"I... I've business with your Coordinator. He has my letter, I believe."
The words tumbled from her lips like they'd already frozen solid before they'd even fully formed.
"Ah 'spose it's no bother. Quite busy, the master is, but should 'ere be time enough for ye visit, I'll give 'em a whisper.Â
He tipped his wide hat with a fetching smile.
Uncertainty filled Virara's frigid expression. They'd ignored all her attempts to communicate in writing. Spoken to almost everyone who'd looked into them but her. Why was she being greeted at the gate with such casual ease? The checkered man beckoned with a cordial curl of the fingers and tromped up the gravel ahead of them, sedge hat weaving from side to side. He paid more attention to the crops filling each layer of the garden than his diminutive followers. Some soil was still slick and glistening with moisture, a quilt-like black layer of dirt crossed with vines and gourds. Other platforms were submerged in gently rippling water, tiny sprouts emerging from the mud like green gems. The soaked platforms had tiny brass funnels at the edge of each stone terrace to siphon away the excess water to the lower levels. It was a rudimentary application of rice farming methods from mountainous terrain, but it would surely yield enough for the large household ahead. Perhaps the owner wouldn't settle for simply buying goods from another provider when they could raise their own. It was consistent with Kuze's background as agriculturalists.Â
"Bah, soddin' weather. Apples behin' the manor lost f'sure. Nothin' to do for it but replant 'em."
The man's wavering tone chirped upwards and downwards with each step, suggesting a subtle shiver. He glanced downward to Chachanji, blinking and moistening his chapped lips. The groundskeeper had perhaps been out there in the cold wind for the better part of the morning, and the air had undoubtedly left the skin cracked.Â
"Y'some kinda smith or s'thin lad? This a hirin' meetin'?"
There was a curious glimmer in the man's eye. Chachanji perhaps wouldn't think much of it, but it was the look of recognition. Yet he went through the motions of questioning Chachanji anyway, his cheerful voice transparent and loquacious.Â
"Ach, where are my manners?"
The groundskeeper stopped abruptly. Stooping to bow at the waist in the Far Eastern style the two were so familiar with, he took a moment to adjust his ponderous headgear afterward.Â
"I am Rokuro Sorimachi, groundskeep and ah, Kuze Group Factor, Vylbrand Division. 'Lest I was, 'till sis swapped w' me. Responsible for Thanalan, now."
The manner in which he introduced himself was not unlike the woman Chachanji had met at the altar in Southern Thanalan long before. Yet he introduced himself as a groundskeeper first, with very little respect for the title. What was the leader of trade operations in Ul'dah doing hunching his back over lilliputian rice paddies in Vylbrand? Then there was the matter of his 'sis.' Very little of his face remained to identify him as Miyabi's brother. His surname too was entirely different. The quaint introduction was bound to only provoke more questions within Virara, but she chose to ignore them for now. He was, after all, a middleman, and she she was in even less of a mood for unnecessary words.
"Virara."
She gave Sorimachi a curt nod and continued onward towards the mansion. Virara possessed a cursory understanding of manners, but they were as valuable to her as involuntary reflex. Trained habits, not sincere politeness, drove her decorum, and with conscious effort she could easily suppress them. Still, it was far from a pleasant first impression. She could have at least bowed.
"Heh, quiet lass, aren't ye? Needn' say any more. Sorimachi won't be a pest. There's plenty out here w'out myself among the number."
The house's darkened exterior rose ahead of them, much larger than it appeared from the bottom of the hill. Few lights were on. Either the Kuze family was out or it was never particularly large. Of course, it could be that it was only one of their residences. Or perhaps their prodigal adoptee didn't see fit to keep them near, now that they had control of the Group's finances. Its many black windows, like a galleon's battery, yawned emptily into the wind. There were few sights more sobering than an empty home, but somehow it had simply become part of the mansion's chaotic decor.
The words tumbled from her lips like they'd already frozen solid before they'd even fully formed.
"Ah 'spose it's no bother. Quite busy, the master is, but should 'ere be time enough for ye visit, I'll give 'em a whisper.Â
He tipped his wide hat with a fetching smile.
Uncertainty filled Virara's frigid expression. They'd ignored all her attempts to communicate in writing. Spoken to almost everyone who'd looked into them but her. Why was she being greeted at the gate with such casual ease? The checkered man beckoned with a cordial curl of the fingers and tromped up the gravel ahead of them, sedge hat weaving from side to side. He paid more attention to the crops filling each layer of the garden than his diminutive followers. Some soil was still slick and glistening with moisture, a quilt-like black layer of dirt crossed with vines and gourds. Other platforms were submerged in gently rippling water, tiny sprouts emerging from the mud like green gems. The soaked platforms had tiny brass funnels at the edge of each stone terrace to siphon away the excess water to the lower levels. It was a rudimentary application of rice farming methods from mountainous terrain, but it would surely yield enough for the large household ahead. Perhaps the owner wouldn't settle for simply buying goods from another provider when they could raise their own. It was consistent with Kuze's background as agriculturalists.Â
"Bah, soddin' weather. Apples behin' the manor lost f'sure. Nothin' to do for it but replant 'em."
The man's wavering tone chirped upwards and downwards with each step, suggesting a subtle shiver. He glanced downward to Chachanji, blinking and moistening his chapped lips. The groundskeeper had perhaps been out there in the cold wind for the better part of the morning, and the air had undoubtedly left the skin cracked.Â
"Y'some kinda smith or s'thin lad? This a hirin' meetin'?"
There was a curious glimmer in the man's eye. Chachanji perhaps wouldn't think much of it, but it was the look of recognition. Yet he went through the motions of questioning Chachanji anyway, his cheerful voice transparent and loquacious.Â
"Ach, where are my manners?"
The groundskeeper stopped abruptly. Stooping to bow at the waist in the Far Eastern style the two were so familiar with, he took a moment to adjust his ponderous headgear afterward.Â
"I am Rokuro Sorimachi, groundskeep and ah, Kuze Group Factor, Vylbrand Division. 'Lest I was, 'till sis swapped w' me. Responsible for Thanalan, now."
The manner in which he introduced himself was not unlike the woman Chachanji had met at the altar in Southern Thanalan long before. Yet he introduced himself as a groundskeeper first, with very little respect for the title. What was the leader of trade operations in Ul'dah doing hunching his back over lilliputian rice paddies in Vylbrand? Then there was the matter of his 'sis.' Very little of his face remained to identify him as Miyabi's brother. His surname too was entirely different. The quaint introduction was bound to only provoke more questions within Virara, but she chose to ignore them for now. He was, after all, a middleman, and she she was in even less of a mood for unnecessary words.
"Virara."
She gave Sorimachi a curt nod and continued onward towards the mansion. Virara possessed a cursory understanding of manners, but they were as valuable to her as involuntary reflex. Trained habits, not sincere politeness, drove her decorum, and with conscious effort she could easily suppress them. Still, it was far from a pleasant first impression. She could have at least bowed.
"Heh, quiet lass, aren't ye? Needn' say any more. Sorimachi won't be a pest. There's plenty out here w'out myself among the number."
The house's darkened exterior rose ahead of them, much larger than it appeared from the bottom of the hill. Few lights were on. Either the Kuze family was out or it was never particularly large. Of course, it could be that it was only one of their residences. Or perhaps their prodigal adoptee didn't see fit to keep them near, now that they had control of the Group's finances. Its many black windows, like a galleon's battery, yawned emptily into the wind. There were few sights more sobering than an empty home, but somehow it had simply become part of the mansion's chaotic decor.
ã€Œè’¼æ°—ç ²ã€ã‚’使ã‚ã–ã‚‹ã‚’å¾—ãªã„!
AV by Kura-Ou
Wiki (Last updated 01/16)
My Balmung profile.
AV by Kura-Ou
Wiki (Last updated 01/16)
My Balmung profile.