#y'shtola: jumps to fairly reasonable conclusions

[charlottedabookworm]

#7 - Speculate

y’know i’ve only just realised that i’m pretty sure that minfilia doesn’t have chairs in front of her desk? like, i don’t care, i’m not changing what i’ve written, but it was a weird realisation to have. anyway, prompt fill for day 7 of ffxivwrite and it’s once again the time travel au, no spoilers for anything past early-ARR. y’shtola pov and minimal angst (well, until you get to the end and imagine set’s pov for this and realise that actually this is full of angst)

:D

Their newest member does not stomp his way into the solar.

Nay, his steps are too light for that, footwork too engrained into him for something as simple as rage to seep into his stance. Yet the man himself is an image of fury as he sweeps into the solar, his tail bristling behind him.

Set looks one wrong word away from biting someone and Y’shtola can almost see a set of flattened ears upon his crown. He is miqo’te ire incarnate, despite the scales and horns that frame his face, and she feels her tail stiffening in response.

“Ah, Set.” Minfilia is saying even as Shtola sends Thancred a glare when he opens his mouth. “Is aught amiss?” Her tone is worried but there is a smile playing at her lips.

Y’shtola frowns, changing her look at Thancred to something more inquisitive. The hyur looks as lost as she is.

The auri hisses, tail shuddering. His eyes narrow. “Which one?”

Minfilia laughs. “I had the most delightful call just a handful of days ago.” She says, smile set fully upon her lips, and she doesn’t even flinch as Set steps forwards. Thancred tenses and as does she; the Auri seemed a nice enough person, but they had yet to see him in this sort of fury.

Yet all Set does is collapse into the chair before Minfilia’s desk and curl his tail about his wrist. “Please tell me they are not doing something stupid and reckless.”

 “Your sister mentioned dressing for snow…?” And, as Minfilia trails off in a way that is distinctly teasing, Y’shtola blinks. Reassesses. 

Not blind rage, the protective worry and fury towards those who one considered kin.

Ah, she thinks, her tail relaxing. Her fellow scions relax around her. Truly, she had allowed her speculations to overwhelm her instincts. 

Set groans, snapping her from her thoughts. “They’ll be practising their lancework until they drop,” he hisses.

“Oh,” Y’shtola says, eyebrow raised in quiet inquiry. “I was not aware your siblings were lancers, Set?”

His eyes dart towards her and they’re dark. Old. Knowing. A corner of his mouth twitches up. He looks away. “They’re not.” He confirms.

This time, Minfilia is not the only one to laugh.