“I make a good breakfast, huh?†The Garlean seemed to chuckled slightly as he made his way up the stairs to the Hourglass. He could count on Spahro to say plenty of interesting things, but an attempt to compliment him was not one he could honestly say he expected. The room he preferred may have involved more steps than a person who had drunk so much would have preferred, but it was worth it. It was exactly what he wanted in a room. A good view of the evening sky. Secluded enough that he did not need to hear any of the other guests.
A lock on the door.
He removed his vest, boots and jewelry. A small pair of metal bands from his ears and a couple rings were unpleasant to sleep with while worn. And lastly, he dispelled the glamour that hid his third eye. Privacy was a pleasant commodity. Somewhere he did not need to hide anything. He could take the time to reflect on the last few suns. Of where his life was going and where it had gone.
Kage. He expected to receive a reply letter from the lalafell at what would assuredly be another inconvenient time. They simply seems to arrive that way. In his heart, he knew that he would have to eventually travel to Ishgard. To manage to find a way to speak to the Kirche family. To let them know their youngest son was dead. THe lalafell would surely find a way to force his hand or mouth to go to the frozen over land. To deal with somehow entering through the city gates. House Kirche was just a mid-sized retainer of House Dzemael. The Elezen that lived there would likely not care who he was. And why should they? He was not their runaway son. Franz might have had to accept that the Ishgardian Duskwight influences in his head were not his own, but the man they had belonged to were not there. Nor would he ever be.
Roen. How the girl had had such a different experience in Eorzea was beyond his understanding. Perhaps the rumors of her origins had been true. It didn’t really matter to him anymore. As asked, he had provided no information on Nero to any who had asked, however few that was. He had only seen her in passing a few times after, but that was how things were. There were times it was nice to speak of Garlemald in a positive light, and that was something he thought she could provide. He knew that a certain white-haired woman likely kept watch on Roen as much as she kept watch on him. But such knowledge was yet only another reason to refuse to go anywhere near Ishgard or its people. The last time he’d seen her, it was at the Still Shore. There was a slight curiosity to wonder if she had joined them.
Thinking back onto his time in the Coral Sea, he could not particularly say he regretted any moments. At the time, the stability was nice. They had welcomed him without too many serious questions and for a while, it was like a home. But one does not bring danger into their home, so he left. The possibility that he might unknowingly bring slaughter to innocent people had not sat well with the Garlean. It was easier to just resume life as a mercenary, travelling between any which land he wanted. There was the cottage in the Black Shroud and the inn room in Ul’dah. What else did he really need? Still, it tugged on him. He had left without a word, leaving any number of possessions behind. with any luck, they were put to use.
There was still more time before he would fall asleep. Seeing people he had once so easily found the time to speak with, distance. Edda was off doing whatever it was she was doing, hopefully no longer staring into pots and bags of unprepared food as if a meal would materialize. Jancis, he would sometimes see at the Grindstone, their schedules permitting. He didn’t like she she’d seemed to have lost the smile she used to carry around, likely made no better from his past behavior. Seeing the conjurer smile was reassuring. That another day could go by without issue. It was of much surprise to him when she asked for advice on teaching. He only wished he could have given better, more applicable, examples. Perhaps they could meet for tea, or just something small. It was perhaps what he missed most about having left the Coral Sea. That the people he had become accustomed to seeing nearby were no longer there, even if such choices were his own making. Likewise, there were people he did not always wish to see, but they could be thought of another time.
As he doused the lamped and made his way to the bed, he lightly felt his jaw in the place it has been dislocated. After having lived for so long in a state where everything felt like pain, it was an odd sensation to feel fine. It was partly why he had asked so earnestly of Tengri. And how it’d felt to experience it, even if the pain did not last long. Franz has been disappointed at how quickly the sharp pain of a dislocated joint simply became a dull throb, until even that was unnoticed. Yes, it was nice to not experience every waking moment in such a state that even fabric could be likened to the slice of a blade, but there was a deficit of feeling. Perhaps he was simply lonely.
As he drifted off into sleep, not even dreams of the past would bother him that evening.
A lock on the door.
He removed his vest, boots and jewelry. A small pair of metal bands from his ears and a couple rings were unpleasant to sleep with while worn. And lastly, he dispelled the glamour that hid his third eye. Privacy was a pleasant commodity. Somewhere he did not need to hide anything. He could take the time to reflect on the last few suns. Of where his life was going and where it had gone.
Kage. He expected to receive a reply letter from the lalafell at what would assuredly be another inconvenient time. They simply seems to arrive that way. In his heart, he knew that he would have to eventually travel to Ishgard. To manage to find a way to speak to the Kirche family. To let them know their youngest son was dead. THe lalafell would surely find a way to force his hand or mouth to go to the frozen over land. To deal with somehow entering through the city gates. House Kirche was just a mid-sized retainer of House Dzemael. The Elezen that lived there would likely not care who he was. And why should they? He was not their runaway son. Franz might have had to accept that the Ishgardian Duskwight influences in his head were not his own, but the man they had belonged to were not there. Nor would he ever be.
Roen. How the girl had had such a different experience in Eorzea was beyond his understanding. Perhaps the rumors of her origins had been true. It didn’t really matter to him anymore. As asked, he had provided no information on Nero to any who had asked, however few that was. He had only seen her in passing a few times after, but that was how things were. There were times it was nice to speak of Garlemald in a positive light, and that was something he thought she could provide. He knew that a certain white-haired woman likely kept watch on Roen as much as she kept watch on him. But such knowledge was yet only another reason to refuse to go anywhere near Ishgard or its people. The last time he’d seen her, it was at the Still Shore. There was a slight curiosity to wonder if she had joined them.
Thinking back onto his time in the Coral Sea, he could not particularly say he regretted any moments. At the time, the stability was nice. They had welcomed him without too many serious questions and for a while, it was like a home. But one does not bring danger into their home, so he left. The possibility that he might unknowingly bring slaughter to innocent people had not sat well with the Garlean. It was easier to just resume life as a mercenary, travelling between any which land he wanted. There was the cottage in the Black Shroud and the inn room in Ul’dah. What else did he really need? Still, it tugged on him. He had left without a word, leaving any number of possessions behind. with any luck, they were put to use.
There was still more time before he would fall asleep. Seeing people he had once so easily found the time to speak with, distance. Edda was off doing whatever it was she was doing, hopefully no longer staring into pots and bags of unprepared food as if a meal would materialize. Jancis, he would sometimes see at the Grindstone, their schedules permitting. He didn’t like she she’d seemed to have lost the smile she used to carry around, likely made no better from his past behavior. Seeing the conjurer smile was reassuring. That another day could go by without issue. It was of much surprise to him when she asked for advice on teaching. He only wished he could have given better, more applicable, examples. Perhaps they could meet for tea, or just something small. It was perhaps what he missed most about having left the Coral Sea. That the people he had become accustomed to seeing nearby were no longer there, even if such choices were his own making. Likewise, there were people he did not always wish to see, but they could be thought of another time.
As he doused the lamped and made his way to the bed, he lightly felt his jaw in the place it has been dislocated. After having lived for so long in a state where everything felt like pain, it was an odd sensation to feel fine. It was partly why he had asked so earnestly of Tengri. And how it’d felt to experience it, even if the pain did not last long. Franz has been disappointed at how quickly the sharp pain of a dislocated joint simply became a dull throb, until even that was unnoticed. Yes, it was nice to not experience every waking moment in such a state that even fabric could be likened to the slice of a blade, but there was a deficit of feeling. Perhaps he was simply lonely.
As he drifted off into sleep, not even dreams of the past would bother him that evening.
