#shale'to

[thanidiel]

Prompt Seventeen: “Obeisant”

She urged Gumi to help her nail a little prayer altar into her wall, a few months after she was onboard.

She liked the look of it; it was fancy, with that lacquered blackwood and the intricate little bronze incense-burner that dragons spiraled out from, and the little polished plates that fruit ought to be held in. Empty, and thus uninhabited, which gave it a sort of strange, ethereal, sense to her.

The altar back in Yanxia was several levels more humble. All it comprised itself of was a clay pot, that in ‘legend’, Mother had made in the sun and river then placed onto the floor opposite of their bedding, on its own straw mat. She does not remember any time in which its belly was not full of ashes and little red sticks where the incense had burned all the way down; much like the zu and other wandering jin that Father would attest for.

She remembers, when little Hui was exceptionally bored as a young child and Eldest Brother pretending he was ‘too old’ to play with her, how she would run her fingers through the cold, silken, ash mound. She would create mountain ranges, valleys, rivers, and plains, with deft strokes of her tiny hands through the soft particles.

The lack of that, the ashes, is probably what makes her current altar feel so alluringly frigid to her; stifling the tingling embers of a decade’s untouched home.

If there were any.

No reverence; no zu.

She has always thought it is the dumbest shit that one’s zu only come out when you feed and house them, and only appreciate it when you do it regularly, at that. ‘else they lose their shit and turn into gui.

Bratty, is what that is, like shriveled ayi. 

Perhaps they are practicing for the afterlife.

She lays sprawled out atop the fluffy white comforter covering her bed, oriented towards its feet and her head half-resting on the mattress. Her hair spills over the side. And she has been in this position for some time, her gaze keeping both that dormant altar, and a pack of incense the drunkard Miqo’te had thought to purchase to match the shrine, in sight.

Xiaohu feels her lips twist into a pout - then relax shortly after from the disruption of Shale’to opening another bottle down the hallway.

Truthfully, it’s not that she doesn’t have deference for the jin. She would call herself a faithful person, at least in thought and theory.

She just isn’t sure it’s worth the hassle to invite them and go the full malm.

The zu would be pissed at her if they weren’t already cursing her name and Mother’s womb up the generations to the first Zhen.

Abandoned filial duties; check. Cuts her hair; check. Shaves everything else; check. Tattooed, practically, her whole body; check. Unabashedly out of touch with nature; check. Doesn’t watch her hot and cold energies; check. Ruined the family name for the next few generations until they all forget Zhen Hui who fucked up everything; big-fucking-check.

She could keep fucking going to herself.

Instead, against everything, she swings her feet off of the bed to stand up. And, almost angrily, she snatches up that incense pack off of the table.

Goes through the whole motions of pulling one out, then ‘clearing her mind’, then lighting it, letting it burn some before carefully moving the delicate stick about, letting its smoke disperse through the room. She was supposed to be conscientiously thinking about their zu now, or any other sort of jin she wanted to revere. But if she had to be honest; she didn’t remember the old names anymore of those who came before. Just vague bits and pieces of their feats.

So she thinks of Father who did this every sunrise and every sunset, and how his loam hair flowed down his person then, for he had not tied it up yet, and his long beard and his strong brows made him look like a dragon that has just burst from the seamist, more than he looked a farmer. She thinks of his prominent, ‘fat’, sun-shaped cheeks and how the way they engulfed his face made his eyes look like he was always humoured. And she thinks of his deeply rich, brown, skin and how her’s was so much shades paler.

She didn’t even know if he is dead or not. That’d be another checkmark, having never performed the needed grieving rituals. But it is what comes strongest. Perhaps it’s intent that matters with this sort of thing, he was dead in practice to her after all.

Maybe he’d feel it.

She wonders if he still loved her memory enough to accept this.

She places that lonely incense stick into the inside of that untouched burner, watches the column of ash that had been precariously balanced atop of the band of traveling heat collapse into the bronze inside.

And then she reaches over, carefully locating that heat between her thumb and finger. 

Extinguishes it.

Despite the brief pain, and the swelling that would send into her soft skin.

She pulls out the stick, tossing it onto the growing paper-trash collected on that roundtable. Then Xiaohu grasps the metal pot by one handle, tilting it to settle onto its side as she reaches in with her burned hand, wiping out every grain of the minute ash offering.

Better not.

[shale-to]

A Cold Start

Ishgard was a cold, shitty place. Full of pompous nobles, and poverty-striken street urchins.

Shale’to pulled his cloak tighter over himself, growling quietly as his tail flicked repeatedly from side to side.  The Runner had been docked for a while, and his hand was forced to make this trip on his own.  He had braved the skies on a rickety airship called the Spinner, which was horrifically accurate.  The thing spiraled in the sky.  It made him sick, and the thought of flying back on it?  It made him feel even worse.

He shook his head, sending his auburn and grey-streaked hair flying a bit.  ‘You need to focus,’ he muttered to himself.  Down the snow-spattered cobblestone he went, boots sounding loud and reverberating with hollow echoes that bounced to and fro, from building to building.  Before long, he exited the great city, and traveled down a beaten path.

It would not be long before a vast estate, with a lovely snow-blanketed mansion, greeted his sight.  Turning onto the stone path that, he would in time finally reach the door.  Shale’to glanced over it, before he finally gave three heavy knocks.  A timid looking hyur woman opened the door.

“Y-Yes, how may I help you, sir?”

A most charming grin spread across his features, and he offered a nod of his head.  His sea rat accent was dropped for something proper. “You should be able to help me, indeed.  I am Shale’to, seeking Olfort Trieveaux, lord of the house.  I am here on business, on behalf of the Neldawn clan.”

Her eyes lit up and she nodded quickly. “Please, come in!  He has been expecting you.  Make yourself at home by the hearth, I will see to it that the servants bring drink and food, you look weary.”

Oh, damn, he was so happy to be brought inside.  The fire was warm, and the food and drink brought to him were amazing.  Delicious, he dared to say.  He had eaten his fill, and drank only a small bit, before he sat down and resigned himself to wait.  The servant folk didn’t really interact, save for trying to push more wine on him, but he politely refused.

The tell-tale sound of fancy shoes clicking along the hall caught his attention.  Finally, the lord of the house was here.  Up from the chair he moved, quick to make himself look presentable.  There were a few stray crumbs here and there, quickly swatted away.

“Shale’to, good evening!  How was your trip?” The tall Elezen fellow seemed to just flow fluidly into the room, edges of his long coat brushing along the ground, almost effectively hiding his gait.  He was dressed in regal purple and black, with long white hair slicked back, and small glasses perched upon his nose.  He looked young, and old, all at once.  The Elezen were a strange sort, the Miqo’te mused.

“It was long and a tad bit cold, but I have been thoroughly warmed here in your home.  Thank you for meeting with me.”

Olfort nodded and bowed his head with a wide smile, and went to take up residence in a high-backed chair that was clearly his favorite, just opposite of Shale’to, who moved to sit back down as well.  He took up a glass of wine and sipped at it a moment.

“You have expressed interest in raising chocobo in the past, I have heard.  It is difficult to raise them here, the land is harsh and unrelenting.  There has been some success in raising them, but they are often limited to inner-city work.” Olfort raised a brow and hummed, nodding slowly.

“Indeed.  They are frail, and often saved for important events, and have to be brought back to the warm stables often, lest they freeze to the streets.” Shale’to gave a nod, now.

“Right.  There have been recent developments in Eorzea’s chocobo breeds, where larger and thicker-bodied chocobo have been developed.  Some of normal feather type, others more downy, and I believe if bred and raised in Ishgard, they could take to the cold like no other before.  They are very hardy.  The Neldawn clan would be willing to put forth a large sum of gil, to match your own, to break ground and get this started.”

Olfort looked intense, eyes widening, listening as Shale’to spoke to him.

“It would be a slow development in the beginning, for sure, but when the first few clutches hatch, grow, and begin to prove themselves…  The demand for these birds would skyrocket.  Not only nobility would have an elegant and sturdy riding chocobo that can withstand cold, the common-folk would have strong chocobo to help pull loads of coal, ore, and more.”

The Elezen stroked at his chin for a long moment, looking to the fire.  He brought the wine to his lips, draining a small portion, before he hummed and mused over his thoughts.

“All that scares me is the amount needed in the investment.  This is a massive sum of gil, that we both must contribute.  A long term investment, to boot.  There will be no immediate turn around.” “I understand your reluctance, but this is a market yet to be realized.  When business begins to boom, your name will be well known throughout the region.  Nobles from all corners of the land will flock to you.  Recognition, and gil, is a very appealing thing.  You would be in a marvelous position to elevate yourself, and your family, in society.  What do you say?” Olfort set his glass of wine down and leaned forward, offering a hand.

“We have a deal, my friend.  Let us sign the paperwork, and get financing in order.”

A wide grin spread across Shale’to’s face and he reached out, taking hold of the Elezen’s hand, shaking quite firmly.

“Wonderful!  I just so happen to have everything we need right here…”

A roll of papers was removed from beneath his own coat, and the string binding them snipped with his short claws.  Shale’to spread them out across a nearby table, and directed Olfort to several spots, gaining his signature in each area.

“I will see to it that this returns to the clan quickly, and is passed to the proper people.  It will not be long before I return, and when I do, we will be able to begin construction.  In the meantime, please look over the blueprints, and if you feel any changes should be made…  Send a letter my way.”

After a few more rounds of wine, chatter, and a bit more food, the sun was rising and Shale’to found himself departing.  The bitter cold bit through his gear, and he was back on the path to the terrible ship he sailed in on.  It was all worth it, though…  He achieved his goal.  It was a long time in the making, this whole plan.

He very much looked forward to delivering the good news to Tal’orei.

[pyorzea]

The Baes

@raserus

[pyrar]

“Do you know how long it’s been, Shale? Half a year, now. That’s how long...”

Shale’to and Tal’orei had a small conversation tonight.

@raserus

[pydoodles]

And a late little birthday gift for @raserus that’s super shabby...

I colored ur boy... aka my boy because i love the grumpy boy.

[thanidiel]

Prompt Eighteen: “Wilt”

She tried to keep them alive.

She really did.

She even borrowed some… plant resources from Prisa that the Doctor had told her to put into the soil and water. Only watered them once every two days. Even stuck them in the hallway window so they’d soak in the light.

But they were wilting now.

Sure, flowers are supposed to be temporary and everything, but Yellow Rose gave those to her.

Motherfuckers couldn’t last just another sennight at least.

Xiaohu huffed, a dramatic sort of motion that moved through her chest and shook her shoulders as she bent over the sil, propping up the drooping plant with a finger.

She scolded the inanimate creature without a care if those two bookworms or Shale’to heard her, “Honestly, I didn’t even have to try to keep you fuckers alive,” snapped out to the dying thing. Pushing off of the wall, she picked up the little pot and started walking down the hallway; she’d go to Yellow Rose’s little area, throw the damned things into compost, and give the rest of everything back.

She didn’t even have to take these things. Almost didn’t want to: they were ugly. Not in the objective sense, but in the sense that she explained arm-in-arm to Prisa back in Ishgard - that pretty things turn foul from memory.

Pink balsam flowers that ‘matched’ her.

She hated balsams.

They were amongst the most ‘popular’ choices of flowers that patrons of the teahouse used to send to her like some grandfather’s idea of foreplay: stuffy people, like most of Hingashi, would say they symbolise a ‘passionate, eager, love.’ In truer words, balsams are the type of flower one sends to a mistress or favoured whore when they grow restless between encounters.

Of course, it’s not like the Roegadyn or anyone else around here was proficient in the stupid symbolism and hidden languages that layered over every single part of Hingan socialising. It wasn’t Rose’s fault, so she took the fucking flowers with a grin and an easy sidelong hug to the taller woman’s hip.

And so she tried to keep them alive anyway; cultivate something good and new from them.

But she doesn’t have a green thumb like Rose, or Prisa, or Adrian.

She looked down at the plant as she walked.

“Next pot, not you fuckers,” she resolved.

That seemed to make the flowers sag just a tad more.

@kinari @pyorzea @witchesandlotuses

[pyorzea]

“Bein’ with ye, makes me happy.”

“Makes me happy too, Tali.”

@raserus

[shale-to]