Bulletin Board

[Conchris]

William had never been so scared in his life.

 

Well... perhaps a few times, particularly when he felt that his life was in danger, but he swears that this is the scariest yet.

 

With his significant other and his carbuncle off to bed, he's been left to his own devices for the moment, hemming and hawing, biting his lip, chewing his thumb, anything that could have him come across as nervous, he was doing it.

 

He stands before a notice board pinned up in the Drowning Wench down in Limsa, fumbling with a loose thread on his rather-worn bilaud, contemplative, but scared. He had been planning on putting out a request to the adventurer's guild for a bit of aid, but he'd been putting it off for quite a while due to his own nerves failing him. Despite his friends offering help if he needs it, he doesn't feel like he's worth their time, if at all.

 

But... he needs a bit of help, and although he doesn't want to, he has to acquire it. He takes a few deep breaths, taking a few careful steps away from the notice board, and goes to make his request in the only way he knows how: with the quietest, squeakiest voice that he was only able to conjure through his nerve. Those interested, although he's not sure about that, may hear of an offer made by a miqo'te named "Wiliam Harrowton" from the newly formed company 'Violet Wing Scholars' requesting aid in exploring a palace found in Upper La Noscea.

[Conchris]

The wheels in William's mind goes fuss fuss fuss...

 

That's what the miqo'te boy had been doing ever since his significant other contracted a cold. He's not sure as to how she caught it, but he has his theories. However, that's a mystery that'll never be solved until he can find a way to make her better.

 

He had told his carbuncle to stay with her, acting as a sort of room servicer for her, to make sure she feels better despite the cold she'd gotten. Although, for William, being sick is not good, not good at all, he means, what if she maybe gets worse? What then? What for?

 

He purses his lips in thought as he brought up a meal he'd bought with his hard-earned gil to the room in the Mizzenmast Inn in which she was staying. What if it's not a cold? What if it's something worse? No, it's not, stop fussing so much about it. But what if? Shush.

 

But yet, the little fussy boy will keep fussing until his friend is better, that's just how he is. Then, something hit him... not literally, of course, although the door may have smacked him as he opened it. Perhaps there's an alchemical way to fix her problem. And then, it hit him again, the bedpost this time, as he nearly drops his things. There's an alchemist's guild in that scary place, right? May-bee I can go there...? I could learn how to make her better... yeah... proh-bab-lee... well, to Ul'Dah... may-bee....

 

With that settled, he'll make plans to leave for the city-state in the desert, make a quick trip there and back.

[Ciel]

The lingering ache of entirely too recent wounds reached her before the light overhead or the sterile smell of the infirmary. Gone was the hand that held onto hers shortly after she first arrived, along with the salve-soaked strips of cloth which had dressed most of her wounds, but as awareness crept back in so did the lingering smell of rot sticking to her own skin and hair from the chimera's den. It brought to the forefront of mind the last vivid memories before the world went dark - the biting sting of ice, the burning numbness in her limbs and spine from the electric burst the creature spat forth, the burning rake of claws.

 

In the silence, the songstress lifted her head and squinted to see who was still around. Ruruni and Marina were still well out of it, and Aimee was elsewhere, presumably being watched over by Oni. Even Rhisi had taken her leave to rest and, she assumed, Jonathan must have gone back to his practice, and Felix and Alexi to their own business.

 

Whatever either of them do when no one is looking, she mused.

 

She sought for the linkpearl which was still tucked behind her right ear, but the desire to avoid troubling anyone further won out before she could ask who was about. She lay there, instead, and reflected on the events which put her and the others where they were, and the weight of her decision, the burden of three souls nearly lost, sat in the middle of her chest like a brick.

 

I did this, she thought. In my haste to see things done, I risked us all and nearly got them killed. Keep pressing on and through, no turning back. No... there very nearly wasn't.

 

Her head dropped back to the pillow with a dull, heavy thump as her eyes pinched shut. She hadn't remembered the trip back to the Hall but for the brief shifting and distorting of aether around her, and the vague sense of being held up, albeit awkwardly by one of her arms. She couldn't tell if the deep soreness in her shoulder was from that, or from one of several healing wounds.

 

I should be the last person in this position. A Marshall should be more careful... any leader holding others' lives in their hands ought to know better. We should have waited for the others to catch up to us. I'm no leader. Ser Wulfegard would be disappointed at such carelessness.

 

Ciel turned onto her left side but the motion and her own weight sent a searing stab of pain through the same shoulder, and this alone was enough to force her to move again, this time sitting up to stare toward the door. The bright lights reflecting off the pristine white walls of the room forced her to squint again as she looked around. Neither of her resting comrades had stirred as a result of her own fluster of movement, and she could make sure to avoid it at all if she could just make it back to her own quarters. The pounding and dizziness between her ears seemed to disagree with the very idea and screamed for her to rest longer before trying to move, just as any of the infirmary's caretakers might if they were present.

 

Alright, alright... just one more bell.

[Kellach Woods]

"I wonder what I'll call you..."

 

Kellach had just returned to Limsa Lominsa after a particularly trying day. His favorite white undershirt had been stained and was safely tucked away, leaving him completely shirtless. Behind him was a tiny little crab that had taken to following him for quite some time. He turned around, the crab stopped. It started using its pincers to bring in specs of food from the ground. Still, its eyes were planted firmly onto the effeminate large Hyur, almost pleading to get lifted in the sky.

 

"You're so cute, I want to call you Cutie Pie, but with the people I'm with, you're likely to end up in one..."

 

Still, he leaned down and grabbed the crab and brought it near his face. The crab, unsure of what was happening yet having already chosen to tie its amazing fate to an ordinary Hyur from off the continent, let itself be taken. In fact, it leaned forward a bit to nuzzle Kellach's nose. His eyes sparkled at how adorable this creature was, going against its very nature. Perhaps it was why he felt this much kinship with it. Both were not what they initially seemed. At least, to Kellach, crabs were... crabby, right? Or else no one would have came up with that term. With a warm smile, Kellach gently caressed the area between the crab's eyes. The crab, unsure of this gesture, raised a pincer to intercept but hesitated to pinch. Kellach withdrew his finger, but was still infatuated with the crab.

 

"I know! I'll call you Pinchyshell! And you'll be the best thing that happened to me today other than not dying!"

[Jancis]

Jancis was exhausted. The past few suns were overwhelming, a true test of her endurance. She was bruised and beaten, mentally and physically, and had not the time to stop.

 

But she managed, at the end of all things, at the very last breaths, her room was re-arranged. 

 

Thaliak only knew how the enormous wardrobe moved at her bidding and lifting, but it had. It within itself was nearly a room; and her belongings and extra supplies barely made a dent to fill its shelves and drawers. She wasn't sure how she earned such handiwork from Master Vann, but it truly was a functional work of art.

 

Her room was filling up and Jancis felt like the Sultana herself. It smelled like warm chestnut and flowers. Laying down, she gasps, feeling herself sink down into the soft fur around her. It was warm and comforting; the extra quilting wrapping around her form. A small smile managed on her lips, it was grateful and humble. 

 

Otto Vann had brought it here himself, his fancy clothes crinkling from the labor it was not cut for. He was truly strong, even if no one saw it, and Jancis had a rare glimpse at the highlander's capabilities. And it was for her sake. He had made her a bed; one specifically for her.

 

After all that had happened, all the blood and misery, the hours of walking, the burns and wounds, this... it was the reward of a hero.

 

Closing her eyes, Jancis immediately fell asleep.

 

[align=center][/align]

[Aldotsk]

Anelia had to deal with many things recently past this week, and she realized that she has not had enough sleep ever since Crows case and Lazarov case was brought into attention. The worst part was, how her career as a Sultansworn can come to an end should she disobey Sultana and Syndicate's orders on aiding Natalie and Coatleque to pursue Nero Lazarov. 

 

Even from the last night, Anelia didn't really sleep but stare at the window outside to wonder what she has to do. Then also, a letter came to her two nights ago where her own foster father who took her into the noble of Ul'dah thirteen years ago is now extremely ill on his bed; possibly passing away at anytime soon. 

 

'Seems like I ran into a big mess than before... I can't get out of it this time, and I'll have to make a final decision. Whichever the path I choose, will have a great impact on the opposite side for someone to resent me forever... or even lose my career or life for this.

 

She wants to help Roen, but she realizes that will affect Order in the end. She shuts her eyes really tight and breaths heavily and shudders thinking about how she is involved in a fight with her comrades and friends.

 

The man wanted to speak to her about her secrets. About her bloodline and her true identity.

 

'It seems that you've found out about your bloodline, Anelia. I need to speak with you before I take my last breath. Please bring any friends if you wish, at least they should be aware of who you are.'

-Ivolt Thavius

 

Anelia writes a letter to certain people who she can trust to show up in her foster father's estate, and hoping that they'd attend for his final words and proceed with the funeral right away.

 

A lot is going in her mind, and she is not even sure if she belongs to Sultansworn due to these pressure. 

 

She closes her eyes, and finishes her last letter by sealing it inside the envelope.

[Jancis]

Jancis walked around Limsa, her demeanor better than before. She had recovered from the majority of her wounds, mental and physical, as had most of the company who fought against the insane mage.

 

She still thought about his hands, raw from scratching at the walls and chain that bound her friend in place. L'aenoh had survived, surely from sheer force of will, but was still dealing with recovery. Particularly the withdrawal.

 

Receiving news from Master Chuchukepa on behalf of the Ossuary, the main poison in the swordsman's system had been somnus, and Jancis knew very little about it. Asking the local merchants about the item had only gotten her wary looks and one of the older ladies berated her for the inquiry. After a slew of apologies, Jancis decided to try elsewhere.

 

Making her way to the airship, Jancis headed to the jewel of the desert. Surely someone there would answer her inquiry on the poison.

 

The poison's treatment wasn't the only thing on her mind. She wanted to meet up with Oscare, her thoughts drifting to the letter in her pocket and the words in it, and hopefully see that confident smile on his face once again.

[The Crow]

Now with Limsa behind him and his work over there done for now, the cloaked figure is traveling on a ship. As the figure waits to arrive at his next destination he speaks into his pearl in near whispering but clear tone

 

"I will be arriving within a days time be sure to have narrowed down the possible area's upon my arrival, the quicker we locate what we need the sooner we can leave before the situation gets troubling. Has anything outside of your current situation occurred that is of interest? " a voice responds through the pearl and after a moment the figure speaks again.

 

"The person in Ul'dah you speak of is but one of many speakers I have sent out to stir the people and find others who share our ideals. Slowly but surely as our actions gain momentum the words of the speakers will fester in the minds of those who walk with the light." The slightest grin appears on the cloaked figures face before finishing "If there is nothing else be sure to provide results when I arrive." The voice on the linkpearl quickly responded before cutting out.

 

The cloaked figure once done gets up and moves to the front of the ship and looks into the night sky "Now then will we find what we seek? or will it remain shrouded in mystery?"

 

Unbeknownst to those who reside in the shroud a dark curtain has already descended upon them.

[Coatleque]

Continued from here...

Coatleque sat in her room at the Hourglass in front of the small vanity. She was clad in dark leather and cloth, a fly-mask to conceal most of her face. Everything had been closed and packed. She now spent her last score of minutes in penning two letters. Should her mission go terribly wrong, at least someone would follow her.

 

Jancis,

I write you now as I must needs inform you my whereabouts. By the time you read this I will be in Limsa Lominsa. Should I succeed in my mission there I shall be proceeding onward to Coerthas, and beyond Dragonhead. Should the Twelve show mercy I will return within a sevenday. Should they not, you must needs shew this letter to Natalie Mcbeef. She will know what to do.

[align=right]With love always,

~CiCi[/align]

 

Warren,

I realize that above all others you would not expect to see mine writing again. I leave in less than a bell for Limsa Lominsa on urgent business. I could not inform the others lest I jeopardize my mission. If all goes to plan, I shall be stowed aboard a ship bound north and then to Coerthas, Providence Point. From there my fate will be unknown, though I pray Halone will be kind to me. Should we not meet again, know that I bear you no ill for the way we have parted. I pray you find peace at last in the arms that now hold you.

[align=right]With all mine heart,

~Coatleque[/align]

 

Within the second letter she also enclosed a flower. A single Nymeia lily which had been pressed dry. It had been left for her at one time along her bedside and she had kept it since that day.

 

She left both letters for the attendant to deliver to the moogle, then strapped her sword to her side. The boat would be ready soon.

[Kellach Woods]

Kellach had been through... well, before he would have said "a lot", now he would say "very little of importance" in an attempt to not sound affected by all that transpired. Suffice it to say that merely saying it does not remove the burning feeling in his gut of getting verbally smacked down by someone he respects due to being very immature and irresponsible about things. However, it does place everything into perspective.

 

Granted, this is what happens when someone takes themselves out of their element and enters a world that functions by its own rules. Ones that he should have learned before coming. That, however, does not excuse his atrocious self-centered behavior. He, at the very least, is starting to see that now.

 

Walking the streets of Limsa Lominsa on a rare day off, he would look at the wares in Hawkers' Alley, looking for very specific items. Not any would suffice, after how easily they were snatched from him. Nay, an active man needed gear made for these activities.

 

Behind him was his newfound trusty pet, a smallshell that had followed him after some particularly gruesome events, struggling to catch up to its self-appointed "master". Ask the crab, and you would likely hear a pincer drum solo that proudly declared his crab name in crab language.

 

In human language though, it was slightly less proud.

 

"Here Pinchyshell!" Kellach said, lowering his arm to let the smallshell climb onto his shoulder. He reached into his pouch to get some pieces of dry algae that he'd collected to feed him when he was near.

 

Finally, he saw a stand that looked like they had what he was looking for. Pinchyshell looked around for an area to stretch its legs. It was tired of just standing on the same shoulder. Without warning, it started climbing the back of Kellach's hair only to stop on his head. The vendor looked positively puzzled at the strange man with long flowing locks with red highlights, opaque red lipstick, and a crab on his head that was clapping its pincers like it'd just won the lottery.

 

"Hee, crab hat!" said Kellach, giggling right after. "Say, would you happen to have some extremely sturdy undergarments?"

[Delilah Scythewood]

Giving a grunt, Lili loaded the last box of Ado's things onto the little cart just outside their now previous residence of the Gold Court. Wiping her brow, she leaned back with a grimace, letting her back give a little twinge before cracking with an obnoxious sound that startled her chocobo, Milo, who was hooked up to the cart. Her menagerie of critters also peered down at her from atop one of the boxes: Sire the goobue sproutling aimlessly staring into nothingness and drooling while swinging his stubby little legs, the household mammet sitting dormant besides Sire with its back resting against the seated flank of Dot the fawn, and Ado's pet dodo was snoozing in a makeshift nest of blankets and trilling besides the equally snoozing Tub-Tub the baby puk.

 

And on the driver seat in his own pile of blankets was her adopted son. His little body propped with blankets and pillows so as to be comfortable, blonde hair tossled and sucking on his knuckles in his sleep. The sight warmed her heart, and she allowed a tiny smile to come to her lips before looking back to the house. There was still something she needed to do...

 

With a small measure of hesitance, Lili moved back through the doorway and towards the kitchen. The house was quiet, with some of the furniture already moved out to Kayah's new house he now shared with the rest of his group. She'd be going to her own company residence until she found a more suitable location for her and Ado both, but before she could do that she needed to relieve herself of a few things.

 

The first was a chain around her neck. Thin, silver, with little finger bells at the end of it, she slipped it off her head and gently placed it on the dining room table. The next?

 

Her engagement ring.

 

A silver band of silver leaves entwined around an elegant little diamond in the middle, Kayah had made the joke that there should be a third entity at play since she had been a Hyur, he a Miqo'te, her adopted son a Lalafell...so why not make the ring Elezen in make? It took a moment of wiggling, but she managed to slip the ring off and set it gently atop the table next to the finger bells.

 

She didn't really care what he did with either artifact. It wasn't her concern any more. All that mattered was the little boy dozing in the cart outside.

 

Slowly, she took a moment to twirl in place and look around the room. Her alchemy shed was cleared out. The sheets cleaned and bed made. Floors scrubbed. Whenever he came back to finish moving things out or doing whatever he had planned with the place, at least it'd be tidy. The look to fall over her pale green eyes was fleeting and unreadable, though her expression seemed calm enough as she stepped out the door and quietly shut it behind her.

 

The only things she left behind were in Ado's now mostly empty room: A chocobo clock with a timeworn black leather collar draped over top of it.

[Coatleque]

A letter, recently delivered to a rather extravagant office in Ul'dah

 

Master Jameson Taeros,

 

I must needs have words with you with regards to a matter of protection over a certain establishment in Ul'dah. I hope you could find the time to meet with me privately to discuss the Blade's excessive taxation. I would prefer this matter be settled between the two of us; Ser Mcbeef need not be present. This has no bearing on any current investigations, but is a personal matter to mine self.

 

[align=right]Sincerely,

~ Lady Crofte[/align]

[BadDJuJu]

“Welcome to the Bismarck! How are you today?”

 

“I’m wehll, thank you.”

 

“Pardons, but have you made a reservation?”

 

The dark complexioned Miqo’te nodded in reply.

 

“Name?”

 

“Jujah’to Irah”

 

The waitress traced her finger down a list atop her tray, “Ah, here it is! A table for one?”

 

“Ihf you wouhld, please.”

 

 “Follow me,’ she grinned at him, and began walking towards the main balcony dining. Another waitress weaves her way around the busy late dinner.  She is somehow of the ability to precariously balance a mere four plates atop her tray, while carrying a fifth in her hand. But the noise. It’s the fourth Air bell, for Twelvesake. Though the water view dining was ideal on the main balcony, the bustling and conversation of the diners, the call of gulls, the crashing waves, and clang of a hustling kitchen were too much.

 

Jujah’to quickly looked around desperately, spotting a back patio with limited seating, and grabbed the waitress’s attention. He pointed back behind them to the lone empty table on the patio. She, thankfully, smiled and answered with a friendly, “Sure!”

 

“There you are, and enjoy you’re meal,” she said, setting down a menu book and sheet.  He wondered if she remembered him from the day before. Jujah’to had only arrived days prior, and after a few expeditions through the city, he finally stumbled upon The Bismarck. It was the only one so far not too rough around the edges. She had prompted him for a reservation then, which he admittedly did not have.“But not to worry, we’ll pen you in for one now, if it begs your pardons.”

 

With a sigh of relief, Jujah’to sat, arranging his pack atop one of the empty seats. He didn't need to tote it around with him everywhere, but he did not trust his most precious valuables in his room. City of Pirates, indeed, and he was not about to find out just how this city would live up to that name. Yellowjacket presence or no.

 

“Afternoon, sir, may I bring you something to drink?”

 

“Yes, wahter please.” He smiled up at the new waitress attending him.

 

“Certainly,” she beamed upon exit, returning shortly with his water. He asked for five minutes before ordering.

 

Rifling through his pack, Jujah’to pulled out a couple of sturdy letters. The first being subject of his transfer. While part of the Guild in Gridania, this is his first visit to Limsa. For proper assignment at the Guild  here, he was written a transfer letter, courtesy of Mother. The other letter, he opened for review, not for the first time since receiving it.

 

At-will contract of services aiding the Limsa Lominsa Yellowjackets… use of abilities in rapid recovery of any injuries suffered… possibility of compensation for any other services outsourced… pay contingent upon contribution given… agree to to be called upon variably with payment due for each individual instance... 

 

He sat back, considering. While hardly a bad deal--healing does not come cheap--he was not sure it would be enough to sustain him without consistency. He’d have to do something else for work here. Though crime does not run a muck here, he is hesitant by virtue of the still edgier atmosphere this city commands in comparison to Gridania. And Gridania is his first city to experience beyond the Shroud. This was all foreign enough, as it was. Looking for work only solidified his stay.

 

With a weary look across the way, Jujah’to put his bag in his lap, discreetly counting the Gil within. While not something he held in high regard in the past, his aptitude for Mathematics has always been sufficient. And even if not regularly exercised before the Calamity, he now knows the value of budgeting, and so has changed much of his ways. Enough to last a week. He should be able to find something by then, no?

 

Yes. Watching the waitresses lithely move table to table, and one veer in his direction, he could feel a sense of urgency. He quickly picked up the menu book. Drinks; no thank you. He skimmed the single sheet; pan-seared Mutton, La Noscean lettuce, Ruby Tomatoes, Aldgoat Cheese, topped with Cinderfoot Olive Oil. Perhaps he could start here.

 

 

“Pardons, sir, you are ready to order?”

 

Jujah’to nodded, “Might I first inquihure ihf The Bismrck is hihring?”

 

She scanned the bustling dining room and put her hands on her hips, “You know, I don’t really know. We could possibly use the help, but I’ll have to ask H’lahono what she thinks. But you’re best bet is to ask the Receptionist within.”

 

“Will do," Jujah'to flashed her his best smile, "And Ihf you wouhld, I’ll ohrder  the Muhtton Caprese.”

[C'kayah Polaali]

C'kayah arrived in Limsa the same day that he'd met Red and the Bubblegum Girl in Thanalan. They were having one of their off-and-on cold autumns: thirty-four degrees with his breath white in the air. His pocket bulged with Red's somnus, a bottle of mandissarette for a dancer who worked out of the Drowning Wench, and his silver flask.

 

Red was a new one. Tall and strong, with long red hair and a sad face. She was a 'sworn, which always made him pause, but she had already made good on her promise to keep the Blade's heat off of his shipments in Thanalan. She wanted the somnus for a friend, she said, but he didn't really care. He'd told Kenthy he did it to keep Red in his pocket, and he told himself he did it to help keep the Blade's tax men away from Aya, but he was really doing it for Red. Her eyes were so sad when she'd asked him for the favor, he couldn't bear to say no.

 

He wasn't the sort of man to plan things out too far in advance. His instincts had served him well, so he trusted to them. It looked like they'd served him again. The Bubblegum Girl worked the Thanalan black market, and was sitting on a fist-sized bag of the stuff. When Kenthy came back from meeting the Pirate, with a story about needing goods moved through Thanalan, the pieces snicked together. The Pirate and the 'sworn were locked in a sort of Ala Mhigan standoff. The 'sworn had locked the Pirate out of Thanalan, and in retailiation the Pirate was choking off shipping from Limsa to Ul'dah. C'kayah's business was smuggling, and the increased demand was making him money almost faster than he could count it. It wasn't a stable situation. Revenge was satisfying, but the Pirate couldn't live off of revenge forever. Better to scratch the Pirates back, and get his back scratched in return.

 

C'kayah could move the Pirate's goods, Red had arranged that when she and his ex had conspired to take down Melkire and wanted his help. The Bubblegum Girl could take delivery, keeping the Pirate happy, and the Pirate in turn would hold his focus on the 'sworn's shipping. The only real threat was Red's immunity, so it turned out he had a good reason for helping her after all.

 

The Drowning Wench was empty tonight, just a few sad sailors drinking their pay while a waitress in stockings dabbed at the same spot of floor with a mop. Naia leaned against the bar, beautiful in her dancer's blacks, and he greeted her with a kiss, slipping the bottle of perfume into her hand. She beamed at him, her teeth bright in the dim light of the bar. "I got a modeling job," she said. "Some Lala named Gus doing a themed party."

 

"He pays well, I've got friends who work for him."

 

"It'll be nice to get away from sailors, you know?"

 

C'kayah watched one of the sailors squinting through his glass of rum at a lamp. He nodded, kissed her again, and left to get a room. Red was due to contact him tonight, tomorrow at the latest, and he didn't want to carry the somnus around until that happened. It was time to check in with Kenthy, anyways, while things were still quiet.

[Berrod Armstrong]

The drunken Highlander had taken this route a thousand times. Up the street, around the corner, through the alley then right; a few doors down then he could stumble into his home for his wife to crack him over the head with a rolling pin. Even in an intoxicated stupor the routine had rendered his path almost automatic. The only thing that stayed his steps was the thought of that rolling pin. His wife was never at all gentle with it. On the bright side, if it was dusted with flour he knew that he could expect fresh bread and pastries the next morning to deal with the hangover. 

 

As drunk as he was, the man instantly knew that something was wrong the moment he turned to stagger into the alley. It caused him to lurch to a stop and stare blearily. Usually, he could see through to the street on the other side. The street itself was badly lit, but there was always that sure slice of dim lamp post light to indicate where the alley opened up into the other road. Tonight, there was naught but blackness. 

 

An ordinary darkness it was not; it came with a hint of foreboding and bore a certain heavy thickness to it that caused a sluggish apprehension within his bones. Perhaps he had enjoyed more alcohol tonight than he had during most, but this...this sheer black at the end of the dingy passageway...it was far from natural. It seemed as though the dirty walls and the rubbish-laden floor faded into nonexistence. Yet, that non-existence felt solid, as if...

 

...as if there was someone standing there.

 

The intoxicated Highlander clumsily reasoned that it could not be so -- never had there been anyone in his little path after his rounds at the bar. Perhaps his reasoning was fueled by a need to reduce the amount of rolling-pin blows he was due to receive, but he allowed himself to believe it and pushed into the alley at a tilting, bandy-legged hobble. Even as he proceeded a few fulms along the brick-bordered pass the darkness beyond did not lift. Sudden caution gripped him and he stopped dead, the contrived reasoning now quite inadequate for the purpose of moving on.

 

There was someone there. He felt it on his skin, in his nose, behind his eyes, and in his heartbeat.

 

The Highlander was smarter than that, even drunk off his toes. It was a dizzy spin, but he rotated at once to leave the alley back the way he came. 

 

...But there was only darkness where the road had been. The beginnings of terror gripped him, cold and prehensile within his innards. Was this a drunken hallucination? If so, why did it all feel so menacing?

 

He realized his mistake the moment he had turned around. The hairs at the back of his neck tugged at the flesh and alarm klaxons went off in his head. If there was someone in that darkness behind him, the worst thing he could do was put his back to it. It was so that he spun around again to face the mysterious, invisible presence. Yet, it was no longer invisible. 

 

Two golden eyes stared out at him, reflective, glittering and wide of pupil. He could see no whites; they looked simply like two shiny rings that fixated upon his very being. Had the alcohol in his blood not dulled his reflexes, the man would have perhaps jumped a fulm into the air. Instead, all he managed was a sluggish, incomplete step backward.

 

Below the eyes a white, horizontal split opened, revealing teeth which a wide grin arranged itself around. It was a man's mouth, clearly -- not a beast's. The teeth were neither sharp nor jagged, neither was the pink tongue forked. Just a normal mouth. Still, it elicited another step backward. 

 

"Don't go."

 

It spoke -- he spoke. The voice was a rumbling, gentle bass through which each word was enunciated with crisp sophistication. It bore a terrible yet seductive quality that confused his legs between flight and approachable intrigue. Unable to choose one or the other, they remained rooted on the spot. 

 

Out of the darkness he emerged; it pulled away from him like a wet curtain. Dark of skin and grey of hair; his face was tattooed in a deep, matted ebony that gave his Roegadyn's countenance a fearsome finality. He bore a wicked, overjoyed grin, as the pupils within the gold shrank to pinpricks. The Highlander was certain by all means that death had come, and he was too damned drunk to do a thing about it.

 

"You will do," He assessed, "You will do nicely."

[Ermine]

It was not that the scholar Nivie Georjeaux did not want to be present among the thronging crowd of people at the tavern's summer send off: it was that there were people present, and it is remarkably exhaustive to pretend insecurity is disdain.

 

The flyer had shown up, inconspicuously, in her mail - the retainer she had hired to tend to her business while she traveled chasing the faintest hint of a lead had contacted her by linkpearl, her voice soft as she asked, "And what would you have me do with this, Miss Georrrrjeaux?"

 

She had contemplated on it for the day, and it set in her mind, an unbidden - yet, not entirely unwelcome - guest, what had come calling, and one invites to stay for tea and to tell a story or two of what they've seen. Eventually curiosity won out over anxiety, and the night before, ("Approximately 11pm, on Wednesday night" she mentally notes) she sets out, she walks to the neighborhoods - her feet soft beneath her as she browses the neighborhoods of Mist, meandering through.

 

She had met three - Val, a miqo'te. A bodyguard. Yume? Yune? Nivie bit her lip; she would be able to put name to face, but as calm returned to her, she knew, but at the moment, she blanked: she was nervous as well. Kind, but lacking in confidence. Nivie liked her immediately. Finally, the Lady Faye Covington: hers was the name upon the invitation to the tavern's celebration, and she had an air of control about her - Nivie watched, as she does, Val called her "Princess" and it wasn't entirely in jest: Lady Covington seemed to swell with pride at every use of it, and Nivie found herself encouraged.

 

The next day - same day, rather, it had been rather late when Nivie finally begged off to find her bed at Limsa's inn - she had gone to the tavern, had gone with little expectations and less idea of what she would find there, and the answer was people, a multitude of people, and the quiet voice in her head of "I feel uneasy" had begun it's screaming defiance, "I DO NOT WANT THIS!"

 

To keep calm, Nivie found a quiet spot to stand, to watch people, to bite her tongue and breathe, in. Out. Inhale. Exhale. "This is meant to be a time to MEET people," she argued with herself, "But this is too many people!"

 

She stayed - she made polite conversation. She bristled at the over the top flirtations of others about her, and after a reasonable amount of time (a half hour, no less, no more) had passed, she excused herself with an apology.

 

Maybe next time, maybe next week would be kinder.

[Jael'li]

He had heard the stories of Ul’dah, but none quite seem to light a candle to what he now witnessed. Within the glorious trade-city there were many less than pristine areas. Alleyways where Syndicate 'business' ran unbridled, told testament in the broken corpses often uncovered within them; cheap brothels chock-full of soiled doves, long ago broken and empty-eyed. The Jewel of the deserts had many ugly facets beneath its wealthy, gleaming face. Perhaps most noteworthy of those deplorable areas that fine noble folk avoided at all costs was the festering abscess the locals called Pearl Lane. The mere presence of sickly and desperate refugees acted as something of a ward against all but the most stout-hearted locals. Brass Blades kept their distance; even Immortal Flames who had less to fear for their vastly more honorable mantle as an order skirted the alley on their way to the Court or to Sapphire Avenue, offering the alley's residents a wide berth.

 

 

“Shed your Light upon Creation. Show me the path of Righteousness so that I may carry out your will.”

 

 

The uttered prayer nearly lost in the howling wind that chilled the night. Kane blinked, causing the veil of thought blurring his vision to dissipate. Once again, his senses expanded outwards to take in the sight of his work.

 

 

A Highlander lay there on the paved stones that lined the street, wearing naught but linen pants and traveler's boots. His large chest expanded as he drew ragged breaths. Both hands were bloodied as they covered his left eye, one hand overlapping the other to effectively stymie the flow of crimson.

 

 

Kane's attention dropped to his own hand, where both index and forefinger were coated in blood. The feeling of those appendages sinking knuckle deep into the socket was seared into him, allowing him a vivid recollection even when the blood began to crust.

 

 

The man's lips moved, his upper tier curled in a rictus snarl. His one good eye was alight with hatred focused solely on him. Kane didn't need to understand what was said, knowing full well the man had likely uttered a series of curses supplemented by a promise of swift justice.

 

 

"My heart breaks for you." Kane said with a cant of his head, his blood-flecked features awash with concern. His voice was soothing, nurturing; as though he were speaking to a child. "For you to live in the squalor, your days filled with naught but the need to survive. It is a pitiful existence indeed..."

 

 

Advancing towards the man, a mere three strides until he was looming over him, the Midlander knelt down and pressed his hand against the prone Highlander's shoulder in a comforting manner. "I offer you a way out, friend. With me you can leave these streets of iniquity and rise up to the Empyrean. You can be a tool for the Twelve, a conduit for their Righteous fury.""All you need is obedience."

[L'yuta]

Stepping into Ul'dah for the first time in five years sent shivers up his spine, but stepping outside of the city walls and into the desert south of town caused K'akhi to freeze in his tracks, golden eyes darting nervously across the rocky horizon far in the distance and tail thrashing anxiously.

 

To be entirely honest, life before the Calamity was a bit of a blur. He hadn't been that young either - fifteen, just shy of sixteen - but light, heat, fire and flame devoured all the gentler memories he had held. But he remembered the dirt, the sand, the sparse greenness - nothing like the Black Shroud, the place he currently called home.

 

He lifted his head to breathe in the arid desert air, and it was the same as he remembered, but newer, fresher, cleaner. The Calamity took life away, but that same life grew back, stronger than ever, in the same way the Thanalan had always been - tough, resistant, and unconquerable - just like the tribes that lived there.

 

K'akhi closed his eyes and in hesitant, almost inaudible voice, murmured, "I'm home."

 

(After a moment of embarrassed silence, the young Miqo'te spun on his heel and darted back inside the walls of the city. He'd visit his old tribe one day. Just maybe not today.)

[Berrod Armstrong]

The baby had begun fussing in the crib. It was an irritated bleat that was simply just designed to get attention. 

 

A groan of exasperation ensued from the adjacent bedroom, where a man and his wife had only just begun to become intimate. The groan had come from the man, who rolled to the side and hit the sheets, utterly defeated. The woman chuckled and leaned in for a kiss to his cheek. "Sorry love, the man of the house has spoken."

 

"Aye, that he has. Shall I go or...?"

 

"No, no. You relax, I'll take care of it." 

 

She slipped off the bed and moved to grab a robe from the closet, eliciting another groan from him as she covered her figure. Out of decency, he rose and found a wrapping of his own. 

 

The woman entered the room with the crib, where the fussing baby had reduced his bleating to an indignant gurgle. Slowly, she picked him up. Bright green eyes stared back at her under an astonishing mass of orange-red hair. He couldn't have been yet a year old. The fussing immediately stopped and progressed into a joyful cackle. He wasn't hungry or hurt or sick.

 

He just wanted to play. 

 

The man had approached to lean on the door frame, observing his wife and child. It was not the gratification he had originally sought out, but the sight of them was fulfilling nonetheless. A smile crept onto his face as she began to sing to her son in the sweet voice that had wooed him those few years ago. 

 

 

[align=center]Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket[/align]

[align=center]Never let it fade away[/align]

[align=center]Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket[/align]

[align=center]Save it for a rainy day[/align]

 

[align=center]For love may come and tap you on the shoulder some starless night[/align]

[align=center]Just in case you feel you want to hold her[/align]

[align=center]You'll have a pocketful of starlight.[/align]

 

 

 

She rocked the child gently as she sang and sure enough, the melody lulled the baby boy into a peaceful slumber. A quarter bell more was given for affection and then finally, he laid him down. 

 

"How is he?" The man asked gently. 

 

"He's fine. I think he'll last a few hours more...we can go try again, if you want." 

 

"Heh. I would...but I think our little Berrod made it clear. He doesn't want us trying for another just yet."

[Jancis]

*CRASH*

 

Jancis stared at the vial that had flew across the room and smashed on her shelf. In a hurry she went to clean up the mess of glass bits and liquid on the wall.

 

"Oh thank Thaliak." she spoke aloud to no one, a sigh of relief that spread through her whole body. She hadn't hit the figurine.

 

Jancis picked up the little rosewood crane, smiling lightly as she buffed it with her handkerchief and placed it back on the shelf. It was an endearing gift, for its handiwork and attention to detail was worth far more than the gil someone would place upon it. Oscare had made it, and her thoughts drifted to the hunter.

 

She had to tell him she did not need the favor he offered. In fact, that's why she nearly hit the wooden crane. Cici had handled that, with the help of Lord C'kayah and his generous nature, Jancis had procured enough somnus for her. She was in the middle of preparing her detoxification serum when the strap broke, sending the vial flying.

 

And there was another reason to write him. She needed help, looking at the record book Ridley had given her on behalf of Otto Vann. It had lists of places and facts about Alveo in it. And Alveo had chosen not to come back. Even if he might be dead now, he left to stay gone no matter how long Jancis waited for him.

 

Picking up parchment, she wrote to Oscare:

 

Dear Oscare,

 

I write you in haste that you might not be troubled about my previous dilemma. It has been handled though there are not enough words at what your offer means to me. Sir L'aenoh slowly recovers, though there is much to handle and I fear I will be weakened by the time that solution comes to fruition.

 

There is another matter that I ask for your assistance and support in. My heart is heavy of late and my thoughts wander back to that portrait I spoke to you about many moons ago. Perhaps I long for some connection or, at the very least, a distraction from these current events.

 

I have inquired about that portrait once again with the Maelstrom, but it has gone missing from their safe house nor was it auctioned off. I would much like to find it once more and hopefully where it had come from. You have some connections within that know how things go missing, mayhaps one of them would know of such a disappearance.

 

If not, I understand. Regardless your answer, I thank you.

 

Be safe and well,

 

Jancis

 

[align=center]

[/align]

[Berrod Armstrong]

The sun had not yet touched the Sil'Dih ruins; the peach colored skies had barely yet seen the light of morn. Yet under the waterfall, Berrod Armstong stood, naked and alone, braced against the cold torrent of water that deluged him. His hair was loosed from its tail and flowed down to the middle of his back, dark red and matted against his skin. His clothing was piled on a rock not far away, dusty and dirty enough to have warranted the impromptu bath -- but not what spurned it. The Highlander needed comfort, and he found showering water was one of the most comforting things of all.

 

Berrod ran through the plan in his head over and over. There was always an hour of the early morning when no one stirred in the Agency house, and he was easily able to extract himself from his bed mate - if he was even allowed in the bed by then. Their last fight...it had not been pleasant. It had never been a problem for him to move around quietly, and it was easy  to get down to the vault. All he'd need was a good shoulder bag, enough to stuff the raw coins in. He'd leave the gems. Selling gems was always suspicious. There'd be no need for him to pack clothing, food or supplies, either; with his take from the vault he'd be able to provide himself with new things and then some. 

 

The hardest part would be leaving Caleb behind. A whole year had gone since the two had bonded and become almost inseparable; he would just have to take that pain and go forward. He knew Caleb would hurt -- probably hate him for the rest of his life; but he'd heal. It was okay for him to be hated; what he planned to do was despicable. Leaving Grimm behind, Camy, Sarij, Iex, Avenio, I'sen, Athe, Zindelo and all the others...it didn't have to be so difficult; a year ago he didn't know any of them. A year from now it wouldn't matter. Just another thing he did to survive. 

 

Sudden nausea overtook him and he doubled over. Anxiety had come in the form of sickness and physical pain. Luckily, he hadn't eaten anything; all that came up was a dry, belching rasp. Three times he retched emptily before straightening up again, trembling from head to toe. He mustered all the willful ignorance he possessed to fight the tempest of emotions and cautions down. It was for the best. This wasn't the life for him. The people he met had come and stolen him from his world, his home. He could never go back to that place, not without being found easily -- but he could start deciding on his own destiny for once. 

 

The sudden resentment at the thought was thickly bitter, and angered him to the point where he made solid fists at his sides. It served to strengthen his resolve to do what he wanted to do. As for stealing the gil from the vault -- it was not even enough. He deserved more for being thrown into this situation, for enduring everything he had. He was entitled to it. With that settled, he began to  plan beyond his flight. 

 

The first stop would be Limsa -- it was a place where a name was easy to change, and new papers were easy to come by with enough gil -- which he had. A visit to an Aesthetician afterward was intended to change his appearance. Loose his hair some, color it blond, or brown perhaps. Black, even. Change the way he dressed. Maybe walk around in armor for a bit. From there he'd travel back to Ul'Dah to register in the Adventurer's Guild under his new name, bearing his new appearance. After that; Revenant's Toll. The crowd of adventurers there was perfect for him to get lost in. Hells, he'd even do adventuring work there for a living; that sack of gil wouldn't last him forever. 

 

Maybe someday he'd be forgotten and return to Ul'Dah. Or just move on to other things. It didn't matter at the moment. One thing was clear; he was done with fighting to do a job he didn't ask for. Done with wrangling grown people like children. Done suffering the consequences of the actions of others. To those who were mistrusting toward him, to those who doubted him, questioned him and challenged him; he'd give them a reason to harp on about being right all along.

 

In two days, he would rob and leave the Agents, and everyone he had grown to love.

 

In the end, he loved himself most. A thug and a thief. Perhaps not much had changed, after all.

[Roswyn]

The tunnels were dark.

 

She'd no idea who built them or why and at the moment all she could think about was running. Literally running for her life.

 

[align=center]----------[/align]

 

She'd no idea what was about to happen when she went down there. She'd eased the pain of the mercenary's wounds with her conjury and extracted the cause of the damage. A corrupted crystal growing disgustingly out of the man's flesh. It pulsed a revolting shade of purple and red, veins and tracks of flesh growing along it's edges. She'd no idea how long it'd been growing inside the man.

 

She'd wrenched it from his flesh with a knife and tossed it aside, watching it leave tracks of blood across the stone floor. She sat back then, panting, the knife in her hand still dripping with the mercenary's blood. She trembled. She wasn't used to things like this but any kind of rational processing of the situation would have to wait until her mind was free of the adrenaline and she was out of these horrible stone walls. She looked at her companion then, preparing to continue to heal his grave wounds when suddenly....he stood.

 

She blinked up at his tall, muscled form in disbelief. He dripped copious amounts of his own blood as he half staggered, half walked across the room. "What...what are you doing??" Roswyn stuttered. "You're in no condition to..." Her words trailed off as she watched him move with intent, making his way towards one of the doors in the room. A metal cage door housing an emaciated man chained to the wall. It was then she'd finally looked around. 

 

A wooden table stood nearby, various implements of cutting through skin and muscle laid bloodstained and filthy atop it. Her stomach lurched and her hand came to her mouth, her eyes widening as she viewed the cages around her. The people inside them were silent. Chained to the wall not even bothering to look at her or at the display as it seemed they'd long since accepted their fate. She stood then, wobbly on her feet, as she'd looked to her companion. She'd called his name as she'd done countless times before and he ignored her instead choosing to yank one of the doors open with impressive strength.

 

The sound of the metal tearing and lock bolt snapping was painful to her ears and they flattened down against her skull. She winced and watched him move toward the helpless man within the cage. A feeling of dread came over her. She knew what was about to happen yet she couldn't make herself move. She stood frozen in place watching as her companion took the bound man's face in his hands, holding his head tightly as he tore it from his body. She could hear the delicate bones snapping and she watched the veins and tendons tear from the base of his neck. She merely stared in wide-eyed terror as the blood-spray covered her clothes and face.

 

Several seconds passed before she'd gathered herself enough to scream in horror. She bolted from the room in pure adrenaline-powered flight, caring not for anything or anyone in her way until she escaped. She heard them then, the loud thudding footsteps behind her. He was chasing her.

 

She emitted a sob as she ran for all she was worth, following the same blood trail back up the maze of tunnels that led her down here. However, her former companion behind her was more monster than man now, his speed overtaking hers easily. In a move of desperation, her hand moved to her pearl as she ran, calling the only man she knew would have a prayer against what was tailing her.

[Berrod Armstrong]

((Warning for a very slightly erotic tone in some places. Don't read it if there's anyone virtuous looking over your shoulder!))

 

 

A crisp darkness that preceded dawn settled over the Goblet, doting the wards with the last vestiges of a cold night. The sky stood cloudless, and the moon had long since hidden away. Dew settled on the walls and windows of the Astral Agent headquarters, glimmering by the lamp light that bathed the yard. The well-kept grass sparkled like something from a tale of old. The sun would soon come to drink it up but for now, the property basked in an almost crystalline sheen. 

 

The quiet of the hour was disturbed by the sound of steady, hasty footfalls and the pattern of exerted breathing. The pattern told of four feet and breaths taken for two. Sure enough a pair of Highlanders emerged from several yalms down the street, both male, tall and broad. They wore naught but pairs of fitted black shorts and ankle boots, both soaked through with the sweat that covered them. One was paler in complexion than the other, sporting low-cropped hair and striking blue eyes. A neatly trimmed growth adorned his jaw, framing a rather good-looking set of features -- drenched with sweat as they were. His nose flared slightly with each inhale, only for his lips to part for the controlled expulsion. He was no stranger to exercise. 

 

The other Highlander was of a similarly massive build, though more sun-scarred. Red hair was pulled back into a condensed tail at the back of his head with the sides shaved low. While not as neatly good-looking as his running partner he bore a rough and worn handsomeness to him; well featured, yes, but more rugged than classic. Even his body bore a defifcit of neatness compared to the other. While the black-haired Highlander's musculature was tidy (though no less large) and firm, the redhead possessed a brutal looking, hardy bulk. It affected the distinct patterns of speckled hair on their torsos, black and red respectively.

 

A sudden, mutual glance between the two ignited competition, and the last leg of the jog suddenly became a race. Their speed doubled, and concern for their technique went out the window. A sprint had burst forth. In the mad scramble to enter under the archway of the Agency's yard, neither of them could truly determine who had actually won, leading to a round of deep, juvenile laughter. A fat waterskin was waiting for them on the grass against the house's wall; the redhead swiped it up first. He put it to his lips and chugged greedily, spilling quite a bit down his chest -- much to the chagrin of the other Highlander. "Oi, Berrod!" He complained, "If yer gonna waste it all, least lemme get my whet first!"

 

Berrod lowered the skin and aimed a smirk at the other. Bright green eyes flashed in challenge, and he beckoned. "If y'want it, come get it, Caleb." To accent the taunt, he shook the sloshing vessel. Caleb didn't respond with anger, but with a slightly exasperated snort. "Am I gonna have ta kick yer arse again?" Berrod's only response was another shake of the skin. 

 

Caleb was the slower of the two, but it was not evident by the way he moved. His left leg planted forward and allowed him to push off from his right, sending him on a crash course with the other with an arm outstretched toward the waterskin for good measure. Berrod had no time to dodge and instead braced, holding the skin as far away from the other man as possible. The collision was far from catastrophic but still significant, sounding a sharp clap of skin and a chorus of grunts between the two. They may as well have been aldgoats fighting over a mate; demonstrating a critical part of the Highlander stereotype in the wee hours of morn. It took some grappling, manoevreing and strong-arming, but Caleb eventually managed to snag the waterskin from the other.

 

The result had left them both panting, having perhaps endured more exercise than they had during their jog. Caleb drank deeply, finishing the remnants of the cool liquid in very little time. As an answer to the taunting from before, he tossed it back toward Berrod, who reflexively caught it with a scowl. "Bastard," He grunted. The insult didn't quite reach his eyes.  His eyes, however, seemed to do some reaching of their own. It was just a for a moment, but they flitted down and traced a drop of sweat that had dripped from the man's chin. As it traversed down Caleb's musculature, so too did those twin greens follow the path of taut flesh. The drop perished as it soaked into the waistband of the man's shorts, making Berrod suddenly aware of what he had done. He lifted his eyes to see that Caleb had been watching his gaze, and sought to hastily look away. "Awright, break's over. We should get back on it."

 

Caleb's only response was a slightly raised brow and a nod. Without fuss he turned and made his way to the archway over the yard's entrance. It was easy enough for him to reach it and begin a lengthly set of pull-ups. Berrod sauntered over to lean on the column at the side, folding his arms and doing his best not to look in the other man's direction. "Don't lemme catch ya skimmin' now," He teased. Caleb growled something at him that sounded very much like an expletive, but kept going until the muscles of his arms, back and shoulders were swollen and corded. When he finally dropped, it was with an ostentatious presentation in front of the other. "Yer turn."

 

Berrod had counted every repetition and was determined to outdo him, even by just one. He worked nigh vindictively, enjoying the spirit of competition just as much as he enjoyed the screaming burn that ran through his arms and shoulders. He could feel when Caleb took a look at him, those blue eyes left pinpricks on his skin wherever they landed. After significant exertion he let go and landed on the floor, mirroring the proud display Caleb had provided for him. "How's that?"

 

"Yer a case an' a half," Caleb snorted. "Always gotta try an' one up me."

 

"Ain't ever gotta try hard," Berrod shot with a playful sneer. 

 

"Yer askin' for it," The dark-haired Highlander warned. Berrod only moved closer, eliciting a wrinkle of Caleb's nose. "Gods, ye stink."

 

The words made Berrod suddenly aware of it. With a sharp pair of sniffs he did realize that he exuded a sweat-borne musk that made the air around him a little thick. It wasn't -that- bad though -- or so he thought. "I ain't that ripe," came the casual protest, "An' you ain't exactly a bed o'roses either." He stepped closer, leaving but a pair of ilms between them. 

 

Berrod's actions caused Caleb to frown and warily glance around them. "We're outside, Berrod," He warned. The redhead would not be deterred, however. It was out of the norm; usually he would be the one championing for care and discretion when they were not alone together. It seemed that this morning he was ready to throw caution to the wind. "Yeah, I know."

 

He paused and breathed deeply, leaning his nose close enough into Caleb's neck for his breaths to cool the sweat. "Hrm. It really ain't a bed o'roses, but it ain't so bad either." His tone waned husky and low. Caleb still remained apprehensive, still looking about -- down the street in particular. There was only resistance when Berrod's hands grew bold enough to seek the waistband of the soaked shorts. "Not here."

 

It was only when Berrod pulled back he realized that they had been pressed together -- the sound of their bodies pulling apart gave an almost comical, somewhat tearing sound , like wet leather peeled off a wall. "Fine, fine. I'll behave. Gonna finish yer sets with that pointin' out in the road, though?" With a juvenile smirk, he pointed down below Caleb's waistline, where the Highlander had very clearly responded to the attention he had been given. "If y'do it, I'll do it too. Gotta one-up ya, after all."

 

Caleb's laugh was loud enough to send several birds skyward, which drew attention to the blue haze of imminent sunrise in the east. "Yer like a damn kid," He chided. "I'll wait a bit, I ain't doin' that!"

 

Berrod's smirk had grown into a full on grin. "Suit yerself, I'm gonna do it anyway."

 

It was so that sunrise met the two fellows; one leaned on the entrance column shaking his head while the other did rather inappropriate pull-ups in fits of breathless cackling. The poor retainer who was passing by had left scarred and scandalized beyond all reckoning. 

 

All was well again, for a time.

[ZindelloTarantella]

((I implore you, if you do read this, it is written the way it's written for a reason and ask that you read ALL the way through!))

 

"Good morning everyone~!"

 

The shrill little voice cheered as the door to the Company house was kicked open. The tiny Lalafell emerged, pigtails bobbing in the sunshine as she walked out into the front garden, smiling pleasantly. In fact there was nearly a dance in her step she was so happy and mellow. It was a great day, really, with the sun shining and the birds singing. In fact, she had had a great morning with a big breakfast and a nice bath and was now ready to go out and do her best for everyone in the company!

 

As she tromped through the green grass below her, turning her bright eyes to the blue sky above her, she stopped short, shocked!

 

"The Faces of Mercy!"

 

There, standing before the gate to their adorable little Company house was their enemy--the group that had hounded her new friends to no end! And they had them, all of them, tied up and were leading them away!

 

"Oh NO!"

 

Zozola Zola de Chocola IX could NOT let this stand! It was up to HER to save her friends!

 

"Oh, it is Zozola Zola! You may be the most charming, delightful, beautiful, cleverest, sweetest and most powerful mage in all of Eorzea and Beyond but you cannot stop US! The FACES OF MERCY!" said their leader, pointing at the little Lalafell with a terrible finger. "Your friends are ours and we will destroy you!"

 

Raising her scepter to do battle, Zozola Zola looked the man in the eye with the most charming, delightful, beautiful, cleverest, sweetest and most powerful smile a person could manage. "I will not let you hurt my friends! It's time to dance!"

 

Twisting around, she fired a blast of flame at the nearest Face, knocking him onto his rear and sending him running, dropping the rope holding Crooked Tarot, the Company's accountant. "Thank you, Zozola! It's not wonder I hired you on to be our Company mage!"

 

With a few direct flicks of her scepter, she blasted another Face with ease, this time saving Athea, who said in their strange voice, "You are truly the greatest thing to ever happen to your Company! Please help save the others, Zozola Zola de Chocola IX!"

 

The three proceeded on, walking in perfect step as they made their way after the rest of the group. They stopped when they saw that the Faces were now holding Draco hostage as well! "You will let her go now!" Zozola unleashed a powerful wave of lightning, blowing the Face clear over the balcony of the Goblet as Draco was freed.

 

"WARK!" Draco declared happily, praising Zozola and thanking her for saving her. "WARK-WARK!"

 

Of course Zozola was only too happy to oblige, even to save a humble chocobo, for she was friend to all creatures of Eorzea both great AND small!

 

Leading her merry band on they moved along to vanquish the rest of the Faces! All the while cheering her name for being the most charming, delightful, beautiful, cleverest, sweetest and most powerful mage in all of Eorzea and Beyond!

 

------------

 

"Yes--yes--worship me--nya~haha...ha..." Zozola mumbled, waving her hand imperiously in her sleep as she turned over in bed before promptly rolling off and falling onto the floor below. With a thud, the young Lalafell groaned, blinking her eyes and looking around at the tangle of blankets and sheets she found herself in, her dream shattered in a moment. There was that quick moment when she realized it was indeed all a dream and she caught herself pouting. She had just been about to claim her reward too...

 

Still, the thought of everyone finally learning their place was enough to turn the pout into a sneer as she pushed her little hands onto the floor and stood up--only to flop over again as he legs got caught in the blankets. This time it illicted a curse as she laid face-down on the wooden floorboards. Some kicking and sputtering followed as she pried herself loose of the bedclothes and got up. Moving to the mirror of the room she was borrowing for the time being, she looked into the glass and sighed. A LOT of work to do this morning.

 

Grabbing up her hairbrush, one of the few things she managed to bring with her, she started working on combing out the long blond locks, her mind already working this early in the morning. And it was indeed early--dawn was only just starting to peek over the horizon outside. Stopping for a moment to look at the surroundings, she couldn't help but feel a tiny twinge of depression at her plight. Living here, of all places, with a bunch of dunces and dunderheads wasn't so bad--they'd eventually learn their position and she'd be on top where she belonged. No, the issue was that she had only three hundred gil to her name--it was all her father had given her before he'd shoved her out the door.

 

It wasn't easy having to work your way up from the bottom, of course. She'd need to find new minions and underlings that did what they were told--and there was the matter of getting back her beloved pet as well.

 

"So much to do and so little time. A noble's life is never easy..." she sniffed, looking back into the mirror before her lips curled up into her trademark sneer.

 

"But it still shouldn't be too hard for the most charming, delightful, beautiful, cleverest, sweetest and most powerful mage in all of Eorzea and Beyond! Nya~HAHAHAHAH!"

 

As she burst into laughter, she stopped only a second as a THUMP was heard from the wall that stood between her and the room next door--the inhabitant probably not pleased with being awoken by the shrill laughter that early in the morning. It only stopped her for a second though before she burst into another fit of the giggles.

 

"NYA~AHAHAHA!"

[Oscare]

"I don't care, I told myself." The man's bare chest expands, pulsating back and forth in labor. Staring at the mirror, the hunter wipes a brow drenched in sweat, a stone cold violet gaze reflects back onto him. He runs a hand through his beard, unshaved for months and prickly, gathering and clustering more as every day passes on. 

 

No shoes, no shirt, no service. His foot scratches the other's ankle, a hand instinctively gropes a pectoral in a desperate attempt to relax himself, huffs as strong as hurricanes escape in rhythm of Oscare's breathing, a downpour of sweat rolling on down. He droops his head, shaking it -- all being reflected right back at him in the mirror.

 

"I don't care... I don't... care... No, I don't, not at all." An eerie chuckle escapes him, nearly choking on his sweat and grasps for air. "They don't matter to me at all. Let them die in Thanalan, let those stupid Faces of Mercy strangle them with their own intestines... Swallow their tongues, leave them with holes in between their eyes. Spew their own blood out, hex them to have blood leak from every hole of their bodies..." The hunter finally looks back up at the mirror, seeing his own eyes crack with rusty red veins and pupils smaller than ants. The sweat slowly wears away his face paint, the burn marks they hide come to light. "Let them know their screams! The screams that fuel my very being...!" A bang. The hunter -- or better yet -- sociopath slams his fist down, shaking everything in the table. The mirror collapses on his head, shattering in pure terror from the dark-toned's man thundering strike. Sweat mixes in with blood now, and the breathing isn't as rapid anymore. 

 

Oscare scoots back from the broken mirror, slowly walking to the center of his room. His hands travel to the buckle of his belt, deft motions undoing the buckle and slips the belt off his waist. He coils the waist-piece in his hands, looking at the closest wall. Strolling on over, a sly smile takes shape, hands gripping ever so tightly on the plain brown leather belt. He lashes against it, incomprehensible mutters seethe out. 

 

"Don't care! Don't. Fucking. Care!"