((Just doing these to flesh out a bit of a backstory of Laike. Feel free to read, comment or ignore. Or even hop in if it seems right.))
Potatoes:
I… didn’t realize how expensive a trip to Limsa Lominsa could be. I thought it was kind of me to refuse Mother’s money… It turns out it was just foolish. As I had began to learn, good deeds rarely are rewarded outside of story books and the lies of authority. Luckily, and I use that term loosely, I was able to take an odd job on the oddest of ships set sail. It was there I met Bertold.
He was a large hyur, bald, with a slight underbite. One of his eyes didn’t open completely due to a bit of scar tissue visible on the eyelid, left over from a particularly nasty cut. His jaw was covered in a greying stubble, patchy from various knicks across his skin.
He worked in the galley, rather, what this ship passed off as the galley. It was a small, acrid smelling room with thick, moist air and barrels full of food quite possibly past their prime. There were two other workers. A small, quiet hyur woman named Callista, and a dusky-eyed lalafell named Tumi.
“So yer the soul they sent to us, eh?†Bertold spoke in a deep, slightly monotonous voice. He clicked his tongue, picking up a knife. In his hand, there was a pathetic excuse for a potato. He began slicing away at the skin, humming a small tune to himself as he worked. It too was slightly monotonous, “Well then, pick up a knife an’ a potato will ye?â€
I remember… feeling offended. Why in the hells would I ever be able to do something as menial and pointless as peeling a… damned potato when I had just fled from the home I ever had? It was so foolish, “If you don’t mind… I’ve had a rough go of it…†I tried my best to be polite, “And not exactly in the mind to…â€
“A rough go of it?†Bertold raised his eyes, glancing over at me, “A rough go, ye say? Ah….†His fingers continued to work the skin off his potato as he fell silent for a pregnant moment. Eventually that monotonous voice began again, “Care to share, I wonder?â€
“No.†I spoke bluntly, look up to meet his eyes, “I really, really doubt you’d understand. Just please…â€
He laughed.
Anger creeped up my spine, a slight prickling in the back of my neck as I tensed my jaw, “Look… I just want to…â€
“Tumi…†Bertold looked over to the dusky-eye lalafell, “Remember tha’ wine stall ye owned in Ul’dah?â€
Tumi glanced up. A slight smirk crossed his face before he spat to the side, not caring if it fell near or on the pile of peeled potatoes from their earlier efforts.
“If I be rememberin’ , ye accidentally spilled a glass on tha par-ticly well-dressed woman.†Bertold brought his knife to his cheek, giving one of the patchy spots a small itch, “She be so offended tha’ she ordered her guards destroy the rest of ye reserves, couldn’t afford te keep afloat could ye? Closed down. Home gone. Named ruined, eh?†He paused, “And Callista…â€
The woman didn’t look up. Her lips tightened and she moved faster, peeling the potato with the grace of a marauder attempting magic.
“You ‘ad a thing for tha noble, didn’t ye? One with the dimples.†The knife left his face and fell to the table, tip pressed to the warped wood, “Had a thing for you too. His prick, righ?†Bertold huffed a small laugh, “But tha’ kid he left inside ye? Wasn’t good for appearances, now was it?†He looked down at the table, and slowly dragged the knife, leaving a wound, “Cut it right out of ye… Said it was a mercy te let ye live.â€
Callista looked away. She didn’t want anyone to see her face. Her hand gripped tightly to the knife, shaking slightly. But, strangely... She did nod.
Bertold looked back to me, “Now, someday soon, ye gonna speak up. An we? We will be commisseratin’ with your woes. Because we aren’ soulless. But…†He lifted the knife, bringing it back to the potato, “If ye be thinkin yerself a martyr? You better damn well stop now. `Cause their be more martyrs on the streets of Limsa Lominsa than stars up in those skies.â€
“I…†A slight shame passed over me. I looked towards Callista, trying to find words.
“Don’ feel bad, son. Truth is, you ‘ave had a rough go. See it in your eyes. Jus’ don’ make tha mistake of believin yer the only one. Don’ make the mistake of believin’ that the world will bend to find you an answer to ye worries. Because for you, for all of us? There’s only one answer…â€
I looked toward Bertold… And in that moment he seemed the wisest sage… A man I would journey countless nights to find... to seek counsel from. And so I asked, “What… is the answer?â€
“Survive.†He said plainly, “An’ right now. This very moment, you know how ye be survivin?â€
“How…â€
“By peeling… These motherfucking… Potatoes.â€
Potatoes:
I… didn’t realize how expensive a trip to Limsa Lominsa could be. I thought it was kind of me to refuse Mother’s money… It turns out it was just foolish. As I had began to learn, good deeds rarely are rewarded outside of story books and the lies of authority. Luckily, and I use that term loosely, I was able to take an odd job on the oddest of ships set sail. It was there I met Bertold.
He was a large hyur, bald, with a slight underbite. One of his eyes didn’t open completely due to a bit of scar tissue visible on the eyelid, left over from a particularly nasty cut. His jaw was covered in a greying stubble, patchy from various knicks across his skin.
He worked in the galley, rather, what this ship passed off as the galley. It was a small, acrid smelling room with thick, moist air and barrels full of food quite possibly past their prime. There were two other workers. A small, quiet hyur woman named Callista, and a dusky-eyed lalafell named Tumi.
“So yer the soul they sent to us, eh?†Bertold spoke in a deep, slightly monotonous voice. He clicked his tongue, picking up a knife. In his hand, there was a pathetic excuse for a potato. He began slicing away at the skin, humming a small tune to himself as he worked. It too was slightly monotonous, “Well then, pick up a knife an’ a potato will ye?â€
I remember… feeling offended. Why in the hells would I ever be able to do something as menial and pointless as peeling a… damned potato when I had just fled from the home I ever had? It was so foolish, “If you don’t mind… I’ve had a rough go of it…†I tried my best to be polite, “And not exactly in the mind to…â€
“A rough go of it?†Bertold raised his eyes, glancing over at me, “A rough go, ye say? Ah….†His fingers continued to work the skin off his potato as he fell silent for a pregnant moment. Eventually that monotonous voice began again, “Care to share, I wonder?â€
“No.†I spoke bluntly, look up to meet his eyes, “I really, really doubt you’d understand. Just please…â€
He laughed.
Anger creeped up my spine, a slight prickling in the back of my neck as I tensed my jaw, “Look… I just want to…â€
“Tumi…†Bertold looked over to the dusky-eye lalafell, “Remember tha’ wine stall ye owned in Ul’dah?â€
Tumi glanced up. A slight smirk crossed his face before he spat to the side, not caring if it fell near or on the pile of peeled potatoes from their earlier efforts.
“If I be rememberin’ , ye accidentally spilled a glass on tha par-ticly well-dressed woman.†Bertold brought his knife to his cheek, giving one of the patchy spots a small itch, “She be so offended tha’ she ordered her guards destroy the rest of ye reserves, couldn’t afford te keep afloat could ye? Closed down. Home gone. Named ruined, eh?†He paused, “And Callista…â€
The woman didn’t look up. Her lips tightened and she moved faster, peeling the potato with the grace of a marauder attempting magic.
“You ‘ad a thing for tha noble, didn’t ye? One with the dimples.†The knife left his face and fell to the table, tip pressed to the warped wood, “Had a thing for you too. His prick, righ?†Bertold huffed a small laugh, “But tha’ kid he left inside ye? Wasn’t good for appearances, now was it?†He looked down at the table, and slowly dragged the knife, leaving a wound, “Cut it right out of ye… Said it was a mercy te let ye live.â€
Callista looked away. She didn’t want anyone to see her face. Her hand gripped tightly to the knife, shaking slightly. But, strangely... She did nod.
Bertold looked back to me, “Now, someday soon, ye gonna speak up. An we? We will be commisseratin’ with your woes. Because we aren’ soulless. But…†He lifted the knife, bringing it back to the potato, “If ye be thinkin yerself a martyr? You better damn well stop now. `Cause their be more martyrs on the streets of Limsa Lominsa than stars up in those skies.â€
“I…†A slight shame passed over me. I looked towards Callista, trying to find words.
“Don’ feel bad, son. Truth is, you ‘ave had a rough go. See it in your eyes. Jus’ don’ make tha mistake of believin yer the only one. Don’ make the mistake of believin’ that the world will bend to find you an answer to ye worries. Because for you, for all of us? There’s only one answer…â€
I looked toward Bertold… And in that moment he seemed the wisest sage… A man I would journey countless nights to find... to seek counsel from. And so I asked, “What… is the answer?â€
“Survive.†He said plainly, “An’ right now. This very moment, you know how ye be survivin?â€
“How…â€
“By peeling… These motherfucking… Potatoes.â€