#to investigate the possible villainy lurking

[justajuicyfan]

@miruyumiweek Day 6 - Masquerade

idk the details but something something Fuyumi taking her brothers place at a masquerade.... Miruko going undercover as a guest... girlies good luck finding each other when this is all over

[starswornoaths]

A Second Introduction

Ser Aymeric had known the Warrior of Light for some months now, even before she had stepped foot into his city.

He had not realized that he did not know Serella Arcbane.

Or: Two dorks who don’t know how to people outside of work awkwardly decide to be friends. More at 11.

Though the hour was late when Aymeric was informed that the Warrior of Light had returned from her work with Lord Emmanellain in the Sea of Clouds and awaited admittance to report to him, he gladly granted her permission to enter; it was not as though he was not already working, anyroad. He rose from his seat to greet her as she strode in, offering her a cordial smile despite the hard set grimace on her face.

“I bid you welcome, Mistress Arcbane,” he greeted her. “I pray your excursions did not tax you overly much?”

“It was another job,” she said with a shrug. “Naught more.” She pursed her lips. “Though for all the good it did; I fear we are only marginally closer to a solution for the trouble.” She rolled her shoulder until it cracked loudly. “With Bismark summoned and lurking in the clouds like a watchdog, the Vanu Vanu have been quieted, but for how long, who can say.” She frowned. “That Bismark will need slaying is inevitable— we need only figure out how to reach him.”

“Any progress is welcome,” Aymeric answered diplomatically. “And I thank you for your help.” He gestured to a report he only just received by the youngest Fortemps— written in a hand clearly still trembling. “You come only just after I received word for Lord Emmanellain himself on the matter.”

“Would you still want my report, then?” Serella asked with an arch of her brow even as she set the paper she had writ upon his desk. “Doubtless you are curious to know what happened.”

“I know little and less of precisely what you have done; Lord Emmanellain’s report only just arrived before yourself,” he admitted. He crossed his arms. “Though I know the end result: a son of House Fortemps has been rescued, and though there is still concern for a summoned primal, I am forced to defer to your expertise on the matter.” He closed his eyes a moment, choosing his words carefully. “You have not played us false thus far, and your results speak for themselves.” He opened his eyes and looked at her again. “Though I would be glad to learn aught you would be willing to tell me.”

He watched the way her eyes narrowed at him, scrutinizing him. He met her stare evenly as he let his arms fall back to his sides; he had learned she spoke little to those she was not close to. Doubtless she was debating on saying anything else at all.

Which, truly, was a sign of improvement; she never lingered willingly.

“Alright,” Serella said finally, sighing heavily. Her shoulders slumped even as she placed her hands on her hips. “I give up.”

Of all the statements he had anticipated from her, that was certainly not one of them.

“Pardon?” He blurted, his surprise evident on his face.

“I give up,” she repeated with a shake of her head. “I’ve tried, but I don’t get you.” Her eyes narrowed further. “What’s your game?”

“I,” he stumbled with how to answer; while fluent in political doublespeak, he felt far less sure of himself in the face of someone asking a direct question in such a manner. “I fear you have me at a disadvantage,” he admitted. “What do you mean?”

“You serve the Holy See,” she stated.

“I serve Ishgard.” He answered vaguely.

“Semantics.” She argued, shifting her weight to one foot. She crossed her arms. “You play their game of politics—everyone in Ishgard is forced to play along—but you toe the line more than anyone I’ve met.” She shrugged. “And yet you seem to hold integrity and pragmatism where your peers do not.” Her frown deepened. “I don’t know what your agenda is—only what it is not.”

“What it is not?” He asked with an arch of his brow.

“I have been,” she began, rolling her shoulders again. “I won’t pretend I’ve been subtle in my reluctance to trust.”

He was in no position to correct her; she had not been. “You have conducted yourself professionally,” he said instead— and said in truth, to be fair. “T’was all I expected.” Another truth, all told.

“I had my reasons,” she said softly—and for a moment, he almost swore he saw regret flicker in her eyes. “Not the least of which was everything that brought me here.”

“I had presumed as such,” he reassured her—for truly, to expect her to be open and trusting after the circumstances that had thrown her against their gates would be unreasonable.

“It was more than that, though,” she admitted, her brow furrowing. “I had so strongly suspected you as a conspirator for what happened in Ul’Dah.” She admitted, her eyes lowering as if in shame. “From the first. For longer than I probably should have.”

What.

“I,” he floundered, “am at a loss.” He admitted with a shake of his head—evidently this was a night he would spend in stunned stupidity. “Though I take no offense, may I ask why?”

“The timing of your invitation to the Falling Snows.” She explained. “Ser Lucia—and your missive— arrived at the Rising Stones on the same day as my learning that the Crystal Braves were funded in large part by the Syndicate, and on heels of us confirming that there was a Garlean spy in the ranks of the Braves.”

“Truly?” He chanced—his timing could not have been that poor, surely.

“I was informed of your request for a meeting and told that our investigation had hit a dead end in the same breath, Lord Commander.” She said flatly, her expression blanched. “So yes, the timing was about as piss poor as it could have possibly been.”

“Ah,” Aymeric said—and felt foolish for the utterance. It certainly explained her cordial but distant reception of him. “Though such rushed villainy must have seemed suspect?”

“I thought as much,” Serella admitted. “Though I was willing to put it down to thirty years of isolation dulling a nation’s capacity for subtlety.” With a heavy sigh she shook her head. “Then I came here, and swiftly realized that subtlety is the official Ishgardian language.”

That got a startled laugh out of him. “A point I am forced to concede,” he admitted around his chuckling. “We are not known for disclosure.” He tilted his head as he thought for a moment. “Though I wonder— what changed your mind?” He asked. “What decided my innocence?”

“You’ve had more than enough time to use me for your own gain,” she said, shrugging. “But you haven’t.” She frowned. “I would be in no position to refuse you; all those whom I have left to protect would rely on my compliance, regardless of your intent.” She shook her head. “But you’ve not once asked anything of me but to report to you what I find out, and conduct myself with respect.”

“And I would ask no more of you than that.” He answered.

“And that,” she said with an emphatic nod. “That is what exonerated you: I learned enough of you to realize that you wouldn’t.”

“I see.” He said haltingly, though after a moment of debate decided to ask, “but why extend this candor to me at all?” When her brows raised in surprise he added, “if we are speaking candidly, you said yourself that I serve the Holy See, whom you have admitted to harboring apprehensions regarding.” Not unfounded apprehensions, he thought to himself, but the point still stood. “So why reach out to me in such a way at all?”

“I know you as well as I know the Archbishop,” Serella admitted. “But that’s all I need to know in order to see that the two of you are nothing alike.”

Well, she didn’t need to know she’d just made his decade, saying that, but still. She had.

“I think you’re Ishgard’s best bet,” she continued. “But I only think that from what little I’ve heard from other people, not from knowing you, and waiting you out is getting me nowhere.” She pressed with a huff. “So I give up.” She shrugged. “I know you to be a man of conviction but I know so little else that I cannot trust you, much as I want to.” The hard edges of her countenance softened. “Just tell me what you’re after. I want to work with you, Ser Aymeric.”

He paused, heavily weighing her words against his wants. His dreams of a reformed Ishgard, one with open gates and lowered spears and peace was still a carefully guarded secret—none save Lucia and Handeloup knew. Doubtless others suspected, at least to some decree, but he had gone to great lengths to present himself as naught more than another underling in lock step with the Archbishop.

She wanted to trust him? He would gladly say much the same for her—and an eagerness at a real opportunity to do so welled in his chest.

Even still, these were uncharted waters, and he had to tread with care. He had opened his hand too eagerly before, and still bore the scars of those that bit him for the trouble.

“I want,” Aymeric began slowly. “A conclusion to the Dragonsong War in which Ishgard is still standing.” He paused, mulling over just how far he was willing to tip his hand. “And…I want to better understand our Eorzean neighbors.”

“A vague enough answer that tells me nothing I didn’t already know.” Serella surmised with a sigh of resignation. “Alright, then. Keep your secrets.” She said simply, shrugging. “Twelve know I haven’t exactly made myself an open book.”

“You came to us in a difficult time.” Aymeric said, erring on the side of diplomacy, as ever. “’Tis little wonder you were so reluctant to trust.”

“Still am, if I’m being honest.” She admitted. “But…being bullheaded is no way to make allies, let alone friends,” she said. “It doesn’t matter that I’ve been burned—I have to remember that.”

“Pray do not take the blame solely upon yourself,” he insisted. “I have done little to make myself approachable either.”

The tension that had almost perpetually clenched her jaw in the months that he had known her eased. She nodded slowly, her eyes drifting downward in thought.

“Then perhaps,” Serella chanced. “We could chalk it up to being poorly introduced.”

“I would be glad to do so.” Aymeric admitted—perhaps tipping his hand a touch further than he had expected to. “Though I suppose ours was hardly a first introduction at all.”

“I suppose not.” Serella agreed with a laugh and a shrug of her shoulders. Her eyes glittered when they met his again. “I get so few of them nowadays—most just look at me and decide they already know who I am.”

Recalling his own first words to her— ‘Speaking of reputations, yours towers over us all, does it not?’ – Aymeric winced inwardly. He wondered little and less why she had been so reluctant to thaw, the more he dwelled on her perspective.

“A precedent I fear I have only perpetuated,” he said apologetically. “And one for which I must make amends.”

“No need.” She dismissed, tugging at one of her gloves. “I’ll settle for a proper introduction.”

“I would be happy to oblige,” he said, his own smile slowly forming of its own volition. “Though tell me, is it common for Eorzeans to be so quick to forgive and forget?”

“Want to know what kind of reception you’ll get in the Alliance?” She asked with an arch of her brow.

“In part.” He answered with a wry twist of his lips.

“Then start with me,” Serella said, pulling her glove completely off. “And you’ll find out.” The scars along her lips stretched when she smiled. “Though I wonder if I’ll have to have much the same chat with every Ishgardian I meet.”

“Perhaps start with me,” Aymeric offered in kind. “And you might be surprised.”

“I might.” She said, and held out her gloveless hand for him to shake. “Serella Arcbane,” she introduced herself. “Purveyor of puns, and lover of a good cuppa.”

Her smile was beaming and warm and so unlike the stoic face of the Warrior of Light that he had thought he had come to know in recent months that for a moment, it truly felt as though Aymeric were meeting Serella for the first time. As he removed the clasps on one of his long, fingerless scalemail gloves he felt his own genuine smile spread of its own accord.

“Aymeric de Borel,” he introduced himself— because he had not before, he realized. Her hand felt warm when he shook it. “A connoisseur of confections and mystery books in equal measure.”

“Alright, you I’m sure I’ll like.” Serella tossed her head back and laughed even as she slid her glove back on. “I shall have to recommend you a book or two in between saving the world.” She inclined her head in a bow, though the friendly smile on her face remained. “Until then, Ser Aymeric.”

“I look forward to it Mistr—” Aymeric began.

“Serella.” She corrected him with a shake of her head. “Anything else sounds pretentious on my part.”

“...I look forward to it, Serella,” he amended with a chuckle.

As he placed his gauntlet back on and he watched her smile at him and leave his office, watched the way she walked with a swagger she did not have before, he saw her as everything that Haurchefant had told him she was: an earnest adventurer— and a stalwart friend, if you let her in.

The door was opened. It was time to see who they truly were, and how they worked together.