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You think you can escape your crimes forever?
"Oh that's fucking -delicious-coming from you, you unfaithful shithead."
Amazing, you've existed so long and yet still act like a child.
"Aw, is the unfaithful dick still bitter he's dead?"
Mark my words Crate, you -will- be consumed by the powers you control and I'll be waiting for my revenge.
Crate sneered in defiance as he looked at his dead lover's face as it existed in his dream. The small, blond male lifted both of his hands and extended both middle fingers in a gesture of defiance and contempt
"A gift for you -and- Nald'thal. Now piss off. I'm waking up now."
And he did.
And he immediately regretted it.
His head was exploding with pain and he could hear his pulse hammering inside his veins. He closed his eyes tightly in pain to block out the light as he gave a wounded groan and covered his face.
"Oh fuck the Twelve." Crate rasped in a hoarse voice as his tail swished over the cobblestones of a back alley. The smell of trash and vomit, some his own, washed over him as his senses came awake one by one and he wanted to crawl back into his head but the hammering headache was sure as hell not making that an option anymore.
With each pump of his heart, blood shot into his brain and he felt as if each pulse was going to pop his eyes out of his skull. He could taste the bile on his tongue and the miqo'te's whole body felt dried out. His kidneys and liver were aching from processing all the alcohol he had forced down his gullet the night before.
The night before.
The miqo'te began patting around his extremely gilded robes for something. Panic began to take his brain as he searched, his weary mind trying to focus but having trouble. The idea that all his work last night being in vain...
His hand closed around something inside one of his many pockets and he breathed a massive sigh of relief as he leaned back onto still cool stones of the alley. It was not all in vain. He had it.
The small man sat up slowly, his bones popping. He nearly threw up as he opened one eye and saw his ruined robes, covered in trash and They were not cheap robes and getting more was going to require he sail back to Limsa and have a chat with his tailor. That would mean having to travel looking less than fabulous and that idea was as offensive to his body as was the booze it was currently trying to process out of him.
Crate pulled a gloved hand from his pocket and glanced down at the object.
A small, purple stone greeted his blood-shot, ice-blue eyes. He sighed as a smile played with his crusty lips. It had taken months of manipulating, lying, bribing, and sneaking, to gain his only shot at this object last night, but he had managed what almost bordered on the impossible. He had killed, drunk, danced, sung, and crept his way to victory through the massive party, then the vaults of the Free Company Mansion, and then back out.
He coughed and whimpered as his side protested.
Kanako's knife wound was still there, leaving him sore and wounded.Â
The one negative of tainting your aether flow: aether healing didn't work on you anymore.
He swallowed weakly as he placed a hand on a wall that smelt of piss and began to risie to his feet.
His new employer was going to be thrilled about his success and would be paying him handsomely for this. The book she was offering him was something he couldn't pass up. And soon it would be his. But of course, so would this stone.
After all, he was already scheming how to betray her.
You think you can escape your crimes forever?
"Oh that's fucking -delicious-coming from you, you unfaithful shithead."
Amazing, you've existed so long and yet still act like a child.
"Aw, is the unfaithful dick still bitter he's dead?"
Mark my words Crate, you -will- be consumed by the powers you control and I'll be waiting for my revenge.
Crate sneered in defiance as he looked at his dead lover's face as it existed in his dream. The small, blond male lifted both of his hands and extended both middle fingers in a gesture of defiance and contempt
"A gift for you -and- Nald'thal. Now piss off. I'm waking up now."
And he did.
And he immediately regretted it.
His head was exploding with pain and he could hear his pulse hammering inside his veins. He closed his eyes tightly in pain to block out the light as he gave a wounded groan and covered his face.
"Oh fuck the Twelve." Crate rasped in a hoarse voice as his tail swished over the cobblestones of a back alley. The smell of trash and vomit, some his own, washed over him as his senses came awake one by one and he wanted to crawl back into his head but the hammering headache was sure as hell not making that an option anymore.
With each pump of his heart, blood shot into his brain and he felt as if each pulse was going to pop his eyes out of his skull. He could taste the bile on his tongue and the miqo'te's whole body felt dried out. His kidneys and liver were aching from processing all the alcohol he had forced down his gullet the night before.
The night before.
The miqo'te began patting around his extremely gilded robes for something. Panic began to take his brain as he searched, his weary mind trying to focus but having trouble. The idea that all his work last night being in vain...
His hand closed around something inside one of his many pockets and he breathed a massive sigh of relief as he leaned back onto still cool stones of the alley. It was not all in vain. He had it.
The small man sat up slowly, his bones popping. He nearly threw up as he opened one eye and saw his ruined robes, covered in trash and They were not cheap robes and getting more was going to require he sail back to Limsa and have a chat with his tailor. That would mean having to travel looking less than fabulous and that idea was as offensive to his body as was the booze it was currently trying to process out of him.
Crate pulled a gloved hand from his pocket and glanced down at the object.
A small, purple stone greeted his blood-shot, ice-blue eyes. He sighed as a smile played with his crusty lips. It had taken months of manipulating, lying, bribing, and sneaking, to gain his only shot at this object last night, but he had managed what almost bordered on the impossible. He had killed, drunk, danced, sung, and crept his way to victory through the massive party, then the vaults of the Free Company Mansion, and then back out.
He coughed and whimpered as his side protested.
Kanako's knife wound was still there, leaving him sore and wounded.Â
The one negative of tainting your aether flow: aether healing didn't work on you anymore.
He swallowed weakly as he placed a hand on a wall that smelt of piss and began to risie to his feet.
His new employer was going to be thrilled about his success and would be paying him handsomely for this. The book she was offering him was something he couldn't pass up. And soon it would be his. But of course, so would this stone.
After all, he was already scheming how to betray her.
