, someone won’t let him die dammit!!) xD okey okey: mor x vassa (don’t ask me, it just presented itself and I liked it lol)

😱 best plot twist

AND THEN THERE WERE NONE! AND THEN THERE WERE NONE! AND THEN THERE WERE NONE! AND THEN THERE WERE NONE! AND THEN THERE WERE NONE! AND THEN THERE WERE NONE! AND THEN THERE WERE NONE! AND THEN THERE WERE NONE! AND THEN THERE WERE NONE!

🔮 power you’d like to have

magic, or maybe winnowing lol, since I don’t remember any teleportation powers in the books I’ve read. 

🥊 character you’d punch in the face

MALARIA WONTDIE’ETSEV!!!! also, Trashlin. Oh, oh! and Celia’s father (The Night Circus)

😤 character you loved but now hate

hmm… I guess snape. I never loved him, but I used to like him more in the past. hate? it’s probably too strong of a word, but it’s borderline. also, malaria. I had zero opinions on him but then he stayed around for long enough to awaken the wrathful beast living inside me

😻 character you hated but now love

lol, I never hated her! never! but I didn’t like Zoya in the first book xD I love her to bits now tho, she’s awesome. I always laugh at myself when I think about my feelings towards her in the first book lol xD I don’t remember anyone else lol. this is probably because of how funny I think my relationship with Zoya has been xD

😭 death that made you cry the most

death? what’s that? I tend to ignore that word when reading. darkles okay, now let me be

😂 the funniest scene

I don’t remember all, but I’ll always love Alina’s reaction to Nikolai kissing her and his reaction to hers xD Also, Penryn and Raffe have the funniest scenes ever, I swear those two are the biggest nerds ever. (this is such a lame answer, but while I know there are other choices for this, I can’t remember them… *sigh*)

🤢 the grossest scene

feyre and trashlin doing the do. please, bleach for the memories.

💔 scene that broke your heart

there are many, but honestly? right now? alina losing her powers and settling with that life.

🚀 favourite sci fi book

The Lunar Chronicles :D

🌹 favourite romance book

a classic here: Pride and Prejudice

👻 favourite horror book

….have I ever… oh yeah! DUH! Dracula! Or The Strain. Honestly, The Strain wins here, first time I read the first book I actually regretted reading it at night before going to sleep xD

 🏰 favourite historical fiction book

To Catch a Pirate, The Luxe, The Book Thief

🔫 favourite dystopian book

angelfall, shatter me, delirium, 1984, the hunger games, fahrenheit 451

[yascaret]

01

[A brand new leather-bound journal, fastened with a silver clasp in the shape of a coeurlregina’s crown]

Sometimes I travel to market and purchase a book of blank pages. I leave behind the ones that I have filled as though this empty thing might somehow absolve me of all that has come before it. It has never worked. 

It is cool today. In Shirogane. I returned home to fetch some things. The aetheryte does not bother me any longer but it is troublesome to dress for two weathers in one day.

Pe Gjola has moved her things into the workshop. I think she is happy. It is difficult to tell. I do not know why but when we are alone I feel guilt. Her suspicion of my motives was laid bare. Perhaps she is right to have them. Perhaps I can not do any thing good for the sake of good. But it is wrong to keep this wealth that I have. And it is right to give it to others. She seemed to me in need of succor. But I stand to benefit from this arrangement. Is it then truly charity or is it transaction.

I enjoy her company. I am not certain she enjoys mine. That is all right. I did not bring her in to humor me. But I would like it if she liked me.

I am alone this night. And for the next many I think. Pjel and Aja left together quite suddenly. With Kiaran. 

I ended things with Kiaran. She named things for what they are. A mess. My heart ached to write the letter but it needed doing. She made her contempt of me clear the next sun. So that is done. I should be glad for it. Perhaps some part of me is. But I sit now at my desk in the workshop more alone than I have been for many turns. It is easier to see things for what they are when I am alone. But I do not see anything now. I do not feel anything. 

Aja mislikes Kiaran. As she should. I am wrong to care for her. But some times it feels as thought I am second to this thing that Aja and Pjel share. Even if they had not touched until a sennight past. Some times I am left to wonder if I am lover or mother. Pjel behaves as though I will shatter beneath her touch. I am envious of the way she holds Aja. So fully. There is no fear in it. It is pure. I am glad to bear witness. But too weak of will am I not to covet. I wish that she would handle me as though she were not afraid I might splinter. I wish that Aja would look upon me as she does Pjel. I wish to know something so deep as their love. I do not doubt their affection for me. But I know that it is different. I think that theirs is deeper. A bond forged of shared experience. Companionship. Ours were but bonds hewn of like displacement.

Perhaps it is so with Kiaran as well. But I do not feel as though she fears to break me. Even if some part of her yet looks upon me as animal. She speaks of her world and I am reminded of this gulf between us. We are separate creatures. We do not belong together. I enjoy her company. It is foolish and I am a fool. I like the way she looks at me. It reminds me of the passion I saw once in Pjel. In the Wood. It reminds me of the first time Aja laid her eyes upon me. It reminds me of Baghak. Her friendship. I miss her terribly.

This is unfair to Kiaran. It is why it must be ended. Of course I care for her. But it is through her that these three spectres haunt me. 

And she is angry with me. And right to be. About Forestay. Another mess. I leave them in my wake when I seek to do good. But I like to do good. But if I am the only one to gain from it. Is it good to begin with?

Baghak would say: You think too much. I know she is right. But I cannot stop it. 

The airship awaits but my mind and heart are else where. I will have moko and sleep. Tomorrow I will do better. 

[kiaranwrath]

Shattered

It is not the linkshell’s chime that brings Kiaran’s work to pause; it is the familiar silence that follows. The world stills as her attention becomes singular on the piece in her ear and how she strains to hear something. Anything. Her imagination is hungry. It seizes upon each sound one by one, worrying at each like wolf at a lamb. The trickle of water – an imagined breath. They are made into more. They are made into Lofn, somewhere safe. Tranquil. No words come in the shared connection but there is meaning in the silence. I am thinking of you.

The knife she didn’t know to be in her stomach twists. There is so much she wishes to say. Too much. A cacophony of thoughts, each seizing her throat, struggling, failing to make it past. Her breath hitches; stops. With so little time – with so far of distance, she is affected. Why? How? Her eyes refocus on the pipe before her. She does not recall what she was meant to be doing to it. That realization is enough to ground her, to calm her. Work comes first. It must. Yet her heart sinks when her hand settles to activate her own linkpearl, and when she speaks, it’s in tones made low and reverent by a sorrow she doesn’t mean to voice. “My favorite ghost,” And she doesn’t mean to lilt it like affection, doesn’t mean to let bleed those emotions in her chest, “Put this to rest.” And then she waits, with eyes lidded and distant. Listens. The other linkpearl clicks on. Silence reigns. Wind. A breath? Then a crack, mechanical, familiar. Kiaran’s eyes close as static follows. Nothing. She pictures all too clearly the shattered fragments of their connection. And still, she speaks into that nothingness, knowing it will never reach Lofn’s ears. “Forgive me.”

[kiaranwrath]

Natural

It is only natural for the waves to caress the cliff. Kiaran’s sat upon them long enough to know it is natural, too, when the waves recede. On and on like this it goes, this constant waxing and waning. The sea’s rushing sigh when they part. The violent clash when cliff and wave meet yet again. And for every fateful reunion, a small, undetectable amount of the cliff gives way to the sea, offering so they may be yet more bound. Is it desirable fate, that destined erosion into nothing? Kiaran’s scoff is lost to the sound of one such reunion, salt spray threatening to engrain her naked scowl that much more. “Projecting onto nature now.” She restrains the complaint to breathless grumble lest it grow more heated with the introduction of oxygen. But she can’t help but consider it. When ages pass, the cliff will be distant memory, and the sea - the sea will be there still, changed, if only slightly, by the remnants of the earth it claimed. Some great emotion stirs in her chest for the thought. It is sudden and consuming, as they always are when she considers the woman, but this time, too, it is vast. She feels it swell and rise and struggle to form, bubbling up as she titters on this precipice of some newfound realization, of some revolutionary thought- “Toymaker, your assistance is required with most unfortunate malfunction!” The linkpearl chimes to life no sooner than the words tumble from it. The thoughts recede rapidly, too rapidly for her to clutch onto, and before she can sigh, they’re gone, leaving her chest oddly hollow. Maybe she’ll find the guidance she needs with this malfunction. “Airship or prosthetic?” She returns, mind eager to slip to that next task.

[yascaret]

05

[A brand new leather-bound journal, fastened with a silver clasp in the shape of a coeurlregina’s crown.]

[Another page frayed with moisture, as though it has laid open for quite some time before being written in.]

A fortnight they have been gone. No word. Time blends. Perhaps I am mistaken. 

Tide

Tide took

Forestay

I struck F

What is there to be said that has not been said already? I tire of the solitude. I tire of my own thoughts. Of being trapped with them. Within them. 

Kjat has visited many times. If I did not know better I would think that she worries for me. But I know she is above such things. We are not well acquainted.

Thrice this sennight have I found myself asleep at her breast. In her graciousness she does not speak of it. We do not speak of it. She knows that I am weary, I think. And in her did I confide many things for which I am ashamed. But such is the effect she has on me. It is not lust that takes me in her presence. It is something less unthinking than that. Or more?

I have not taken the lotus. Sleep has come easier since Tide but I yet fear for my dreams. 

It grows well. Too well. The trellis was taken in barely three suns. I added another and it too was consumed. The vines swallow the walls of the cellar and threaten those of the main floor. But I do not mind it. If I close my eyes and turn my ears to its growth it is not unlike the sound of the Wood. I find comfort in this. Despite all things.

.

.

Perhaps they are dead. Why else should they not have returned?

Perhaps Kiaran has shown them the stain that I am on their lives. Perhaps they have simply chosen to leave. I could not blame them for it. I know that it would ruin me. But at least solace could be taken in knowing that they have at last found peac [The sentence ends abruptly in an ugly blotch of ink. The paragraph is scribbled out several times.]

I spoke to Kjat of my thoughts. Some times I cannot help but wonder if my spirit perished with the Kestrel. Perhaps it would be best if I were to succumb to this serpent that so ardently struggles to swallow my heart. It would be the easiest thing. But I am too selfish for it.

Perhaps that is why she continues to visit. It is graciousness that I do not deserve. Least of all from someone I know so little.

But then I would leave Gjola. She does not need me: this I know. Yet I can hardly bear such a thought. Abandoning her. As many have done before me, or so I think. We have grown closer. Scarcely a modicum but it is something. She is a flower that I would see blossom. If only I could coax open the petals.

It would have been easier. To swallow my pride and do as my mothers bid me. To take up the mantle of ritual and tradition as my sisters did. To serve nameless purpose for Yascaret as so many have done before me. As so many will continue to do. A cycle untouched by my presence and my absence both. Perhaps that is what we all are: nameless, faceless motes in an endless sea of sky. There is greater dignity in accepting it. Too young and foolish was I to realize.

.

.

.

.

Tide is a good friend. She has made me wonder. Perhaps I only wanted to see Baghak in Kiaran. She would have never hurt me like th

[kiaranwrath]

New scars ache; old wounds reopen. It is preamble to the changing of weather and a thing she accepts with a sinking pit in her stomach. It’s her hands that bother her the most. They cramp and twitch when they shouldn’t, memories of the Starlights past. It was a tradition her grandfather imposed and one that lived on no matter their circumstance.  When Starlight came, they made toys.  He was a toymaker, hobbyist or no, and she was his apprentice, and by Rhalgr, they would make toys. And toys and toys and toys. Even when they were without gil, her grandfather would send her cousins to scrounge everything they could. Sticks, rocks, burlap sacks; they would return with odds and ends and Kiaran and Ragnarr would sit together for hours, days on end, fashioning all manner of toys. One for every kid in camp. The rest to sell.  But this cycle, her family’s malms away, and she’s already made mountains of toys in the free time imposed by injuries of adventuring. It is the first Starlight she’ll be without family since the Legion and, if she were honest, even they felt like family. It is with a pang she recalls the supposed fate of Garlemald. It is just as abruptly shoved aside for examination at a later time. Enough heavy feelings as of late, between having to play therapist to Ayame, Telriah.  “And a poor therapist at that,” The murmur’s sardonic, slipping from her as she goes boneless in her chair. Her boot’s wagging back and forth as Kiaran absently bores a hole into the ceiling with her gaze. Contemplation’s interrupted by a knock at the door. With a huff, she gets to her feet, ignoring the creaking pops from her knees as she moves to answer. She’s twenty-seven. All this cracking’s ridiculous.  When she opens the door, it’s to one of the company’s retainers. “Came for you by moogle,” She says disinterested, all but shoving the box into Kiaran’s arms. Kiaran doesn’t get a word in before she’s strolling off.  “... Thank you,” Kiaran calls with raised brow, looking to the box in hand. It’s familiar - and so is the scope within it when she cracks it open. Her features fall. The note attached leaves no doubt.

My favorite ghost. Put this to rest. Standing in the cold hallway, rejected gift in hand, Kiaran’s mind is drawn to a story she once heard. A tale of spirits past visiting some poor unfortunate for some reason or another in the Starlight season.  She doesn’t remember the moral. She does remember the path to Kugane, though. The gunblade’s already on her back; the jacket’s difficult to tug on over it. Kiaran doesn’t afford it much thought. She doesn’t afford anything much thought, right now. Better that way. It’s time for a conversation.

[yascaret]

A small box arrives for Lofn, wrapped in Starlight paper. Within is padding to protect the rifle scope within. The lens are very carefully articulated, capable of being flipped in and out for increased magnification as necessary, and the base is interchangeable to fit upon a few models of rifle. It includes a note, written in clean, precise writing. 'Happy Starlight.'

She calls Kjat first; the least likely, and so the most likely. Kjat laughs, and Lofn's face flushes; of course it was not her. Why would it ever have been? The sting of disappointment is almost greater than that of the embarrassment.

She calls Tide next. More likely than Kjat -- and yet not at all.

"Eh? If I wanted ye to kill me I'd pick a less roundabout way."

Predictably frustrating. Lofn huffs. "Nevermind." Her hand has just lifted to close the pearl when the roegadyn speaks again.

"Oh, right, the gun scope. Yeah, that was me."

"...really?" A rush of relief. Not her: only Tide.

"Uh... yeah? Yeah. You didn't spend any money on it, I bought it for ye'."

What? What? "...why?" Just as quick, that relief begins to crumble.

"Because... ye' love that rifle of yours. You take it around with you. Though it needed an... upgrade."

The relief is near-gone. "Are you...well?"

Tide pauses.

"There ain't anyone else on this line, is there?"

Confusion renders Lofn mute. Until it doesn't. "...what?"

Tide groans. "I thought ye' were askin' because someone had pulled up your bills and was askin' why you spent money on a rifle scope and needed me to cover your arse."

The last vestiges of relief, of hopefulness, are ripped from her. Replaced by anger, indignation, betrayal. She scoffs bombastically and closes the pearl with so forceful a squeeze it is a wonder that it does not shatter.

This, then, leaves only one option: the one she had dreaded the most. The one that part of her knew before she had attempted to prove otherwise. The one with no linkpearl through which to contact.

Lofn thinks, at first, to shatter the scope; perhaps that would be most fitting thing. Despite the anger, something stops her. This thing had certainly cost no small amount of gil, and to waste that on anyone's behalf would be a shameful thing.

And so it is packed away again, wrapped in brown parchment, and given to the post moogle with instructions to be delivered to Kiaran's apartment. As it turns to depart, Lofn nearly stops it -- but she does not. Perhaps it will find her. Perhaps it will not.

A note is fastened to the finished parcel with twine. It reads, in her loose and purposeful script, those same words that been offered to her a moon and some nights ago:

My favorite ghost. Put this to rest.

[kiaranwrath]

Waiting

Someone had once told her that people would be more accepting of her Imperial background than she thought. Not a sennight later, she near met her end by vieras' fury for part she played in Rabanastre, and though she didn't meet death that day, she was launched into drug-fueled mission that blurred into a haze of sand and death and misery. Seeking redemption. Seeking Lofn. Did she ever truly find either? Yet when she told [Miss] Eilif not two bells ago, she seemed ... Fine with it. Fine in the true sense, fine in the way she considered the fact, its implications, and accepted it all the same. Fine in the fact that it'd not pose problems. Will that shoe drop? Will she wake with knife at her throat? And not once has [Miss] Eilif shown care or concern for her combat prowess. No call to arms, no quiet expectation, no need of proof. Not once has Kiaran felt the need to assert herself as a warrior and not once has Eilif seemed to care. If anything, the viera took pains to ensure no blows came to trade. It is strange comfort, someone so level-headed; someone with distaste for violence. Most importantly, [Miss] Eilif was the one to make call for communication - and it was not hollow. She spoke of her desires, her boundaries, her expectations, and asked those same of Kiaran, and gods, is this how it was meant to be? She likes this. Prefers this. Where was the tumultuous misunderstanding bridged by sheer carnal desire? The heated back and forth, the stomach twisting uncertainty, the tension? Perhaps she had no concern for Kiaran's combat capabilities, but would she be made to prove herself in another way? Are potential mates' qualifications based tribe to tribe? Are those viera of the Gilmore jungle truly so different than their Mountain counterparts? Is that racist? The doubts are hungry. They seize her thoughts in ravenous waves and gnaw 'til there's naught left. Sleep will not come for her tonight. She knows it from the tickle at the back of her head, the knots of tension at the base of her neck. It's a shame, really. The couch is comfortable. And oddly, so too is the fact that [Miss] Eilif sleeps not ten fulm from her in Kiaran's own bed. She settles in without complaint, attention held by the growing shadows of dying embers. Tonight, she would think endlessly and uselessly. Tomorrow, she would get her shit together and locate her seemingly lost confidence.

[yascaret]

The night is cold and the wind is biting, but Lofn drives.

She drives and she drives and she drives, the bike's ceruleum tanks hot against her legs, the wind fiercely stinging her eyes. But she does not relent. 

For hours, the desert stretches out before and behind her; an endless, barren expanse long drained of life by the Empire. There is only the earth, the bike, the moon, and her. Would that it could be one less, but she lacks the courage to go so far.

She drives. Slowly, the moon sinks beneath the horizon. Before long, the sun takes its place. It is unbearable here, unnaturally hot, and there is no shade in which to find comfort. She drives, and she does not stop, even as the feels her skin at the back of her neck cook beneath the sun.

Her eyes burn by the time it comes into view; a lone, black dot on the horizon barely visible through waves the heat cuts through the air, before the ombre of brown and red the sky has become behind the sinking sun. Her course corrects.

The dot bleeds into a larger mass; the towering skeleton of a warship long-fallen, picked clean by time and scavengers. Lofn's ears turn from the wailing of wind as it carves through its bones, but it is a sound that reaches deep into the earth, and deeper yet into her skull. When the roar of her bike's engine ceases, there is only the humming of the sand, the groaning of metal, and the shrill howl of the eerie fife the windstorm has made of the ship's carcass.

It does not take Lofn long to find her; the sight had been bored into the very seat of her soul since the first dreadful moment she had been made to see it.  Where the ship had split and bent down its center; at that very crux where both halves of its whole met, two great lengths of metal so tall and vast they would have been at home among the trees of Golmore: there awaits a single skeleton in the garb of a storied sky pirate. A corpse eroded by time, by the sand in which it is half buried, but from which it still stubbornly emerges as if only by spite. Even in death, you cannot relent. The thought strikes Lofn and despite it all, she smiles. It gives her the strength to cross the gulf of sand that yet separates them.

It is too grim a thing to speak to it, so she does not. Instead, Lofn sinks into the sand alongside, one hand coming to rest atop its long, sloped snout. The familiarly of it strikes her with all the suddenness, the indifference of a bullet. A sob wrenches from her. Her wails soon join the relentless choir of wind and sand.

---

It is the bluest sky she has ever beheld; that is the thought that strikes her when her eyes first open. As the sleep fades, the world falls into place around her; the nearby bustle of a market street, the smell of spice and coffee, the terra-cotta colored city in which she sits. Lofn's gaze falls to the demitasse of thick coffee, small but familiar to her hands. To the stone table at which she sits. To the copper ibrik, the candle, the second demitasse across from her. To the bangaa that holds it, with scales the color of the setting sun and eyes obscured by a worn leather headband.

"Rabanastre." Lofn says, and in the moment, it makes perfect sense to her. Until it doesn't. A frown pulls at her lips, and she turns to look around; but no matter which way she turns, she yet looks straight ahead. "Why…?"

"You tell me." Says the bangaa, her voice gruff, pleasing. Familiar. She drinks the coffee in the only way she's ever been able to manage; tilting her head back, splitting open her maw, and pouring it in like a shot of liquor. It stirs a warm fondness in Lofn that runs deep enough to placate her.

"Why are we here?" Lofn asks instead. She sips her coffee, but there is no taste. No sensation. 

"I ain't here, Hare." Says Baghak. "I ain't anywhere. So why're you here?"

"I could not bear to be alone." Lofn says, and only for fear that her silence would give the words that came before it time enough to fester in her heart.

"Sometimes we need to be alone." Baghak wipes her snout with the back of her wrist, the myriad buckles and bangles lining her person jangling with the motion. "To heal." Even when her words are tender, her voice is not. It was the first thing Lofn had ever come to love about her. 

"I have been alone for so much of it." Here in this city, with this woman, the tears do not come when they are bid. The ache in her throat relents and she searches for the words instead. "I am not strong enough to carry the burden any longer."

"You're exactly as strong as you need to be." Baghak's index finger presses into the table to drive home the point, and the talon clicks on the stone. "Least 'til you're dead, and not even you could cry yourself to the grave."

That Lofn sees fit to argue the point at all is enough reason for her to keep quiet. Some time passes. The wood of Baghak's chair creaks as she sinks back into it, legs spread and thumbs hooked into the wide belt at her waist.

"Must've been runnin' with 'er quite a while, have feelings like that." She grins in a way that only a bangaa can. "How many cycles of me barkin' up them legs o'yours before you let me 'tweenem?"

Though she cannot feel the warmth, Lofn is keenly aware of her face darkening.

"Fourteen suns." 

Baghak's laugh is like the roar of an engine well-loved.

"Shite. Lost your touch? Or maybe not." Another laugh. "Fuck, Lofn."

"She reminds me of you." It comes quickly, tumbling from her mouth like the desperate excuse of a child embarrassed.

"Yeah?" Baghak rubs at her chin. The sun glints off the golden ring on her thumb. "How's that."

Lofn smiles. There is an urge to avert her eyes, to stare at the neglected coffee before her, but she cannot bring them to peel away from Baghak. This is--the deepest parts of her know--the last time she will ever see her.

"She is a toymaker." Her eyes fall to the bauble at Baghak's neck; an effigy of a crocodile crudely carved from a knob of driftwood. "An engineer of airships. A means to support her family. She is honest. Kind, in her way." Her gaze lifts to Baghak's face again, where a sidelong grin awaits her.

"But she ain't me." She says with a levity better befitting a game. "You know that. Right?"

The answer does not come as easily as she'd like. Lofn feels a pall of sadness sweep over her like the tide. 

It is night then. The streets are empty. The wick of the candle between them is nearly spent. In the sun's absence, the desert's chill sharpens the air around them, but she is numb to its cold.

"No fuckin' way she's better lookin' than this." Baghak's arms lift in a grand gesture, then fold coolly behind her head as she strikes a dashing pose, the tips of her ear flaps wiggling. Lofn feels the anguish swell in her throat, but when it spills from her lips it comes in the form of a laugh. A raw, cleansing laugh from deep within herself; deeper than she ever thought possible. She laughs until the world spins, until she must gasp for air from the dark sky around them. 

When she comes down from it, the world is silent. The wind is still. Baghak watches her from across the table, the low candle casting dark shadows down her long face.

"What about them two?" The bangaa asks, slouching back into her chair again. "Aja and Pjel."

It is odd to hear their names on Baghak's tongue. The names of they who have become the center of her world, yet alien on the lips of the woman to whom Lofn had once pledged the whole of her being. 

"We are one." She says, and the presumption of it does not even strike her. "They and I. No lines exist that divide us but flesh. Perhaps they do not know it, but I do." The resolve with which she says it is greater than any she can ever recall having felt. "There is no world in which I can live without them; not now that we have come together. Not now that I know what it is to be whole."

The bangaa nods slowly, several times over.

"Aye, aye, that does sound like some shite you'd say."

The candle winks out. In the stellar light, the Baghak's scales are blue.

"I know not what to do, my love." Each of Lofn's words is heavy, like a length of mooring chain pulled from her mouth. Yet she feels lighter for having said them.

"The fuck d'you want me to do about it?" Harsh as the words may come, they are held aloft by the ghost of a love long extinguished...and yet very much alive. "I'm just a voice in your head."

For this, Lofn can find no words. Behind Baghak, the sky has begun to turn pale. The bangaa stands and gives a dramatic roll of her shoulders, jingling with each movement, each crack of bone and twitch of muscle calculated carefully for the mismatched eyes locked on her. Dread and sorrow rush over Lofn; she moves to stand, but a taloned hand sets firmly on her shoulder, locking her in her seat. Baghak stops just beside her, and though her eyes are still covered, Lofn knows without a doubt that she is being winked at.

 "Figger it out."

---- 

It is the heat of morning's light that wakes her; a spear of sun that pierces between the looming halves of the folded ship. A thin blanket of sand has been cast over Lofn in the night, delaying the fate of the skeleton on which she sleeps by an increment too small to be measured. 

Bones clatter gently as she pushes herself upright, sand falling from her in loose sheets. She becomes aware of a weight in her hand, and when she looks down upon it she finds her knuckles white. Slowly, her fist uncurls; within her palm awaits a small crocodile, crudely carved from a knob of driftwood. The desert has taken its toll, its finer details lost to time and wear, but there is enough to know. A fine, tarnished silver chain connects it to the skeleton's neck, and it breaks with only a gentle tug. 

Nothing falls into place. Lofn is alone in the desert, her only solace in the arms of a corpse, in a child's toy in her hand. The peel of carrion far overhead speaks to the world's indifference to her fate. Yet still she finds the strength to rise. Still she finds the strength to walk.

[kiaranwrath]

Ideal appearance of a partner?

The bar's abuzz with conversation and activity. Kiaran hates it but it's necessary torture, this press of the crowd. She swears she can feel them breathing down her neck, feel the room growing smaller for every person that passes just a tad too, for every laugh just a bit too loud. Her eyes flit around the bar to snag on those of interest. Those speaking of contracts, of hunting, of jobs. It's a shock of white hair that grabs her attention, and all at once, the bar falls away. The Miqo'te woman's tall - for her race - but still only reaches just above chest height on Kiaran. The robes of the scholar fit tightly around her slim form thanks to a bodice, and when she converses with the bartender, her expression screams "no nonsense" 'til the 'tender cracks some joke Kiaran can't quite hear. The mystery Miqo'te laughs, a short and chiming sound, and Kiaran's heart skips a beat. Whatever she shoots back, the 'tender's grin is rueful, the Miqo'te's return smile small and reserved but oh-so-damnably sharp. She must feel eyes upon because when she flips her pale hair over shoulder, it's to set vibrant eyes onto Kiaran. Kiaran's heart skips a beat. Suddenly it's not just the crowd that makes her deeply uncomfortable. She gives a jerking, curt nod of greeting before slinking away and disappearing, but not before casting a backward glance. The Miqo'te's confused, a thing discernable only by the subtle furrow of her brows and the flick of her tail - but it's brief lived, and she's soon back to her business, collecting a tome from the bartender and going about her day. When Kiaran manages to the alleyway, she finds that deepest, darkest corner unoccupied by lovers, waiting there until her drumming heart no longer threatens to keel her over. --- Kiaran's ideal partner is a female Miqo'te, just a bit shorter, with black or white hair and striking eyes. Slimmer build with little in the way of true muscle, light smattering of scars are a bonus, and if they dress femininely, all the better. Viera women, while Kiaran is often enamored by them, are not actually ideal for partnership whatsoever - a point worth clarifying as Kiaran does constant end up doing double takes of white-haired Viera. Their long-lived nature and the alien culture are things she's rapidly coming to realize aren't sustainable for partnership. That said, if this was a question of who she'd lust after, Viera would be number one.