#other ocs: Jace Argyle

[chanaihimaa]

FFXIV Write #8 - Adroit

Chanai drifted away and parked himself against a wall somewhere tucked away from the crowd, a sense of feeling flighty and cantankerous plucking at his seams like a delicately stringed lyre. The meeting of a man with more weight than the mass he carried on his person was in order this night – someone worth striking a deal with – and, damn it all, now he’d gone and let Jace out of his sight. The cogs of his imagination was unkind, painting visions of someone skewering the man in the back with a knife. There was no dignity about it – none at all. But some would feel Jace didn’t deserve it and now… No. No, no-one was going to stab Jace in the back. Not here. But that didn’t stop Chanai from chewing through his cheek and his attempts to cease the sweat accumulating in his palms. Gods damnit, what had gotten into him? As adroit as he was at working these things before, he knew this game like the back of his hand. So what the Hells was wrong with him?

“Are you Chanai?”

His train of thought abruptly stuttered. Chanai glanced once, gave a double-take, and furrowed his brow under a heavy frown at the woman as if he had been outright insulted, his jaw setting. “Feck off,” he bristled bluntly before a far more articulate thought could come to mind. A suitably mortified gasp fueled the woman’s departure without so much as another word. …That was cruel, he regrettably thought, a momentary twist in the low of his belly quicker than the belated urge to wring his fingers. Surely she didn’t mean any harm by it, did she? That woman didn’t deserve being snapped at, even if she probably was no better than the people she surrounded herself with. These kind of people… They didn’t think they’re selfish, but they are. Some might even convince themselves that they, to a vast degree, were good. They may hold charitable events under questionable circumstances with no show for where exactly the gil went other than plump their already fatten gil purses and feel partly moved to spare their leftovers to those in and outside the walls for the sake of making themselves feel better. Just enough to say they’ve done ‘their part’ to help them sleep at night and carry on with their life. It disgusted him, viscerally. Playing this part, being around them longer than he necessarily had to b– “You wouldn’t mind if I stand here, do you?” Fuck me sideways. Chanai barely acknowledged the older man that approached him. “Ain’t no stoppin’ you,” he muttered distractdely, searching the crowd for Jace’s figure. Jace was tall enough that one really just needed to be on the look-out for someone that fit the ‘silver fox’ description. He spied Dina, caught up in conversation with some other halfwit, but Jace was gone. Godsdamn. Probably schmoozing, but– “Cigarette?” The man attempted to offer him. “Not from you,” Chanai automatically quipped. He had more things on his plate to worry about. “Ahhh~ I get it. Not one for things like this, I take it.” the man mused. It was then Chanai felt obliged to at least spare a look, if only to understand why he hadn’t taken the hint yet. He was probably the same age as Jace; blonde, a little shorter with a forgettable face. The man sniffed on a rather dry curl of a soft smirk as he fiddled to light his own cigarette. “Are you sure? You look like you could use a cigarette,” he tried. Chanai’s eyes subtly narrowed. “I’a don’t do small-talk,” he said, shortly. Jace, he thought, almost a little frantically, as he turned his eyes to scan the crowd once more, why’d you have to fucking bring me here?

“I know,” the man murmured, exhaling a small flume of smoke. “I was watching you. You’re quite unfriendly, you know,” he noted absently, letting cigarette ash drop onto the marble floor at his feet. “I like that.” Oh, Gods, a melter. Not now. Chanai resisted the urge to bolt for the nearest exit. “Sounds like a right problem for you t’work through on your own, aye?” He didn’t mean it to be funny. He never meant for it to sound funny in any way, but the man laughed all the same. “I guess it is,” the man chuckled, taking it as an invitation. “You’re the new addition making a muck of things, aren’t you?  The one who sold information over for…” A twinkle of intrigue illuminated caramel brown eyes. An annoyed click of his tongue. “M’sorry, and you are?” Chanai asked, irritated despite himself. “Arnor,” the man introduced himself without falter as he turned his body slightly to rest his leaning shoulder against the wall, his sandy hair sweeping along his shoulders. Tobacco smoke curled Chanai’s face with a quiet reverence, tainted and sour. “Arnor Coldren, son of the friend of a friend. I’m afraid asking who is out of the question.” A snort. “Will I, yeah?” “The point is, I’m a wealthier lay than you, without a doubt, will ever have,” the stranger’s head canted softly on a smokey exhale. “What do you think?” For the first time that evening, Chanai felt the soothing wave of calm he’s felt all night wash over him as he stared up at Arnor and straight into his eyes. “O’what? A right-bollix with a face that could drive rats from a barn? Come now, lad. If nothin’ else, ‘ve got standards. Don’t insult me.”

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@roguestly for the mention of her oc, Jace!