#’twould make me very happy

[saltysaltdog]

Narinder and his relationship to the bishops. What caused their falling out?

The game tells you everything you need to know... (Spoiler, it was Leshy)

"Hapless Leshy" is how Haro describes them. And that just means he's very unlucky, unfortunate... doomed.

Leshy is the youngest god, the god of Chaos and flux. For a lot of people when they imagine Chaos, they think of something ever changing, a sensory overload that's never consistent and with no repeating patterns. Constant change.

Notably, Narinder doesn't have anything bad to say about him. His dialogue is limited to one line. "Leshy fell before you like a grain of sand before a tidal wave." Considering how verbose Narinder usually is this should strike you as odd. He comments about how happy he is with seeing the others fall, but not Leshy. He even holds himself in check if you do something that really upsets him, like sell out Ratau (cough cough) but he can't bring himself to demean leshy in the same way, nor celebrate at all.

He should be a natural ally to Narinder, who wanted change. And yet he's not.

"He was unalike the rest of his kin. While others dealt with flux; chaos, famine, pestilence, war. Things in which their constancy must transpose. And yet he was the inevitable; the obstinate and irresistible. The one who waits. Truly peculiar, 'twould then seem, has appetency to invite the novel and the new, break ancient vow and primordial bond alike. Traditions stagnate and appetites augment, nonetheless. Doubt tears faith asunder."

Switching between two states: change, is the natural order of things, Leshy should be inviting chaos, causing it... And there lies the problem.

Bonds of familial duty, turned instead to chains. Most voracious of appetites, curbed and contained. Most infectious of ideas cut off and cauterised before given chance to rot and spread. Cruel, verily. Alas, what other recourse was given? How does one kill Death? ... Alas. One cannot."

The final lines imply that they sacrificed their power, their growth, to stop Narinder, but what if it wasn't him they were doing it for?

Hear me out. Leshy is the youngest and the weakest, it could be that his powers couldn't handle the rate at which things were changing. If so, then he would only be an obstacle to Narinder. At first it would be fine, but if Leshy didn't get better, if the bishops couldn't cause meaningful change, new things, if change itself was making him sick and "Doubt tears faith asunder": wouldn't it be the one to "break ancient vow and primordial bond alike" be first in line for having the blame cast on them?

We don't have a clear idea on what shenainigains Narinder was up to, but both he and Shamura tell us one thing he was working on.

"The blame hangs heavy 'round my neck. I introduced him to ideas of change..." ".... Death cannot flow backward."

Bringing the dead back to life.

He praises you for doing so in response to one of his quests on his quest line. But that's not to say it's all he was working on.

--

Hang tight, because this bit is up for interpretation:

These guys.

Cute mushroom guys that infect you and try to turn you into a mushroom too, and once you die you can be replanted, again and again and again and again and a- its basically immortality!

They live in Narinder's domain, and yet they are Menticide Mushrooms from Anura given a follower form. They are unnatural, and fiercely hunted when they visit there, so they are not endemic to the area. If Narinder was playing with Nature's laws, turning mushrooms into people, or people into mushrooms, then what's to say he wasn't trying it on anything else?

Like say maybe... plants?

Yes.

Now technically a lot of enemies you fight have plant like features, so many in fact that it's like they were mass produced, existing everywhere except the silk cradle: Shamura's domain of war.

Now these plant creatures fight for the bishops, but that's not to say they are natural. We get normal frogs, insects, fish, etc, but we only get these plant-like worm followers after Leshy turns them into plant like creatures. I don't believe you can randomly happen across them. Perhaps these constructs were originally developed to ensure protection of his siblings, something to prevent them from wasting followers on defending their realms from weaker gods. Or launching assaults. After all, don't many people have a primordial bond to the land they grew up on? Having your favourite tree attack you would suck.

While maybe not a direct result of Narinder, although I wouldn't put it past him to look at a worm and crown and go "oh this'll be funny", I think it's possible that no other plant creature developed consciousness, that Leshy is special, unique, alone.

Perhaps everyone had different ideas on how to help him.

It's up to personal preference the order of events and the degree of sentience the plant enemies have, and thus the mental age of leshy when he became a god, but I'm inclined to think that Narinder still considers Leshy his baby brother, one who would be spared if he could.

(He also made the undead enemies you fight but that's probably obvious.)

But this is all speculation, entities like the gold loving tree exist, so there could be old entities that are plant based kicking around. And the mushrooms could just be from the giant dead god skull being a god of decay. It's hard to know for sure.

It'd be so funny if we could plant that mushroom and grow a giant god. Unlikely though.

-

So Leshy's existence is unprecedented, Chaos itself to many who see him. But why doesn't chaos help him? Narinder speaks about the "unordered beauty of his realm..." and his attack patterns are technically random, but most Bishops speak on their domain a lot.

Leshy doesnt.

"Winds of change blow; dost thou sense it? Around us, the world creaks and turns. Afore, it stood immobile. Motionless centuries grow rust. Now leshy has fallen..."

His domain was stagnant. Leshy is concerned with Narinder being a heretic, and thus you, because your rituals don't align with the old faith's practices. But since those "traditions stagnate", it makes sense why he is the least revered among his siblings, his grasp on the order, what those rituals are supposed to bring, isn't that good. He's probably just doing them because he's supposed to without understanding the greater purpose of them.

"The worm, it is hungry. It feeds. It partakes of our flesh. But that is the price for safety. For that we gladly give it all we have."

His average followers don't even use his name, or maybe they aren't really his followers at all? It's hard to know for sure.

"I recall Leshy. Prior to yourself, he was the last to bargain with me. Adept as he was, he rose quickly to the challenges of Godhood, aided by his siblings. Many were drawn to his chaotic ways"

He was helped out a lot by his siblings, likely to the point he would have died if he was alone.

do Narinder's siblings really think Narinder could have attempted to kill leshy after being perhaps monumental in causing his existence?

Part 2: yep.

Narinder says that Shamura "could never handle the multitudes of a being such as I" (paraphrased. I'm lazy.) Which we are to take as a statement on what he wanted to attempt with his power. With the sins of the flesh update however it might not be that simple.

Sup you slithery bastard.

What's key here is listening to how the other bishops talk about Narinder. Leshy refers to him as a heretic, Heket as a monster they chained below, Shamura as a brother and Narinder.

They used the term red crown for him, but with the notion of it's own independence Kallamar becomes the most relevant.

Kallamar: "Shamura, the Red Crown grows stronger by the day. Already it has succeeded where he has failed before. Leshy has been slain!"

There's a collective understanding of who "he" is. Narinder. But it is interesting that Kallamar never directly uses the term to refer to Narinder, only using pronouns. Isn't the vessel's success Narinder's success? This makes it sound like the red crown is an entity of its own, succeeding where Narinder failed, at least in Kallamar's mind.

It should be noted that Kallamar doesn't refer to you as the red crown during the events of the game. You are the vessel of it. Then when he needs to insult you, critter, beast. Then as a final plea, lamb. Before that however, after he figures out you arent leaving he tries to bargin with the crown directly.

It seems you cannot be stopped by disease or hunger. And he sends you back from death stronger each time. Please know, it was not my idea to cast out the Red Crown! The other Bishops, my siblings, the blame lies with them. Please, I beg you, spare me. Kill Shamura, but do not send me to my death. Do not send me to him!

Then finally, in post game, likely before seeing Kallamar again, when you have gathered enough sin the seller will ask you:

"I have dealt with Gods, and often pondered; does the Bearer wear the Crown, Or the Crown the Bearer?"

"Stay back! Stay away! Mercy, Red Crown, mercy..."

Of course once you have him as s follower and he realises you are not walking puppet for damnation personified he chills out.

According to the seller "Foolish though he may have seemed, he wielded the power of his Crown without discrimination." Meaning Kallamar might have the most experience with how screwy the crown may be on the minds of followers, and potentially gods if Chemach is anything to go by.

In this sense Kallamar might be the only one who believes Narinder to be innocent- in the sense that he was not in his right mind when he did whatever it was that made the bishops think he was trying to kill leshy- imagining him to be under some kind hypnosis, unable to tell friend from foe. So he always separates the two just in case. That being said, the need to imprison him for was probably encouraged by him.

Of course this all relies on the "he" mentioned being Narinder and not like Ratau or something. Kallamar does know him by name, weirdly enough. "Your friend Ratau was the last vessel sent against us," which begs the much funnier question that how does he know his name? Did they talk? Did Ratau just scream an introduction before every fight? Presumably that was decades ago Kallamar how do you even remember?

Not the worst ship I've seen.

All fun aside, some of Heket's lines can also be interpreted this way.

Heket: "So it is true. The Red Crown sits upon the brow of another."

"The Bishops… my family. Have they not suffered enough? Have I not suffered enough? We fought, pathetic vessel. We bled. We grieved. And yet the Red Crown wants more. No more."

"Pathetic, sniveling, vile puppet to the Red Crown. You have felled the youngest of us. We are the Bishops of the Old Faith. We protect against heresies such as yours. /....We will not tolerate such blasphemy. Your sins are many, and for that y... "

"You there, vessel of the Red Crown! Bow to me, or you will regret it!"

"It was not so long ago that we cast out the Red Crown. A mere thousand or so years. The heresy it preached could not be tolerated. Such noxious ideals... it could not be allowed. For this most damning of sins_"

The mention of sins and heresy is interesting because more less or we just got here. There's the idea that the crown itself is heretical, perhaps not just as a symbol. Since you know, it tells us to gather sin. But of course, in typical play you have murdered her followers in at least four crusades against Leshy then her so, plenty of heresy and sin there.

Theres no much we can gleam about Narinder's actions, but her dialogue suggests her battle with Narinder stemmed from what he wanted to accomplish/his vision for the future, rather than any attempts on Leshy's life- at least not directly- and considering Narinder says "Heket's words were more toxic and foul than the mushrooms that grew in her domain." I think they may have fought over policy and doctrine a lot. After all, nothing would be so wounding to Narinder than himself to be wrong and someone else to be right.

He calls her "arrogant" but Haro called her "temperamental". The two may not conflict, since haro also says she's "afeared by none" which is to say scared by nothing, not that in her rule nobody was scared of her. The seller calls her "vicious" and a "wicked beast", but also amusing in a way, which I'm more inclined to believe is him saying she was annoyingly persistent in trying to get past him into his portal thing than any form of true disdain. Then again she might have just eaten the god tears to see what they do instead of trading them. So many fun possibilities.

That being said, how do we reconcile Kallamar's belief that Narinder tried to kill Leshy with Heket's main complaint being his ideas?

Shamura.

Part 3: the tl;dr.

Shamura introduced Narinder to change, but according to Haro this should have been something he already knew from being around his siblings since their domains "transpose". Famine: feed. Plague: cure. War: peace. Chaos: order. So this has to be something different.

Shamura's domain used to be knowledge but now she is known for war. Her aspect changed, and it's likely this is what she means.

Narinder wanted to change Leshy's aspect. It would solve all his problems, allowing his other siblings to experiment instead of just stamping out anything new. Once he was set on his course Shamura couldn't stop him.

If leshy was already struggling and tried listening to Narinder and changing how everyone saw him, already having issues with cult management, this could have killed him. A god is nothing without followers. If Narinder started his plan without letting Leshy know, it definitely could have killed him.

The plan would require everyone's cooperation to work, rituals rewritten and spreading word of the change fast enough to keep it from being changed back. Shamura would have argued against it, noting issues that if brushed off by nari would set off Heket and they'd argue viciously, probably about Narinder's character and how callous ignoring the risks are. If Kallamar was put on the spot, already being a cowardly person he wouldn't be of any help. And the fight would continue.

It's possible leshy would have tried it just to stop his siblings, and done catastrophic damage to himself. After all, he's the only one who is said to eat the sacrifices directly. It's possible whatever happened forced him to need to eat food, something the gods usually don't bother with.

This would have cemented his belief in the rules as they are now, instead of however lax he may have been before. He may have liked the mushroomos or learning to make plant people before then and might have been the only one who was interested in what Narinder was doing and not trying to stop it.

You may think yourself righteous in your service to HIM. But you should not be so trusting of the Chained One.

He's the only one to comment on how your quest could be perceived as the right thing to do. He's been there himself and suffered for it.

Even so, Camellia still grows in the dark woods. They are the flowers that grow around any red crown rooms you may find, making them explicitly tied to Narinder.

And with Narinder's inability to celebrate his demise....

They couldn't quite bring themselves to hate the other.

#cult of the lamb #cotl narinder #cotl shamura #cotl leshy #cotl kallamar #cotl heket #cotl #cotl bishops #add it to the list #character analysis is pretty fun in this fandom. you get to hold up pieces and puzzle out how they fit. #cotl ratau #salty art

[tallbluelady]

Gaolbreak

AKA Rowan is not happy she is in an Elf Dating Sim.

~3.2k

 It was all going rather well until Count Edmont mentioned they were all to attend a ball later that week.  Rowan kept her hesitation to herself while the Count told Alphinaud that Emmanellian would be more than happy to take him shopping for proper garments. It did, however, come out when Haucherfant volunteered to take her and Tataru gown shopping.

"Couldn't I just go shopping with Alphinaud and Emmanllian?" Rowan asked, "I don't want to be a bother." She didn't ask if she could avoid the event all together, even if she really wanted to. She had attended enough parties that she knew it would be a faux pas to avoid it entirely.

"Emm's been banned from the better establishments in the Croizer," Haucherfant gave a little smirk over his cocoa.

Edmont gave Haucherfant a small warning glance before continuing, "What Haucherfant says is unfortunately true. Emmanellian, while only wanting to encourage young ladies in their dress choices, had so thoroughly discomforted some that the various tailors had him ousted. Mayhap I should have kept him on a tighter leash..."

Artoirel shook his head, "No, he wasn't there to encourage the young ladies, he was thoroughly fleecing them for gossip. Someone had put it in his head -" there was a glare to Haucherfant - "that such a place would garner such."

"Tis true though!" Emmanellian seemed unperturbed that the conversation was of a disparaging tone against him. It seemed far more important that it was about him at all.

With breakfast eaten and all of them bundled for the cold, they set out to the Jeweled Crozier. The women gave Alphinaud a wave as they entered an establishment called By The Finest Thread. Tataru's eyes gleamed at all the different fabrics tacked on the walls and Rowan had to admit that the variety of fabrics was impressive.

"Do you know what color you like? Tataru I've seen in various shades of pink, but I haven't had the pleasure of seeing you much out of your armor, Rowan," Haucherfant said.

"To be frank, I'm a lot more comfortable in well worn leather than I am in most gowns..." Rowan tried to figure out how the bolts of fabric were actually organized. There was some semblance of spectrum, but she couldn't figure out what the textiles were without touching them.

"Ser Greystone, what a pleasure it is to see you again!" someone, likely the proprietor of the place, said behind the counter.

Rowan gave him a glance. How did Haucherfant know this person? He gave Rowan a wink and started chatting with the woman, an Allunine. Rowan drifted from looking at the fabrics to watching Tataru take the swatches of what she liked. Her friend had the selection down to a few when she noticed the notions on the side. Rowan turned back to Haucherfant and the owner to see if they were allowed to more or less ransack the place to find what they preferred.

"...and having all but forgotten about the ball with their arrival to Ishgard twould be remiss of me to not make sure they have the finest gowns the Holy See has to offer," he said with such a well practiced grace that Rowan would have called it oiled if it didn't seem to be sincere.

Allunine hummed in hesitation, "I can't very well refuse the man who protected my beloved from dragonfire... but I will have to charge more to have them expedited."

"An expense House Fortemps will easily take," Haucherfant said.

"Oh, I can pay for my dress Haucherfant..." Rowan said, "I have plenty of gil."

"I wouldn't dream of such a thing, Rowan. You're part of the family now, and what kind of family doesn't take care of their own?"

Rowan hummed and conceded that point. Then she started. When did... she'd have to find a way to further thank Lord Edmont for his kindness.

"I see the young..." Allunine made some vague gesturing, "ah, lass, has made her selection already... Even got into the notions..."

When Allunine went over to attend Tataru, Rowan turned back to Haucherfant.

"Can I at least cover the rush fee?" she asked.

"Ah, the Warrior of Light is rather insistent on paying her dues is she?"

"That comes more from being a merchant's daughter. Mama taught me that people should be compensated for their work, especially if they have to be rushed to do it."

"And Allunine shall, easily. House Fortemps is not one of small means, Rowan. Don't worry about the charges."

Rowan sighed. She wasn't sure if she could convince Haucherfant that it was more of a personal pride thing rather than worrying about the coffers of a noble house. She'd have to give the seamstress a tip during a fitting...

"You still haven't told me what colors you like, Rowan." Haucherfant said, wandering over to the silkier end of the fabrics.

"Oh, huh. Uh, I guess I like purples more. It can be a little hard to dress myself with my skin and hair color," Rowan had to restrain herself from touching every bolt of fabric to test the texture.

"But you have a lovely complexion! And I've yet to see anyone with such a rich green head of hair as yourself." He pulled out a purple bolt of silk.

Rowan felt herself stiffen. When was the joke going to come? But Haucherfant only smiled and held up the silk.

"Let's see if this agrees with your coloring, Rowan."

*   *   *   *

The day of the ball came and Rowan found herself in a gown that she couldn't argue with. Despite Haucherfant's preference in gauzy fabrics, Rowan found a heavy enough brocade that wouldn't blow away in the lightest breeze. And in this one case she was lucky that Ishgard was so cold; it kept the fashion rather modest. If she were in Limsa or Ul'dah, the neckline would plunge down farther than she was comfortable with.

Tataru squealed with delight when Rowan stepped out from her room. "Rowan, you look so elegant!"

Rowan shrugged in the least elegant way possible. That earned a small growl from Tataru, who had been trying to encourage Rowan to embrace what little femininity she had while getting fitted in the dress. Wearing a dress at all was about as far as Rowan was willing to go.

"Don't grouse at me. You're not going to get any farther than my mother on this," Rowan said, "If Ishgard wasn't so strict about everything, I'd be wearing trousers..."

Count Edmont then came up, looking even more aristocratic than before in his suit. "My, my, don't you two cut elegant figures? I'm glad Haucherfant could convince Allunine to expedite those dresses."

Rowan gave the Count a nod and took the compliment from him without any fuss. It was his gil, after all, that paid for it. Though her exasperation continued to mount as Alphinaud and younger Fortemps men all looked at her in surprise.

"My word, old girl, if my heart wasn't already set on Laniaitte tonight..." Emmanellian's eyes bounced up and down. Honoroit had the decency to look embarrassed at the display.

Artoirel cut a hard glare at his younger brother, "You know that's no way to look at a lady, especially a ward of your own house." He turned to Rowan. "Though father has the right of it; you do look rather fetching."

Poor Alphinaud's jaw seemed to be dragging on the carpet when he looked at Rowan, so he turned to Tataru, who was looking a little miffed at the lack of comments her way. "Tataru, I must say that your eye for fashion continues to serve you well. You look far more polished than many Ishgardian ladies I've met with."

That cheered her up, and she beamed and curtsied to Alphinaud. She turned a bit after, looking for their missing member. "Where's Haucherfant?"

"He's already outside, he wanted to talk to the coachman about a certain chocobo in our stables..." Count Edmont took a count of heads. "If that's all of us, we should  get going."

Rowan couldn't quite get the use of a carriage within Ishgard's walls if there was a perfectly good aethernet throughout the city. But mayhap it had more to do with flaunting status more than any true function. Which... she could only hope that they didn't drive through the Brume.

Tataru tugged on Rowan's sleeve after they had all piled into the carriage, so she leaned down to listen to her friend. "Did you ignore Haucherfant's hand when getting in the coach on purpose?"

Rowan turned and gave her friend a quizzical look. "What? I... I could get into the coach just fine, even in these skirts."

Tataru gave a sigh of exasperation. "Rowan, you're living in an Ishgardian romance novel. Start acting like it."

Rowan could only give a small groan at that, seeing as they made it to their destination. Twas a very short trip and Rowan wondered if they all could have just walked and spare the coachman and chocobos the chill of the night.

But now that Tataru had mentioned it, she did notice that Haucherfant scrambled out of the coach first and get the steps ready. She watched her friend be guided down the steps by Haucherfant's gallant hand and took another second to realize that everyone else was waiting for her, because she was the other lady in the group. To avoid Tataru's wrath, she let Haucherfant take her hand to guide her down the carriage steps.

And she had to admit, it did feel nice. She did her best to avoid his gaze, though. Mayhap the carriage thing was an elaborate set up to get eligible nobles to marriage.

Most of the introductions and entries went by a in a blur. The only thing Rowan was conscious of was that her fellow Scions went to the party like wavekin to water and she had to stay near to someone in her party lest she drown.

"I'm curious, is there Duskwight blood in the Dzmael house?" Rowan asked, trying to add to the conversation with the count of that house, "Your eyes resemble that of my mother and brother."

Count Dzmael puffed up in an offended expression and Artoirel grimaced. Shite, shite, shite. This is why you're quiet, Rowan.

But before any true consequence could come to pass, Haucherfant was at her elbow, all smiles and smoothing. "My Lord, you must know that Rowan only meant it as the highest of compliments. Amongst the Warrior of Light's great virtues is the love of her mother! Why, could you not think of a more noble and lovely person than your own mother?"

"My mother, yes. But I do suppose the young lady meant no ill will in her statement, not knowing the purity of our High Houses as an outsider..."

Rowan gave a chastised nod and let Haucherfant lead her onto the dance floor and away from conversations.

"Thanks for the gaolbreak," she sighed, "I can't navigate these waters. There are far too many ways to offend people."

"You just need some practice, my friend." Haucherfant lead her through a spin. "Tis similar to dancing."

"Dancing I have half-covered from combat," Rowan said, "Knowledge of one's body carries over to many things I've noticed."

"That I can attest to. Even in more amorous activities, I've found..." He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Rowan blushed and gave a nervous chuckle at that. She well understood that Haucherfant was a man and fancied her but... she was definitely not there with him.

Luckily for her, Aymeric asked to cut in before aught else was to be said. She hoped that the look of surprise that the Lord Commander was asking her to dance would mask the intense relief she had.

"Ah, I suppose I can't hog the Warrior of Light all night. Be my guest, Aymeric." Haucherfant passed her hand with a bow and a smile.

After a short trot in promenade, Aymeric gave her a small smile. "You look as though I've just sprung you from the gaol, my friend."

Rowan grimaced at her lack of composure. "Haucherfant just did that after I managed to insult Count Dzemael. Then he managed to turn what I thought was something innocuous to... uh, suggestive."

"Most women I know with that kind of attention from Lord Greystone wouldn't want to leave him for all the gil in the Holy See."

"I am not most women."

Aymeric laughed at that. Twas a pleasant, hearty sound, and it reminded Rowan of Ellant's laugh. "Now that is evident. Though I must admit that it is part of your appeal."

"I swear to the Twelve, if I hear aught else of my appeal tonight..." Rowan muttered.

"Then I shall seal my lips on the subject after remarking on your excellent taste in dress."

They danced slow circles across the dance floor, Aymeric taking care to avoid clusters of Dzemael House members. Rowan had to admit the flow of the dance felt smooth and natural with Aymeric. He knew precisely how much pressure to put on his partner to get them where he wanted them to go.

He gave a small chuckle at that observation. "My mother would attribute my leadership skills to my grace in dance if she heard you say that."

"Well, mayhap she has the right of it. Dancing gives instant feedback if you have weak leading," Rowan smiled.

The song ended and Aymeric gave her a smile and bowed. Rowan bowed back, completely forgetting the fact that a curtsy was far more appropriate for someone in skirts.

Lifting her eyes, she found a strange man standing next to Aymeric, looking as uncomfortable in his suit as Rowan felt in her gown. With white hair and blue eyes, he seemed oddly familiar to Rowan, but she couldn't quite place where she had seen him before.

He muttered something to the effect of "may I have this next dance with you". But before Rowan could give him an answer either way, Aymeric shook his head.

"You really need to speak up if you want this to count towards our agreement, Estinien." He patted the dragoon on the shoulder.

"Ser Estinien?" Rowan couldn't hide her shock."

"Aye, even the Azure Dragoon can be found at balls. Imagine that!" Aymeric was grinning broadly.

Estinien glared at Aymeric then muttered something truly incomprehensible before clearing his throat and putting on an exaggerated affect. "Mistress Argentas. May I have the honor of this next dance?"

Rowan pursed her lips to stop her laughter and nodded. Estinien took her hand and practically yanked her away from Aymeric. He looked rather abashed when she had to right herself.

"Sorry. I thought you'd be able to handle that kind of speed."

Rowan shrugged. "You only caught me unaware. If I knew you were trying to get away from Aymeric I would have started leaping with you."

"Even in your dress?"

"Gods curse this dress..."

Estinien actually gave a small chuckle at that.

After a few disorienting turns in silence, Rowan decided to ask about the "agreement" he had with Aymeric.

"Oh that..." He turned his head to look at Aymeric, who was dancing with Laniaitte at the moment. "He told me that I could take my leave to Ferndale for my brother's nameday if I attended this ball and danced with at least one 'eligible maiden'. Livia then had the gall to refuse me, so I had to find someone else who wasn't afraid of me."

"Well, having beat the sense back into you, I can certainly say that I am that woman." Rowan gave a half grin to him.

"Right."

They passed the last bit of the song in companionable silence now that his need to show that he was actually dancing was over. He was actually a decent dancer when he wasn't trying so hard. At the end of the song, Rowan remembered to curtsy as Estinien bowed.

"And with that out of the way, I'm going to collect my promise in writing." Estinien said.

"Good luck," Rowan called.

He gave a bit of a wave and disappeared into the crowd to find Aymeric.

With her last partner gone, Rowan turned to try and find a spot where she could hopefully just sit and be a wallflower for the rest of the night. She had managed to sneak a few pages of a rather interesting treatise in her skirts that she'd like to get into.

But it was all for naught when Artoirel asked for a dance. Then Emmanellian. Then Haucherfant once again, though he seemed to be a little more subdued in his approach as the night wore on. Then, as the final dance was called, Rowan found herself partnered with Alphinaud.

"If that's all right with you, Mistress Rowan," he said, nervousness tinging his usually confident voice.

"Of course I'll dance with you, Alphinaud. You need only ask." She wanted to pat him on the head, but that wouldn't have the proper effect.

The young man was rather light on his feet and it seemed that he had been taught by a similar master that taught Aymeric. Or mayhap the observation that leaders are born to dance was far more true than Rowan had expected.

"My mother would also take that thought to heart, Rowan," He smiled. She was grateful that she could break the ice for her friend.

"Was dancing part of your education in Sharlyan? Aymeric mentioned that it was part of his upbringing as a young lord."

"Twas either dancing or swimming for the physical education credit. Well, if you weren't taking some sort of combative course at the Studium. Enough students end up taking both, but I only wanted to take the one so I could graduate earlier."

A stray thought floated through her mind wondering if Urianger was also a good dancer, but Rowan shook it out and focused on her current partner. He seemed to be smart enough to not attempt any spin at their height difference, but still lead the dance rather handily despite it. The song ended as they all did, bows and curtsies across the dance floor.

With the last dance finished, the guests made their way slowly outside. Luckily for Rowan, Count Fortemps seemed rather intent on making it home quickly, so they got out with only having to pry Emmanellian from Laniaitte. Tired as she was, Rowan gladly accepted Haucherfant's hand into the carriage.

"Well, how was your first Ishgardian ball, you three? All you ever hoped and dreamed?" Count Edmont asked when they were all piled into the carriage.

Rowan only managed to nod sleepily in reply as she listened to Alphinaud and Tataru give more coherent answers.

"If you're too tired to get to your room, Rowan, I'd be more than happy to carry you there," Haucherfant whispered as she started nodding off in the carriage.

And with that, Rowan started back awake, managing to hit her head as the carriage jolted over a large stone. "Ow."

#junelezen #rowan argentas #lots of other characters i am too tired to tag #i accidentally stayed up til 5 writing this woops #i also stole yloise's idea to have a ball in ishgard #this takes place before said gaolbreaking of raubahn #but i was far more interested in writing the elf dating sim scene so here we are

[elizabethrobertajones]

Can't stop won't stop... Please clap

Rabbit/Happiness

“So you’re sneaking around doing subtle things without including me, after all we talked about.”

Urianger shook his head, a self-reproaching laugh in his throat. “Art thee bored as thou keepeth watch?”

Galvin looked out across the vast crater of the moon. They were on the moon, standing in a crater. On the moon. There were creatures here, and a few had already come over as Urianger worked his mysterious plan and gathered mysterious things at these mysterious plants, growing on the moon. The rather less mysterious and rather more confounding moon. At least fireballs and lightning still worked on moon creatures as well as land creatures.

“I was just feeling left out.”

“And that is why I waited for thee before setting out upon this chore.”

Galvin shook his head and smiled. He probably had not been particularly subtle as he followed Urianger up here. A few hundred yalms away a pink floating thing floated pinkly. Galvin narrowed his eyes at it, but it continued on its way, doing its weird moon things.

“We used to tell stories about the shapes on the moon. These very craters, maybe. I suppose you came across them while studying astrology… The rabbit on the moon.”

“Dost thou feel self-conscious? Thou art a rabbit on the moon after all…” Urianger was replying distractedly, but he definitely had time to laugh at Galvin.

“I feel like there’s some sort of cosmic joke here, that I don’t quite understand yet. The Lopporits feel like some sort of personal comment by Hydaelyn. For all we know She made the craters in the shape of a rabbit simply because it amused Her.”

“’Twould not surprise me. Mayhap many of Her choices have a humour to them we know not how to read.”

“We’re really unravelling the secrets of the universe here,” Galvin sighed. He started to sit down on a nearby moon rock, then saw a strange stringy glowing black… thing… moving their way, and leaped to his feet, staff raised. It thankfully proved to be flammable.

When its weird screeching died down, he turned to see Urianger straightening up, brushing down his skirts. “I thank thee for your protection,” he said, with a small bow.

“This better have been worth it,” Galvin grumbled, feeling himself blushing, even now Urianger managing to make him feel pathetically entranced. He could hardly help stepping up onto his tiptoes to kiss Urianger a reassurance that no strange moon creatures and long mysterious walks could truly annoy him. That he would stand in this ridiculous crater with its ridiculous creatures as long as Urianger wanted him to. That, as weird as it was, as unsettling as all that had unfolded was, somehow in this moment he was still happy simply because he was there with Urianger.

It actually took several kisses to convey all that.

“I don’t suppose anyone has ever made love on the moon before,” Galvin mused.

“Prithee not here,” Urianger said despairingly, gesturing at the weird and off-putting fungoid plants beside him, blush creeping even further up his ears.

Galvin sighed lamentingly, and took Urianger’s hand to teleport them back to the Burrow.

#ffxiv #also admire my restraint that I took that screenshot like last month and have been sitting on it since #I knew #Woliangerweek #was coming and I didn't want to use my best card early :'D #i wrote this #my stuff #I hope I'm at least somewhat capturing the Vibes that Galvin exudes #endwalker spoilers

[gayforcarstairsgirls]

So you kinda seem like the person to als advice. No need to answer this, so please don't feel any pressure!!!

So I'm 15 y/o and in Highschool. I'm in my 4th year out of 6. There are lots of nice people at my school, really! But I struggle to fit in. I'm kinda in this huge 'friend group' of like, idk, 15-20 people? But I never get asked to hang out and every now and then I hear of some party I'm not invited to. And I've tried. So many fucking times, where I have come to the point that I can say I don't have any friends and for the coming 2 years at school I won't have any. I have tried socializing with other friendgroups but that also didn't work out.

It makes me feel lonely. Don't worry, I'm reaching out for help and I can easily talk about it with my parents. But it's kinda shitty to go to school every day.

Do you have any advice? Or maybe your followers have? But once again, no pressure! Love you <3

Hi anon! First of all, thank you for reaching out to me, hopefully I can help you in some way! (But also I am very sorry if this advice is not very helpful) <33

Honestly I'm really sorry you're struggling with friends at school, I've been in a position before of going to school without any real friends there so I know that it's really not fun and how lonely you must feel

I guess my first piece of advice is to find other smaller groups of people rather than the large friend group (which is easy for me to say, I know you've already tried ofc) and even if you don't try to hang out with them outright, just maybe talk to some different people in lessons, maybe you'll find someone that you can spend a bit more time with? There's probably people in your year or other years who share your interests, it's just not always easy to find them!

Secondly, I would guess that maybe you're not the only person in the bigger group who is kind of on the outside? Is there anyone else in it that doesn't get invited to things or maybe is less happy with them? Cause being lonely is a surprisingly effective bonding tool I won't lie (obviously depends on who is in the group). Also remember that during the two years you will probably have new students, the dynamic of a year group and different friendship groups can really change over that time

I'm aware that these things are way easier said than done and may not apply to your particular situation, but also please remember how many friends you can make online! Please please feel free to message me or send me more asks (anon or not, whatever makes you comfortable), and I'm sure other people on here feel the same way!! Fandom is a great way to make friends, online and irl :)

Based on personal experience really what I did was read books all day until I moved to a different school and found friends there instead, so I'm aware that this advice is probably kind of limited in its helpfulness, but I hope that at least something I've said can help you xx

Anyone else who sees this post and has any other advice please feel free to reblog or add in the comments!! 'Twould be much appreciated

#asks #anon #advice #hopefully useful advice #if it's not useful or there's something else you wanna say/ask pls feel free!! #my asks are always open <33

[words-and-pages]

Psst. I’m writing reviews again. Maybe. I wrote one review. This is that review.

#bookblr #reading #books #book review #sistersong #you are in no way required to read this #but if you did? #’twould make me very happy #k bye

[garlique]

tw for suicide and self harm in tags !! pls just scroll !!

#my mood swings have been so terrible lately and i feel so bad abt it lmao #they usually aren't this like? extreme? #like normally i just kinda swing from side to side of the same line of bland sadness #n i get happy for a few minutes n i get deeply sad for a few minutes but it's always like so minimal that i can just play it off n hide it #but its just so extreme now and i feel so awful because its literally impossible to hide #like literally one minute ive been like 'wow this is the happiest ive ever felt' and then the next its like #if anyone moves or makes any noise or talks to me im going to start sobbing #and then like 30 min later its like i viscerally hate everyone ive interacted with today so much i want to scream #like miss girl WHAT is going on in there !!!! i hate this !!!! #literally nothing makes me happy like everything just makes me so angry #like literally everything. literally everything. literally everything. i can't think of a single thing that i couldn't be angry about #im SO FUCKING READY TO BE DONE WITH THIS SEMESTER HOLY SHIT #AAAAAAAAAAAAA I JUST GOT SO MAD #LITERALLY when i started typing this post i was like on the verge of tears and now im so blistering angry holy shit holy shit #i hate this !!!! ooh i want to die so BAD lmao #i always stop cutting when i get like. this unhappy/suicidal #twould b very sexy if i could like .... engage in the coping mechanism i specifically developed to deal with emotional overwhelm #god im gonna unalive this fucking sucks i hate living like this #the other really stressful part of this is that i don't #you know what never mind . cannot keep shoving my emotional shit into other people . this is all me babey !!!

[leiawritesstories]

A Most Rewarding Night

Maybe a little cruel considering what happened in chapter 17.....but enjoy! Feat. Elide and Lorcan both, er, visiting Essar. On the same night. Enjoy! Takes place around chapter 10-ish, but (**SPOILER**) Elide and Lorcan’s recognition that both of them were keeping company with Essar is in chapter 17, so here you go!

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: language, implied smut, mentions of threesomes

A/N: surprise! happy Saturday! Enjoy!

~~~~~~

Her face half-obscured behind her lacy fan, Elide Lochan made casual conversation with a handful of other young people waiting in the expansive lobby of the concert hall. She expressed her enjoyment of the night’s opera performance, as did her companions, and they talked idly for some moments about opera and the arts.

At the sound of applause, Elide turned towards the cast doors, joining the plaudits as the opera singers walked into the lobby to accept compliments and mingle with the patrons. 

She made her way over towards them, for, being a patron herself, it would not appear good if she did not confer her compliments. 

“A lovely performance,” she nodded at the leading tenor, who bowed slightly and thanked her. She continued through the crowd, offering her appreciation to the cast, finally finding herself close to Essar, the leading soprano.

“An excellent performance tonight, Miss Essar,” she hummed, a perfectly polite little smile on her face.

“Ah, Lady Lochan,” Essar purred, her voice soft, controlled. “Thank you, you are far too kind.”

“Nonsense, I am never heavy-handed in my compliments. It was a truly excellent performance, Essar, and I applaud you especially for that final aria. I do believe I felt tears in my eyes.”

“You would never show such unseemly emotion in public, milady,” the soprano grinned. 

“Hmm, true.” Elide fluttered her fan. “‘Twould hardly be very like me to cry at an opera.”

“Indeed, you fine ladies prefer to save your emotions for...more private times.” Essar flicked a roguish little wink at Elide. 

“Far be it from us ladies to...express our pleasure in public,” Elide smirked.

A sly smile flitted across Essar’s face. “How true, milady.” She shook Elide’s hand in courtesy, covertly slipping her a note in the process. Elide nodded and walked away, smiling and making small talk with other patrons, the note tucked into her glove.

In her carriage, Elide unfolded Essar’s note and read the few lines, smiling broadly to herself. Back home, she went right up to her room, only pausing to call a goodnight to Aelin, who was just entering her own bedroom. She changed quickly into a simple skirt and blouse, tucking her nightgown over a body-shaped form of pillows so as to leave a dummy should anyone come to check on her. Locking her door, she slid her window open and climbed out, closing it until it was just a sliver opened, just enough that she could silently slide it open and reenter her room when she returned. 

Quiet as a cat, she slipped through the garden and the dark, quiet neighborhood, making her way through the streets until she was safely away from the Society homes. Dressed plainly, she blended in with the rest of the townsfolk, so she hailed a cab and went to Essar’s neighborhood, having the cabbie drop her off by the neat rows of townhouses. 

She gave four sharp raps to Essar’s green front door and waited all of twenty seconds before Essar herself opened the door. 

“Evening, Elide,” she hummed, her eyes sparkling. 

Elide walked in and nudged the door closed behind her, tugging off her long coat to reveal a rather sheer nightdress. “Evening, Essar.”

Essar’s eyes glowed darkly. “You look fucking gorgeous, Lady Lochan.”

“I’m sure,” Elide preened, tilting her graceful neck to one side, her dark hair spilling over a shoulder. “I didn’t just dress up for myself.”

Essar lunged forward and kissed her, hands tangling in her hair. She walked them towards a wall, Elide loosing a throaty chuckle when her back hit the plaster. “Eager, my singer?”

“It has been far too long, milady.” 

“Indeed,” Elide purred, pushing Essar to her knees. The opera singer’s eyes, blown out with desire, peered up into hers. “Indeed it has.” She hiked up the skirts of her nightgown, exposing her absolute lack of undergarments. Essar moaned a string of curses. 

“Please, let me touch you, milady.”

Elide bent down, kissing Essar’s forehead teasingly. “Do your worst.”

~

Lying in a tangle of sated limbs in Essar’s bed, Elide ran her fingers through the soprano’s mussed dark waves. “I missed you too, Essar.”

“Of course you did, nobody else has made you come like that.”

Elide giggled. “That’s because I have not been with anyone else, and my own fingers aren’t half as good.”

“Would you ever consider it?”

“What?”

“Being with someone else.”

“Well of course, as I, being a lady, am supposed to get married.”

“No, I meant...” Essar trailed off. “Never mind. It was a stupid thought.”

“Talk to me, Essar,” Elide encouraged, pulling her up and settling both of them against the pillows. 

“I meant...would you ever consider us being with someone else? If that’s something you are interested in, of course.”

A string of filthy thoughts flitted through Elide’s head, and she nearly had to clamp her thighs together to stifle the throb those thoughts sent through her. “I... perhaps, it depends on the person.”

A wicked little smirk crawled across Essar’s face. “Interesting.”

~

Elide had gone home shortly later, needing to cross the city again to get back to her house, leaving Essar once again alone. Her bedroom cleaned up, she went into her kitchen and poured herself some wine, sipping on it as she looked over her music. She had a full performance schedule in the next few days, a full Mozart opera and two concert programs planned for performing, plus starting rehearsals for the upcoming Rossini premiere.

Another knock at the door, this one heavier, drew her attention away from the scores. Slightly puzzled, she checked her appearance in the little mirror and went to answer her door. 

“Oh, hello, Lorcan. I had not been expecting you,” she explained, gesturing to her loose braid, nightgown, and glass of wine. 

“I apologize for not sending you a note,” Lorcan said, hanging his hat and coat on the same peg Elide had hung her coat. 

“D’you want a drink?” she asked.

“No, I’ll be fine.” Lorcan went into her living room and dropped onto the sofa, sighing. She followed, setting her wineglass down.

“Lor, you alright?” 

“I’m...I’m just stressed as shit,” he grumbled, tugging his hair out of its tail. “I’ve had a letter from my commander, he says the unit got a bunch of new recruits and they were barely trained, and he doesn’t want to pull me back but he might have no choice. And I don’t want to leave town yet, because I’ve a sneaking suspicion Rowan is going to do something stupid.”

“Whyever would he?”

“Because he just discovered that the lady he is deeply in love with has been betrothed to another man.”

“Well shit.” Essar’s brows shot up. “He isn’t drowning his sorrows in alcohol, is he?”

“Thankfully not, he’s just shutting himself in his fucking office all day.” His arm dropped around her. “Gods, Sar, I just have so much on my mind.”

“I know a few ways to relieve that,” she purred, shifting so she straddled his lap.

Lorcan’s grip shifted to her waist, guiding her to sit atop his thigh. “Do you, now?” His voice a sinful rumble. 

“Hmmmm, yes!” Her voice shooting up at least an octave as he guided her hips to roll against his leg.

“Show me, then.”

~

Essar kissed Lorcan goodbye, plopping his hat atop his head. “Go, Lor, and good night.”

“Good night,” he returned, kissing her hand elegantly. “I shall see you later. This time, I’ll write a note.”

She laughed at that, waving as he went to his horse. “Then I shall expect a note, milord.”

Closing the door, she went back into her bedroom and laid down on the bed, all but sagged against it, the...exertions of that night almost overwhelming. Gods, she thought, maybe one night they will both join me. And what a night that would be. She drifted off to sleep humming the melody of an aria, sinful thoughts of Lorcan and Elide’s bodies against hers burning through her mind. 

A most rewarding night, indeed.

~~~

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#as i am #my writing #regency au

[newtonsheffield]

You are not alone, cleaning is hard work! Saturday is my cleaning day and that’s my workout for the whole weekend lol!

I know your inbox is probably full of wonderful asks, but I figure I’ll just add mine to the mix :) I was rewatching my fav episode with Daphne and Anthony in the kitchen staring at the stove cluelessly 😂 and realize I miss them! Do you have anymore HCs between Anthony and Daphne, the oldest brother and the oldest sister? 💕 No rush at all, I like going to your page every so often and get absolutely ecstatic to see my asks answered. Thanks again you are the best!

Cleaning is... honestly the bane of my existence. I consider myself a neat (I mean tidy not like cool I think it’s very clear at this point that I have never been cool) person but my word. My respect to people who work in that industry honestly that is... hard work man.

Okay you have actually hit upon one of my absolute FAVOURITE moments in the first season. And I cannot tell you how much I need for there to be a call back to it in season 2 where Kate’s like “You... don’t know how to light a stove????” And snatches the matches from him with Simone Ashley’s perfect eye roll. ‘Twould thrill me! Anyway, I digress,

Anthony + Daphne

Anthony Bridgerton remembered very clearly when he’d walked into the hospital room, just turned 5 a week ago, and saw his sister for the very first time. She’d been crying loudly and his Dad had placed her in his arms and she’d stopped, looking up at him with huge eyes and Said It’s an even more important job to be a big brother now, Buddy. Daphne is going to need you to help her out. And Anthony felt awestruck when he looked at his tiny little sister, even at 5 years old and knew he would protect her with every thing he had.

It was surprising, Anthony thought in hindsight, that immediately after Hyacinth’s birth, his biggest supporter had been Daphne. She wasn’t even yet 13 and yet she spun around the room, after Gregory effortlessly, and she’d sigh at the end of the night, sound about 62 rather than 12 and say You get the boys, I’ll get the girls. And he hated it Because it shouldn’t be this way. Daphne should be going out with her friends, or reading those ridiculous Twilight books she liked, she shouldn’t be acting like this tiny little adult. And it broke his heart, because it was just another sign that he was failing at everything. He was supposed to protect her, and he’d failed and he wouldn’t do it again.

Which is probably why, when he walked into the Danbury ballroom all those years later and saw his friend Simon’s hands on her waist their lips touching together just so, he saw red. He liked Simon, he really did, but he’d vowed and declared that he would never settle down, never be serious about a girl, and Anthony couldn’t bear to see Daphne upset again. Not when he could still see her 12 year old face sobbing behind his eyelids. And later, when she sat next to him in their mother’s kitchen holding an ice pack to his face and whispered quietly I think I’m in love with him, you know. Anthony’s heart had broken again. Because how could he stand in the way of something that would make her so happy so he smiled, and ruffled her hair like he used to when they were little and said Well I’m happy for you then Daph.

And when he saw a text from Daphne the day after her party that said I’m glad you’re with Kate, she’s amazing. he’d smiled brightly and responded You’re alright too.

#bridgerton and sons au #anthony bridgerton #daphne bridgerton #anthony + daphne #daphne x simon #anthony x kate #molly’s asks and answers

[faelune-home]

FFXIV Write 2021 #27: Benthos

(a/n: Set after 4.1, three different watery focused POV stories across the lands.

Fhara deserves a vacation after all she’s done, although she would insist otherwise in favour of continuing to help; Alphinaud gets some swimming lessons; and Gostestu and Yotsuyu are crossing the Ruby Sea.

Word count: 1154)

She’d been shoved out the door of the Stones, half forced into a swimsuit at Tataru’s hand, and sent off to Costa del Sol. Fhara wanted to argue that she had no time for rest when everything was still so busy in the aftermath of all that had happened - Rhalgr’s Reach no doubt had materials in need of moving to the newly reclaimed city, not to mention the Saltery would need assistance in setting up, even with the East Aldenard Trading Company eager to help due to Lolorito’s odd kindness - but many of her fellow Scions insisted otherwise.

“You have more than earned your rest with all you have helped achieve. Plus all the better to relax now and keep your strength up for whatever will come in the future. We also don’t need you suddenly collapsing on us trying to haul cargo from place to place because you would rather push yourself to your limit,” Y’shtola had insisted amidst Fhara’s own struggles against their lalafellin receptionist.

“And there shall be no buts about it!” Tataru had asserted with a final shove of the warrior toward the door, “I have already called ahead to Costa, and Gegeruju is more than eager to welcome such an esteemed figure to partake of his beaches.”

Fhara wanted to argue further...but upon setting her sights on the golden sands and blue oceans, and the pretty corals glowing beneath the surface, she finally caved. Just for a few short days, she could enjoy herself, right? After all, the worst had passed for Eorzea and the Empire hadn’t stirred yet after losing the crown prince. They had time to spare and recover.

She took off down the decks and leapt into the water, hoping to take full advantage of her Kojin gifts to explore every nook and cranny of the seabed as the sun beat down on the little vacation spot.

--

“Come on now, back in. You almost had it,” Arenvald said, Alphinaud collapsed at his feet on the shore of the loch, coughing and spluttering.

“Twelve above, I regret this,” the younger lad gasped,the salt water stinging in his eyes and the back of his throat. Arenvald pulled him to his feet.

“You can regret it all you want, but you asked for the help and I’m giving it now. And you ain’t gonna have anywhere better to practise than here. And I know you’re not the type to be giving up when you want to do something, so let’s go!” Despite Arencald’s encouragement, rather than race back to the water, Alphinaud sat down on the water lapped shore with a huff. Arenvald shrugged and joined him.

“I know full well what I asked, but in this moment, I’m almost reconsidering. I’ve managed quite well without the skill for many years now, and I’m sure I can do without for a few more. Besides, Alisaie is quite happy being the preeminent swimmer in the family.” He chose not to mention that even with all her skill, she was now lucky enough to possess the Kojin’s water breathing skill, allowing her more capability under the waves, to his resentment.

“This isn’t about making you the best, it's just about getting you good enough. And just ‘cause you’ve been alright till now doesn’t mean much. What about the future after all, anything could happen!” Arenvald stated, earning him a raised eyebrow in return.

“Such as?”

“Well, who knows? What if you end up on the bad end of some watery creature set to drown you out, or somehow have to swim out of the deep oceans?”

Alphinaud couldn’t help but shake his head at the suggestion. “No offense my friend, but that first idea sounds more like something you’d expect from a children’s story. A touch too fanciful I would say.”

“Maybe, but you never know, there could be other things out there like that kelpie Fhara said she ran into down in Skalla’s ruins.” Rather than continue on about fae tales, Alphinaud looked to the sky, bemoaning that the sun was still high above them. There was still plenty of day left, and he had no other plans.

“Thaliak, give me strength,” he muttered, using his friend’s shoulder to boost himself back to his feet. Arenvald bolted up after him, a keen glimmer in his eye.

“Very well, let’s continue. Let’s at least end the day with some progress made,” Alphinaud said, trying to ignore the way his legs shook as he approached the water again. 

Most of his lessons that day were spent spluttering and flailing through attempts to gain any traction in the water, as he turned his mind to wondering how much work would be needed to get the scent of salt out of his clothes after all of this was done.

--

“And here we part sir, any further to Doma, you will have to make your own way,” the boat owner said, casting another wary glance at the oddly familiar woman accompanying the great roagadyn, as she nibbled away at a stick of dango. Gosetsu shielded his eyes as he watch the horizon, biting back the scowl at how far away Othard’s shores yet lay from their position. He managed to offer a friendly nod to their courier.

“My thanks good sir, for bringing us all this way on what little coin we had,” he said, knowing most of it would no doubt not even go to the man’s own pocket, but more likely to pay the tithe should the Confederates find the sailor. Gosetsu could only hope the pirates would be more focused on the dinghy than themselves, allowing them a clear passage to Yanxia without any interruption.

As though aware of the thoughts crossing the samurai’s mind, the sailor replied simply, “I did what I could. You are the Confederate’s worry now.” And with that, he pushed away from the pier with his oar, quickly paddling away and back toward Kugane.

Gosetsu’s scowl came out in force at that, enough that Yotsuyu saw it when he turned to walk along the shore.

“How are we going to get across now? I don’t know if I could swim,” she asked innocently.

“Bah, we’ll think of something,” he assured her quickly, “Come, let us not dawdle lest we be caught by the fishes when night falls.” The woman gawped in surprise, rushing to catch up, although at his tired pace, she didn’t have much distance to cover. They would just have to walk as much as they could and then hope for a miracle when they eventually needed to cross water.

Gosetsu had heard from the Scions of the Kojin blessing they’d received, allowing them to traverse the seas without need to break the surface for breath.  He could only hope that they could be so lucky during their travels to come across the skill for themselves. Twould make their work so much easier.

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2021 #my writing #keeper of the moon miqo'te #my wol #fhara laali #y'shtola rhul #tataru taru #alphinaud leveilleur #arenvald lentinus #gosetsu daito #yotsuyu goe brutus #stormblood #FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV

[potassium-pilot]

Prompt 11: Preaching to the Choir

Lyse pored over her papers, her least favorite activity as one of two leaders of Ala Mhigo. On a weekly basis, members of the resistance would mingle with the public and guage opinion on performance, particularly what they believe is needed from their government. There would often be a demand for more food, resources for rehoming citizens, and from a more extreme sect, removing non-Ala Mhigan enforcement from their walls. Already, public opinions were dividing, all of them holding different visions of the country they had lost a quarter of a century ago.

When it was in a fight against a common foe, they were united. Now that the foe is gone, what stood to bind them together?

This frustrated the young leader to no end. Before she could torture herself over the politics of Ala Mhigo for any longer, a voice greeted her at her office door.

“Forgive me for intruding, Mistress Hext.”

Aymeric stood in the doorway to greet her. “Lord Commander, I keep telling you this, you can just call me Lyse. ‘Mistress Hext’ makes me feel so old.”

“Ah, forgive me, M— Lyse.”

“Well, what brings you by, Lord Commander? Do you have a complaint to register?”

“No. Believe it or not, I have good tidings.”

Lyse’s eyebrows lifted in intrigue. “Wow, that’s pretty rare! All right, well, what tidings are they?”

He entered the office and retrieved something from his inventory. “I bear a gift from Dia for you. She would have brought it herself, but ‘twould appear some other business has rendered that quite difficult to do.” He held a small, wrapped present in his hand and placed it on her desk.

“Ha”, Lyse started, “You know, not too long ago, Y’shtola, Alisaie, and I were talking about how Dia manages to find time to do anything she does. I’m especially curious after everything they tried to explain to me after their souls were torn from them, mostly because it was hard to understand a word of it, but she was busy, clearly. I have no idea how she would be able to find a gift for me like this. Must be some Warrior of Light secret.”

“Indeed. She attempted to explain her toils in the First to me as well. I’ve seen firsthand what she does to find time, and…well, we’ve argued the point more than once, I’m afraid. Little can stand between her and what she wants, and exhaustion clearly doesn’t affect her much.” Lyse smiled at the thought, then replied, “Would that I had her time management skills. Trying to find any free time right now feels next to impossible.”

“That seems to be a universal truth among leaders of men.”

“Ha, isn’t it? And don’t even get me started on just how much paperwork I’m trying to make a dent in.” Aymeric nodded while she stood up from her chair. “And I can’t even go outside without someone asking me something, or pulling me somewhere, or yelling at me for something I can’t control.” He knew a rant when he saw one. He sat down and sat by to let it happen; not a word was needed from him while she paced back and forth.

“And everyone has something wrong! Be it a housing issue, a food problem, or a medicine problem- chirurgeons are so expensive, Lord Commander. I’m glad the Alliance is helping us, but there’s only so much they can do, and there’s so many mouths to feed and homes to provide and—“ Lyse interrupted her rant by slamming her right hand down on her desk, making Aymeric flinch as the pugilist was more than capable of breaking it in half.

“I want to make my people happy, and I can’t make them happy.”

Aymeric waited a moment, unsure if she was going to continue. When it was clear that she was only capable of bowing her head and keeping her eyes shut, he found his words.

“Rarely do I hear one’s sentiments perfectly echo mine own.”

Lyse reopened her eyes and looked to him.

“As do I, Lyse.”

Hien appeared this time, wearing his trademark smile, and entered the office casually. “You know, if you want for resources, I invite you to contact the Shazenkai in Doma. They’ve been wonderful in their efforts to rebuild the Doman Enclave.”

Lyse smiled back. “What is the Shazenkai? I feel like I should know about this by now if they’ve been so helpful.” Hien shrugged his shoulders and sat in the chair next to Aymeric. “It hasn’t come up in discussion, luckily for you. Simply put, they find people to donate items they don’t need to sell to others at a higher price so they may fund workers. They also use the funding they gain to negotiate with vendors and other important people to trade resources that aid Doma. You may want to consider such a tactic.”

Lyse pondered the suggestion. “That’s all fine and good, but where do I find people willing to donate?”

“Ask Dia. She’s our biggest donor.” Aymeric shot him a quizzical look and asked incredulously, “Really?” Hien returned his own quizzical look and responded, “Yes, Lord Commander. I receive weekly reports from the Shazenkai and every time, she sits at the top of the list of contributors. Without her, we would have no school, market, rice field, paper mill, blacksmith tools…”

Aymeric’s eyebrows lifted and he brought his gaze to the floor in front of him. “Incredible. Here I thought she had only aided Ishgard in such a manner. I’ll have to ask her about this when I get home.” He looked to Lyse himself and said, “I would also encourage you to come into contact with Lord Francel Haillenarte. His knowledge of his own negotiations with vendors and others who have aided in the rebuilding of the Firmament may come of use to you.”

“How did the rebuilding work?” she asked.

“Essentially, after tireless arguments about it, we in the House of Lords and Commons passed a motion to rebuild the Firmament, a living quarter of Ishgard that was unfortunately burned down by heretics after Dia and Estinien defeated Nidhogg. Lord Francel, Dia, and Count de Durendaire managed to secure quite a few resources to aid the endeavour, and helped rehome no small number of former Firmament citizens. During this time, countless adventurers had been recruited to help scavenge resources and create equipment for all to use to aid in rebuilding the Firmament.”

Lyse took a seat back down behind her desk. “These are good suggestions. Would you mind giving the names of these people again later?”

“Of course”, replied Aymeric, with Hien giving a nod. Lyse brought her eyes to Hien and inquired, “Well, what brings you here, Hien?”

“I was wondering if we were still going to the Bismarck for lunch today before the meeting.” Lyse gasped. “I am so sorry, Hien! Yes, we are, I just got so caught up in all of this and— ugh, this is frustrating!”

“Don’t worry yourself so. It’s hard to keep these obligations together, particularly in our positions.” Lyse sighed and complained,“I don’t want my obligations to my friends to be tossed to the side. They’re important to me.”

“Unfortunately, that tends to be the first thing that must go. At the very least, you’re in a great position that those you are socially obligated to are quite understanding”, replied Aymeric. Lyse frowned. “Lord Commander, how do you deal with that? It can’t be easy.”

“I’m afraid my own social obligations tend to be rather limited now that one of my closest friends has left Ishgard to join the Scions, so it tends to be just the occasional drink with Lucia, and whatever time I may spend with Dia when I return home.”

Hien joined in with, “Laying in hiding for five years has limited my own now that I’m no longer bound to the Azim Steppe. It helps little that I tend to leave Doma quite a bit more than I expected to when I took the throne.” Hien smiled at Lyse and said, “I suppose that’s why I enjoy what time I get with you so much.” Lyse smiled back.

“Look at us, talking as though we’ve been at this for years. Well, except maybe for you, Lord Commander. How long have you lead the Temple Knights?” Lyse inquired.

“I started serving as the Lord Commander after the previous perished in the blizzards following the Calamity. That in mind, ‘twas only a few years ago that the new Ishgardian government formed, and I was elected it’s Lord Speaker, the highest level of the House of Lords.”

“Mm, so you’ve been a military leader for a while, but then you were thrown into politics on top of that. I’m glad I have General Aldynn to help with the military; trying to lead both nearly led to the collapse of both here. I don’t know how you do it, Lord Commander”, Lyse turned her focus to Hien, “Nor you, Hien.”

“I have the aid of the Lupin for the military. Politically…I knew what I was destined to do. I’m ready to defend Doma with my life, and I was born ready to lead her.” Lyse looked to the ground.

“I didn’t have that kind of resource.” Lyse let out a sharp breath from her nose. “I was a refugee, and a young one at that. I was five when we left; all I ever knew of Ala Mhigo were stories my sister would tell. No one ever told me that I would take on leadership of it’s resistance, nor of the country for that matter.”

“Those who would seek power search for it all their life while those who avoid it tend to have it foisted upon them”, Aymeric remarked, “I know all too well the suddenness of such a position.”

“Take heart, Lyse. It may not always seem like it, but those who want to help you are nearby”, added Hien. Lyse nodded and smiled gently. “I wish none of us had to be here, that better decisions could have been made before us.”

“One can’t help but feel thankful that the Ascians who caused these problems are no more”, Aymeric reminded the group.

“Agreed”, said Lyse, “and from what I could make of it, with them goes any future calamities, or at least real ones. I think the Scions might have just saved the world, Lord Commander.”

Dia saved the world would be a more accurate statement, thought Aymeric, leaving the sentiment unsaid as ultimately, Lyse was correct. He simply nodded and said, “And I have every hope they’ll do it again.”

“I believe in them, too. In the meantime, I’m just thankful that aside from that creepy Fandaniel, none of the others are trying anything close to what the more leader-y Ascians had done for centuries. They created the Garlean Empire, for gods’ sakes. They’re the reason we left Ala Mhigo.”

“They’re the reason we left Doma”, stated Hien.

“They’re the reason I had to send Dia to kill my own father.” The two looked at Aymeric with wide eyes.

“Er, the details are rather foggy, Lord Commander”, Lyse stated confusedly. “Why would she need to kill him?”

“I bade her to stop my father from summoning the primal Thordan. I had no idea that he would use his own body as a vessel for him.”

“Oh, right…she’s a primal slayer. If your father became a primal…right, that makes sense.”

“You know, for whatever terrible things we experienced at the hands of the Ascians, we all have had Dia there to aid us in more than one way”, Hien pointed out. The other two smiled at him, and Lyse replied, “You’re right. Ala Mhigo would still be in the hands of the Garleans and quite possibly enthralled to Shinryu.”

“Doma as well, and the Shazenkai has much to thank her for in regards to her donations, and I personally do for saving us in our confrontation with Elidibus in Ghymlit”, said Hien.

“If I had a list of all the things I have to thank Dia for, ‘twould be years before I finished” Aymeric exaggerated.

“The Scions would have made little headway on the primal issues without her help. I’m glad we found her when we did. We— I mean, they, have a lot to thank her for as well”, remarked Lyse.

“…especially after she nearly died trying to save that other world”, Aymeric added grimly, folding his arms. The other two nodded.

“If I may be so blunt, Lord Commander, what you have is a mixed blessing”, Hien commented, “None among us can say we have someone to come home to at the end of our day.” Aymeric breathed a laugh through his nose, and replied, “That depends on whether or not Dia’s home by the time I get there. In recent times, I’ve been blessed to see her more, but I can’t say I’m looking forward to the next assignment she receives from the Scions.”

“Still”, Lyse said, “The rest of us have little opportunity to find someone like that. It’s lonely at the top.”

“Halone knows that had I not met Dia before, I would be in such a position with you”, Aymeric replied gratefully. Lyse gave an almost pitiful smile before her eyes widened and she gave a small gasp. “Oh, gods, we’ve been sitting in here for way too long! Sorry to keep you, Lord Commander.”

“Think nothing of it”, Aymeric responded graciously as he rose from his chair, “You may want to open her present sooner rather than later in the case Dia should deign to appear in the meeting.”

Lyse gave a light chuckle. “You make a good point, Lord Commander.” He nodded and exited the office, leaving Hien and Lyse behind.

“Well then, shall we get going?” Hien asked expectantly. Lyse put away her papers in her drawers, and took hold of Dia’s present before placing it in her inventory. “Let’s.”

Lyse clasped her right hand into Hien’s left, and together, they walked out of the office, and into the streets, ready to leave behind their troubles, even if only for a moment.

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #aymeric de borel #lyse hext #hien rijin #aymeric x wol #lyse x hien #a writer is never late nor is she early she arrives precisely when she means to #ah well #anyways these three would have a lot to discuss

[kathyprior4200]

Alastor Playlist and Soundtrack

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SVGNjWPGVbA&list=PLWFYZb-mcJq3iLDvWh9xpnBNBVkDhXh-w

So many people have wondered what Alastor’s human life could’ve been like. There have been fan art, stories and several animations of Alastor when he was a radio host and serial killer. But surely there could be more clues as to what also occurred.

In fact there are, and they could very well be right in front of your eyes…or should I say, your ears.

 Behold an official Alastor playlist.

 Yes, Vivziepop herself made a playlist for Alastor a while back.

 AlBirdVampPrince on YouTube thankfully provided it before it was lost to the web. When I listened to the cheery old time jazz intermingled with the catchy beats, I was instantly teleported into another time. For several moments, I was immersed in Alastor’s world, watching him dance with flapper ladies, exploring the woods, playing a variety of instruments, and yes, his radio show and murders as well. I couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear listening to the songs.

 These songs shed a brand new light on a beloved popular character in Hazbin Hotel. Music is a central theme for the show and the personalities of the characters. Just look at Charlie and Alastor. Sometimes, all it takes is music and a song to delve into a character’s head.

 Here is a list of sixteen songs that were shown on the list.

  1     “Annie: You’re Never Fully Dressed Without A Smile”

 Ah yes, the all-too familiar song from the classic Annie musical in 1982. The song is by Peter Marshall. The song was played during the Iodent toothpaste commercial scene. Mr. Warbucks goes on the radio and offers 50,000 dollars to anyone who claimed to be Annie’s parents. The orphan girls later sing it as they listen to the radio. The meaning of the song: no matter how you dress or what social class you come from, happiness is what makes people stand out. The song has been used in many remakes of Annie such as the 1999 and 2014 versions.

 This song would be Alastor’s favorite. He even quoted it in the show, saying to Vaggie, “Smile my dear! You know you’re never fully dressed without one!” It is evident that Vivziepop enjoys Annie and many other musicals, hence all the references in the show and her art.

 Ever since then, lyrics and music have been used in dozens of fan art and projects. Gabriel C. Brown, the singing voice of Alastor, even did a cover of the song on YouTube. Often times, the lyrics are displayed whenever Alastor’s mother is drawn. A popular theory suggests that Alastor’s mother told him that he was never fully dressed without a smile, as a way of cheering him up during tough times.

  In Kathy Prior 42’s Human Alastor backstory, this song would be played as the intro song as fans immediately associate this song with Alastor. Alastor plays this song after every broadcast, the song that keeps him going every day. It would also appear in the ending credits. Alastor’s Creole mother Antoinette Moreau encourages a young Alastor to smile and stand tall when she sings this to him. For Alastor, it’s not just a fun song…it’s something that helps remind him of his mother and what his purpose is.

 Lyrics:

(spoken) This is Bert Healy saying…

(singing)

 Hey, Hobo Man

Hey Dapper Dan

You’ve both got your style

But brother

You’re never fully dressed

Without a smile

 Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But brother

You’re never fully dressed

Without a smile

 Who cares what they’re wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

It’s what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

That matters

 So, Senator

So, Janitor

So long for a while

Remember,

You’re never fully dressed

Without a smile

 (Boylan sister)

Ready or not, here he goes

Listen to Bert

Tap his smilin’ toes

 (Healy)

(spoken) Ah the lovely Boylan Sisters

 (Boylan Sisters)

Doo doodle-oo doo

Doo doodle-oo doo

Doo doo doo doo

Doo doo doo doo

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But brother

You’re never fully dressed without an

 (Connie): S

(Bonnie): M

(Ronnie): I

(Connie): L

(All three): E. Smile darn ya smile.

  2 “Smile”

 Here we have another song about smiling, but this one has a different tone than the previous one. This song was originally sung by Nat King Cole, charted in 1954, composed by Charlie Chaplin. “Smile’ was used as a soundtrack in the 1936 movie “Modern Times.”

 Lyrics of this song are shown on old Alastor Zoophobia art by Vivziepop. The art shows an old version of Alastor wearing a black suit doing a magic trick and singing the first few lines of the song.

 In Kathy Prior 42’s Human Alastor backstory, Alastor’s mother sings this song to him after he deals with both bullying from his classmates and the constant abuse from his father. It is a song to remind him that smiling is a sign of strength to get through the hard times. Alastor is stunned to find that his mother smiles through the hits and bruises that his father gives her. Even daily discrimination at work doesn’t stop her from doing it. Alastor takes this lesson to heart and makes it into a life-long habit...even after death. Though he smiles all the time, the burden of hiding his feelings inside is only evident to him. In addition, Alastor sings a lament of this song after his mother’s death via the Spanish Flu and Mimzy’s accidental death by poisoning. The song gives out mixed messages: for while it helped Alastor remain confident throughout his life and afterlife, it also conforms to the masculinity message of “boys and men don’t cry.” Sadness is a natural human emotion and there are times when it cannot be repressed.

   Lyrics:

Smile, through your heart is aching

Smile, even though it’s breaking

When there are clouds in the sky

You’ll get by…

 If you smile

Through your fear and sorrow

Smile and maybe tomorrow

You’ll see the sun come shining through for you

 Light up your face with gladness

Hide every trace of sadness

Although a tear may ever be so near

 That’s the time you must keep on trying

Smile, what’s the use of crying

You’ll find that life is worthwhile

If you just smile

 That’s the time you must keep on trying

Smile, what’s the use of crying

You’ll find that life is worthwhile

If you just smile

      3 “Let’s Misbehave”

 Anyone else notice the title on one of the Hazbin Hotel thumbnails of Alastor in static? Yes, it is an actual song. The song was written by Cole Porter in 1927. It was a 1928 hit for Irving Aaronson and his Commanders and has been used in several films.

 In “Smiling Man” by MuseValentine, a human Alastor says “Let’s misbehave” to a human Charlie before they make love behind Lucifer’s back.

 In Kathy Prior 42’s Alastor Human backstory, Alastor was born in 1896, thus in 1928, he is in his early thirties. Alastor and Mimzy get into trouble, they cuddle in a hotel room and almost have sex. Alastor holds back because he doesn’t want to get intimate with anyone, much to her disbelief and sadness. This was before her death. Alastor berates himself for being so careless and begins to question his own sexuality, (which is perceived as abnormal by society and everyone else).

  Lyrics:

We’re all alone

No chaperone

Can get our number

The world’s in slumber

Let’s misbehave

 There’s something wild

About you, child

That’s so contagious

Let’s be outrageous

Let’s misbehave

 When Adam won Eve’s hand

He wouldn’t stand

For teasin’

He didn’t care about

Those apples out of season

 They say the spring

Means just one thing

To little lovebirds

We’re not above birds

Let’s misbehave

 Let’s misbehave

Let’s misbehave

 If you’d be just so sweet

And only meet

Your fate, dear

‘Twould be the great

Event of nineteen twenty eight

Dear!

Let’s misbehave

Let’s misbehave!

   4 “You Rascal You”

 This song was sung by Cab Calloway in 1931, published in 1929. The lyrics take the form of threats leveled against a man who runs off with the singer’s wife, after the singer was kind to him.

 Alastor’s Human backstory has a couple scenes for this song. The first scene is when Alastor finds out that his father had been sleeping with other women behind his mother’s back. Alastor had tried to reason with his father, but he eventually snapped. Alastor has angry thoughts about killing his father, which he eventually does.

 The second scene is less prominent. Although Alastor was not in love with Mimzy, he got possessive when other men tried to flirt with her. One racist horny man goes off with Mimzy leaving Alastor by himself. His good friend had been taken from him, after Alastor had been kind to both of them. So what does he do? Hunts down the man and kills him, of course.

 Lyrics:

You sure is a rascal

I’ll be glad when you dead, you rascal you!

I’ll be glad when you dead, you rascal you!

When you dead in your grave

No more women will you crave

I’ll be glad when you dead, you rascal you!

 I trust you in my home, you rascal you

I trust you in my home, you rascal you

I trust you in my home

You wouldn’t leave my wife alone

I’ll be glad when you dead, you rascal you!

 I fed you since last fall, you rascal you

I fed you since last fall, you rascal you

I fed you since last fall

Then you got your ashes hauled

I’ll be glad when you dead, you rascal you!

 You asked my wife to wash your clothes, you rascal you

You asked my wife to wash your clothes, you rascal you

You asked my wife to wash your clothes

And something else I suppose

I’ll be glad when you dead, you rascal you!

 You know you done me wrong, you rascal you

 You know you done me wrong, you rascal you

You know you done me wrong

You done stole my wife and gone

I’ll be glad when you dead, you rascal you!

 You asked my wife for a meal, you rascal you

You asked my wife for a meal, you rascal you

You asked my wife for a meal

And something else you tried to steal

I’ll be glad when you dead, you rascal you!

 Please don’t let me find you, rascal you

Please don’t let me find you, rascal you

Please don’t let me find you

‘Cause you’ll leave this world behind you

I’ll be glad when you dead, you rascal you!

 Ain’t no use to run, you rascal you

 Ain’t no use to run, you rascal you

Aint no use to run

I done bought a Gatling gun

And you’re still having your fun, you rascal you!

 I’m gonna kill you just for fun, you rascal you!

I’m gonna kill you just for fun, you rascal you!

I’m gonna kill you just for fun

The buzzards gonna have you when I’m done

I’ll be glad when you dead, you rascal you!

 You done messed with my wife, you rascal you

You done messed with my wife, you rascal you

You done messed with my wife

And I’m gonna take your life

I’ll be glad when you dead, you rascal you!

 5 “I ain’t gonna tell nobody”

 This song was made in 1923 by Richard M. Jones. King Oliver and his Creole Jazz band recorded it in 1923…it was likely one of the many songs that Alastor heard and enjoyed. One of the songs that inspired him to be a jazz band leader.

  6 “The Charleston”

 Ah the Charleston, the popular dance style from the 1920s. The dance used in so many fanfictions and art with Alastor and Charlie in it. And the inspiration for the “Charlastor” shipping name for Alastor and Charlie in the fandom. “The Charleston” was by James P. Johnson and it was in the 1923 Broadway show Runnin’ Wild. A melody of it was made by Arthur Gibbs.

 In Alastor’s human backstory, Alastor dances the Charleston with Mimzy in 1923 during the Roaring 20s at the peak of his life and career. He later dances with Charlie at the Hazbin Hotel in Hell.

 Lyrics:

 Carolina, Carolina, at last they’ve got you on the map,

With a new tune, funny blue tune, with a peculiar snap!

You may not be able to buck or wing

Foxtrot, two-step, or even sing

If you’ve not got religion in your feet

You can do this prance and do it neat

 Charleston! Charleston! Made in Carolina!

Some dance, some prance,

I’ll say there’s nothing finer than the

 Charleston, Charleston, gee how you can shuffle

Every step you do leads to something new

Man, I’m telling you, it’s a lapazoo!

 Buck dance, wing dance will be a back number,

But the Charleston, the new Charleston,

That dance is surely a corner

 Sometime, you’ll dance it one time,

That dance called Charleston,

Made in South Caroline!

 7 “Runnin’ Wild”

The song is by Duke Ellington, and was made in 1922.

 In Alastor’s human backstory, this song that Alastor sings describes the fun care-free moments that Alastor had in his youth. The events included feeding alligators in the bayou, exploring the woods, seeing animals and being outside.

 The second scene with this song is in 1922 when Alastor gets tired of Mimzy being clingy. Alastor doesn’t love anyone in a romantic way…he had lost the one person he loved many years ago. Due to past trauma, he puts on a persona but doesn’t trust people enough to let them in fully into his life. Not wanting to meet her expectations of being a perfect man, Alastor longs to be himself and be free again. Alastor and Mimzy try to reconcile at a bar, only for her to die later on. Alastor kills people to vent his frustrations. The song is a reflection of Alastor becoming a villain.

 Lyrics:

My gal and I, we had a fight

And I’m all by myself

I guess she thinks now that she’s gone

I’ll lay right on the shelf

I’m gonna show her she’s all wrong

No lonesome stuff for me

I won’t sit home, all alone

She’ll soon find that I’m

 Runnin’ wild, lost control

Runnin’ wild, mighty bold

Feelin’ gay, reckless too

Care free mind all the time, never blue

Always goin’ don’t know where

Always showin’ I don’t care

Don’t love nobody, it’s not worth while

All alone, runnin’ wild. Runnin’ wild.

 When I first met that gal of mine

It seemed just like a dream

But when she thought she had me right

She started acting mean

Like Mary led her little lamb

She led me all the time

Until the worm had to turn

That’s the reason I’m

 Runnin’ wild, lost control

Runnin’ wild, mighty bold

Feelin’ gay, reckless too

Care free mind all the time, never blue

Always goin’ don’t know where

Always showin’ I don’t care

Don’t love nobody, it’s not worth while

All alone, runnin’ wild. Runnin’ wild.

 No gal will ever make a fool of me

No gal! I mean just what I say

I ain’t the simpleton I used to be

Wonder how I got that way

 Once I was full of sentiment, it’s true

But now I got a cruel heart

With all that other foolishness, I’m through

Gonna play the villain part

  Runnin’ wild, lost control

Runnin’ wild, mighty bold

Feelin’ gay, reckless too

Care free mind all the time, never blue

Always goin’ don’t know where

Always showin’ I don’t care

Don’t love nobody, it’s not worth while

All alone, runnin’ wild. Runnin’ wild.

  8 “I’m Sitting on Top of the World”

A song by Al Jonson in 1928. Alastor would sing this song as he talks about his new rich life as a radio host. He likes the money but he also likes Mimzy and other women.

 Lyrics:

I'm sitting on top of the world, I'm rolling along, I'm rolling along. I'm quitting the blues of the world, Just singing a song, Just singing a song. Glory hallelujah, i just phoned the parson, Hey, par, get ready to call.' Just like humpty dumpty, I'm going to fall. I'm sitting on top of the world, Just rolling along, Just rolling along.' Some people have diamonds And beautiful pearls, While others have children, Just kiddies with curls. Keep all of your fortunes, Keep all of your fame, I just found a sweetie Who's changing her name. : I'm sitting on top of the world, Just rolling along, Just rolling along. I'm quitting the blues of the world, Just singing a song, Just singing a song. Glory hallelujah, i just phoned the parson, Hey, par, get ready to call.' Just like humpty dumpty, I'm going to fall. I'm sitting on top of the world, Just rolling along, Just rolling along.' Don't want any millions, I'm getting my share. I've only got one suit, That's all i can wear. A bundle of money won't make you feel gay. A sweet little honey is making me say: I'm sitting on top of the world, Just rolling along, Just rolling along. I'm quitting the blues of the world, Just singing a song, Just singing a song. Glory hallelujah, i just phoned the parson, Hey, par, get ready to call.' Just like humpty dumpty, I'm going to fall. I'm sitting on top of the world, Just rolling along, Just rolling along.

   9 “Criminal” (American Horror Story)

This song might reference Alastor’s general life as a criminal...or perhaps Mimzy’s dark thoughts regarding her feelings for Alastor.

   Lyrics:

I've been a bad, bad girl I've been careless with a delicate man And its a sad, sad world When a girl will break a boy Just because she can Oh, help me But don't tell me to deny it I've got to cleanse myself of all these lies 'Till I'm good enough for him I got a lot to lose, and I'm bettin' high So I'm beggin' you: Before it ends, just tell me where to begin Ooh, What I need is a good defense 'Cause I'm feelin' like a criminal And I need to redeemed To the one I've sinned against Because he's all I ever knew of love Yeah, What I need is a good defense 'Cause I'm feelin' like a criminal And I need to redeemed To the one I've sinned against Because he's all I ever knew of love

10 “Blood” (My Chemical Romance)

 Yes. Vivziepop adores My Chemical Romance. It is obvious from the many MCR songs that she provides to her characters. (“Sing” for Charlie, “Na Na Na” for Cherri Bomb, “Mama” for Angel Dust, etc.) This one called “Blood” undeniably relates to Alastor’s murder and cannibalism activities. (Let’s face it, Vivzie loves musicals so much, Hazbin Hotel is one giant musical, with nearly every character knowing how to sing and play a variety of instruments! Hazbin Logic.)

 Lyrics:

Well they encourage your complete cooperation Send you roses when they think you need to smile I can't control myself because I don't know how, And they love me for it honestly, I'll be here for a while

So give them blood, blood, gallons of the stuff Give them all that they can drink and it will never be enough So give them blood, blood, blood Grab a glass because there's going to be a flood

A celebrated man amongst the gurneys They can fix me proper with a bit of luck The doctors and the nurses they adore me so, But it's really quite alarming cause I'm such an awful fuck (oh thank you)

I gave you blood, blood, gallons of the stuff, I gave you all that you can drink and it has never been enough I gave you blood, blood, blood, I'm the kind of human wreckage that you love

  11 “Doctor Jazz”

 “Doctor Jazz” was made written by Joe King Oliver in 1926 and recorded by Jelly Roll Morton.

 This is one of many songs that Alastor sings in his backstory. This song plays when Alastor loses himself in the blissful moments playing trumpets, saxophones and singing onstage. Music and jazz helped Alastor out during hard times of discrimination and him witnessing police brutality against African Americans and disadvantaged individuals. In music, Alastor felt safe, confident, invincible.

 Lyrics:

Everybody gets the blues now and then, and don’t know what to do

I’ve had it happen many times to me before and so have you

But those days have gone and past, I found out what to do at last

When I feel down and out, you will hear me shout:

  Hello central, give me Doctor Jazz

He’s got what I need, I’ll say he has

When the world goes wrong and I’ve got the blues

He’s the guy who makes me put on both my dancin’ shoes

The more I get, the more I want it soon

I see Doctor Jazz in all my dreams

When I’m in trouble, bounds are mixed

He’s the guy who gets me fixed

Hello central, give me Doctor Jazz

  12 “Main Title and Anatomy of a Murder”

 The song comes from a 1959 courtroom drama film by Duke Ellington. This song gives off a “sneaky, spy” like vibe, a tension of “who done it,” in the music. This track would play during the mention of the mysterious “Louisiana Lunatic” in the newspapers, plus Alastor’s broadcasts of all the deaths he caused.

 13 “God Moves On The Water”

 This song is by Billie Willie Johnson in 1929. This song describes the sinking of the Titanic in 1912 (the year of Baxter’s death). It was an event that Alastor wasn’t involved in, but presumably found entertaining like the 1929 Stock Market Crash.

 This song could relate to the many hurricane disasters that went on in Alastor’s life in Louisiana but was lucky enough to survive in. The song could also reference the distress and helplessness that people of color, women and other minority groups felt in the clutches of a dominant white society.

 Lyrics:

 Ah, Lord, ah, Lord Year of nineteen hundred and twelve, April the fourteenth day Great Titanic struck an iceberg, people had to run and pray God moves, moves, God moves, ah, and the people had to run and pray The guards who had been a-watching, asleep 'cause they were tired When they heard the great excitement, then a gunshot was fired God moves, moves, God moves, ah, and the people had to run and pray

 Captain Smith gave orders, women and children first Many of the lifeboats piled right up, many were liable to crush God moves on, God moves, God moves, ah, and the people had to run and pray

 So many had to leave their happy home, all that they possess Lord Jesus, will you hear us now, help us in our distress God moves, God moves, God moves, ah, people had to run and pray Women had to leave their loving ones, see 'bout their safety When they heard the liner was doomed, hearts did almost break God moves, God moves, God moves, ah, and the people had to run and pray A.G. Smith, mighty man, built a boat that he couldn't understand Named it a name of God in a tin, without a "c", Lord, he pulled it in God moves, ah, God moves, God moves, ah, and the people had to run and pray Well Ah, ah, Lord

  14 “Minnie the Moocher”

“Minnie the Moocher” by Cao Calloway is a vocalizing catchy song about a beautiful woman named Minnie. This song could possibly relate to rumors about Mimzy and her famous wealthy life.

 Lyrics:

 Folks, here's a story 'bout Minnie the Moocher She was a red-hot hoochie-coocher She was the roughest, toughest frail But Minnie had a heart as big as a whale

Hi-dee hi-dee hi-dee hi (hi-dee hi-dee hi-dee hi) Whoa-a-a-a-ah (whoa-a-a-a-ah) Hee-dee-hee-dee-hee-dee-hee (hee-dee-hee-dee-hee-dee-hee) He-e-e-e-e-e-e-y (he-e-e-e-e-e-e-y)

She messed around with a bloke named Smokey She loved him though was cokey He took her down to Chinatown And he showed her how to kick the gong around

Hi-dee hi-dee hi-dee hi (hi-dee hi-dee hi-dee hi) Whoa-a-a-a-ah (whoa-a-a-a-ah) He-e-e-e-e-e-e-y (he-e-e-e-e-e-e-y) Oh-oh-oh-oh (oh-oh-oh-oh)

She had a dream about the King of Sweden He gave her things that she was needin' He gave her a home built of gold and steel A diamond car with a p-la-ti-num wheel

Hi-dee hi-dee hi-dee hi (hi-dee hi-dee hi-dee hi) Ho-dee-ho-dee-ho-dee ho (ho-dee-ho-dee-ho-dee ho) Skip-de-diddly-skip-de-diddly-diddly-oh (skip-de-diddly-skip-de-diddly-diddly-oh) Bour'rrigy-bour'rrigy-bour'rrigy-oh (bour'rrigy-bour'rrigy-bour'rrigy-oh)

He gave her his townhouse and his racing horses Each meal she ate was a dozen courses She had a million dollars worth of nickels and dimes She sat around and counted them all a million times

Hi-dee hi-dee hi-dee hi (hi-dee hi-dee hi-dee hi) Whoa-a-a-a-ah (whoa-a-a-a-ah) He-e-e-e-e-e-e-y (he-e-e-e-e-e-e-y) Whoa-a-a-a-ah (whoa-a-a-a-ah)

Poor Min, poor Min, poor Min

   15 “Crazy Rhythm”

This song was made by Whispering Jack Smith in 1928.

 Perhaps this song is a reference to Alastor having to put aside his free music playing time at the cost of being a famous radio host. Although, Alastor had risen to fame, his former innocence had been lost.

 Lyrics:

 I feel like the Emperor Nero when Rome was a very hot town

Father Knickerbocker, forgive me, I play while your city burns down

Through all its night I fiddle away

It’s not the right life but think of the pay

Someday I will bid it goodbye, I’ll put my fiddle away and I’ll say

 Crazy rhythm here’s the doorway

I’ll go my way, you’ll go your way

Crazy rhythm from now on we’re through

Here is where we have a showdown

I’m too high-hat, you’re too low-down

Crazy rhythm here’s goodbye to you

 They say that when a high-brow meets a low-brow walking along Broadway

Soon the high-brow has no brow

Ain’t it a shame, and you’re to blame

What’s the use of Prohibition (banning alcohol)

You produce the same condition

Crazy rhythm I’ve gone crazy too

 Every Greek and each Latin, the Russians and Prussians as well

When they seek the lure of

Manhattan, are sure to come under your spell

Their native folksongs they soon throw away

Those harlem smoke songs they soon learn to play

Can’t you fall for Carnegie Hall

Oh Danny, call it a day and we’ll say

 Crazy rhythm here’s the doorway

I’ll go my way, you’ll go your way

Crazy rhythm from now on we’re through

Here is where we have a showdown

I’m too high-hat, you’re too low-down

Crazy rhythm here’s goodbye to you

 They say that when a high-brow meets a low-brow walking along Broadway

Soon the high-brow has no brow

Ain’t it a shame, and you’re to blame

What’s the use of Prohibition (banning alcohol)

You produce the same condition

Crazy rhythm I’ve gone crazy too

  16 “My Shiny Teeth and Me”

 Another smile song, by Nate Wants To Battle, this one about how a guy admires his shiny teeth. A reference to Alastor’s self-centered ego. In sheer irony, Alastor has yellow teeth in Hell. Deer man needs to brush his teeth!

 Lyrics:

When I'm feelin' lonely - sad as I can be.. All by my self in an uncharted island in an endless sea.. What makes me happy, fills me up with glee: Those bones in my jaw that don't have a flaw. My shiny teeth and me. My shiny teeth that twinkle just like the stars in space, My shiny teeth that sparkle addin' beauty to my face, My shiny teeth that glisten just like a Christmas tree. You know they'll walk a mile just to see me smile... Woo! My shiny teeth and me! Yes they're all so perfect; so white and pearly. Brush, gargle, rinse - A couple breath mints... My shiny teeth and me! My shiny teeth so awesome, just like your favorite song. My shiny teeth I floss em' so they grow to be real strong. My shiny teeth I love them and they all love me, Why should I talk to you when I got 32! Woo! My shiny teeth and me, My shiny teeth and me! My shiny teeth that twinkle just like the stars in space, My shiny teeth that sparkle addin' beauty to my face, My shiny teeth that glisten just like a Christmas tree. You know they'll walk a mile just to see me smile... Woo! My shiny teeth and me. My shiny teeth and me. My shiny teeth and me!

  17 “The Radio Demon”

 An official soundtrack in the pilot episode. The circus music that turns dark with organs playing. It plays when Vaggie tells of how Alastor got into power. This song plays after Alastor’s death and during the ending credits in the backstory. It serves as a transition to Alastor arriving in Hell, the next act in the character arc.

#alastor #hazbinhotel #vivziepop

[eremiss]

Soft starters are so cute! Gonna keep that in my drafts! How about “You’re not in bed. I came looking for you.” for Gwencred? I am a weakling for things like that. :B

Set some time between 2.2 and 2.4...

Someone is playing a lute, the notes of a tune Gwen hasn’t heard before traveling steadily through the hall. The Stones is quiet and mostly still at this hour, but the tune is calm and not overly-loud, so no one is taking issue with it.

Gwen slowly unwinds her braid as she follows the music down the hall. She tries to concentrate on the sound and not the nebulous discomfort and restlessness that have been pinching at her thoughts all day. Even after a bell in front of her journal she still hasn’t been able to find a concrete cause, leaving her to think today is simply ‘one of those days,’ which does little in the way of helping her settle out and go to sleep. 

She huffs softly to herself, supposing she should be glad it’s nothing rather than something. 

The music draws her to the library, through the shelves and off to the right, where towering bookshelves obscure a few desks, chairs and a couch. 

She’s fairly certain she knows who’s playing and hopefully he, or his songs, can help put her mind at ease.

As Gwen nears the final row of bookshelves the song abruptly changes, picking up into a lighter, more whimsical tune that she recognizes. 

“‘Twould seem I’ve attracted an audience,” Thancred’s voice says from the other side of the bookshelf.

She rounds the corner and finds him laid out on the couch with a light-colored lute balanced on his chest. He greets her with a lopsided grin, “Recognize the tune?” 

Gwen hums and nods, hovering indecisively for a moment before perching on the arm of the couch by his feet, following along in her head with the lyrics he isn’t singing. She watches the way his hands move gracefully along the strings, never faltering or hesitating as he crafts a song out of thin air. 

Watching him play, his experience and practice manifesting in the form of casual skill and near-thoughtless ease, stirs a feeling of longing that’s equal parts admiration and wistful desire.

Gwen doesn’t know how to play the lute--or any instrument, for that matter. The entirety of her musical experience comes down to poking the keys on a piano and plucking at a harpsichord a time or two. She didn’t have the means to pay a teacher, nor acquire an instrument and teach herself, and she’d kept herself so busy she wouldn’t have had the time to practice, anyway.

But, she thinks idly, things are different now. Maybe I could give it a try? It wouldn’t be terribly difficult to save up enough for a beginner’s instrument and a few lessons, if she felt truly inclined. And there are plenty of musically-inclined Scions who would probably be happy to help her get started if she decided to teach herself. That would mean she’d need to decide which instrument she wants to learn, though.

Could the Echo help? It let her comprehend and internalize magic and combat techniques more quickly than normal, so perhaps that could apply to learning music, too? It doesn’t seem like that much of a stretch.

...But, that wouldn’t be a very practical use of the Echo, would it? She’s supposed to use Hydaelyn’s gift to protect Eorzea and from Primals, Imperials and Ascian schemes, not play music.

Thancred strikes the last note with a flourish.

Gwen replaces whatever expression she’s wearing with an appreciative smile and applauds. His valiant attempt at a gracious bow from his reclined position leaves them both chuckling.

She gathers her hair over one shoulder and curls her fingers in it, “I haven’t heard you play in a while.”

Thancred shrugs, reaching for one of the tuning pegs. “It’s become a rarity, I admit. I’m more given to song and story these days.” He pulcks at the corresponding string, the note bending upwards ever so slightly when he twists the peg.

She realizes she hasn’t heard him sing in a while, either. 

“I haven't played in moons,” he goes on, “but, happily, my skills have hardly suffered despite the neglect. I’ll be back in proper form in no time, should I make a habit of practicing.” He plucks the string again, humming with satisfaction once the rebellious pitch has fallen in line.

Thancred starts on another little ditty that sounds vaguely Lominsan and Gwen watches with rapt attention as his fingers move along the strings with lazy precision, quick and confident despite his obvious inattention. Even as she watches his hands move she’s left wondering how he could play so many notes and make so many sounds all at the same time--especially when his hands barely seem to move at all. 

If she did decide to learn an instrument, would she ever be able to play with that same sort of ease? Eventually, perhaps; after plenty of time and practice. Learning an instrument is one thing, but mastering it like Thancred has would be a long-term commitment.

It sounds far more daunting than it should.

“When did you get,” she nods to the lute, “this?”

“I borrowed it from F’lhaminn for the evening. She hasn’t had a great deal of time for music these days, either,” he replies with a shrug that somehow doesn’t disrupt the song in the slightest. “Tis a shame to leave such a fine instrument collecting dust.”

When Gwen has nothing to add but an absent nod, most of her attention still on his hands, he adds, “Ah, but I ramble. You sought me out for music, not prattling.”

I ‘sought you out’ because I’m too restless to sleep and you weren’t in bed, so I came looking for you. I thought chatting could maybe help get my mind settled. Gwen keeps her correction to herself, absently combing her fingers through her hair. “I don’t mind chatting.”

He hums thoughtfully, studying her expression. He brings his song to a rather abrupt end, laying his hands on the strings to fully silence the fading notes.

Confusion and mild disappointment flicker across her thoughts. She meant chat while he played, as he seemed to have no trouble managing both. Perhaps she should have been more specific.

He pushes himself upright, then offers her the lute with an inviting smile.

Gwen stares, nonplussed.

“You’ve been staring rather intently,” he teases. “And I would fain not deny you.” 

Well, she has been paying rather close attention to his hands. But enough to give him the impression she wanted a chance to play herself? Apparently so.

When a suitable way to decline the offer fails to materialize on her tongue she merely shakes her head.

He looks faintly amused as he turns to sit properly and make space for her on the couch. “Pray don’t deprive yourself on my account, dove. I don’t mind, truly.” 

She shakes her head again with a small, self-conscious laugh. “Really, it’s alright. I’d rather listen.”

Confusion flickers across his features and vanishes. He shrugs and rests the lute in his lap, rescinding the offer. “If you’re sure.”

Gwen slides down from the arm to the cushions. Then she shifts over to properly sit beside him. Not as close as she’d like, not close enough to lean on him or rest her head on his shoulder, but she doesn’t want to be a hindrance when he starts playing again. 

If he starts playing again, she corrects herself. She hopes he will, as both the music itself and watching him play had been pleasantly distracting.

“I appreciate the offer, though,” she says.

Thancred flashes her a smile and shrugs. A look that’s both thoughtful and faintly teasing comes over his face before he adds, “I forget how unfond you are of having an audience.”

He’s not wrong, but he’s not right either. She sinks back into the couch with a noncommittal sound, studying the far wall and hoping he’ll start playing again. She isn’t much in the mood for quiet at that moment, unpleasant things threatening to resume bothersomely nudging and tugging.

“What do you play, by the way?” he asks conversationally. “It occurs to me I’ve never asked.”

Gwen considers how to answer for a moment, then settles for a simple shrug. “Nothing.”

“Oh?” Thancred looks honestly surprised, even though she’s never implied that she had any musical skill. 

She feigns a forlorn sigh and makes a bigger show of another, more hapless shrug. “There was a harpsichordist who didn’t mind letting me pick a few notes every now and then, but I don’t think that counts.”

“It didn’t appeal?” Thancred asks.

“No, I...” She tilts her head one way, then the other, thinking. “It wasn’t really an option.”

He considers that, then nods. “Instruments are costly and picking flowers isn’t the most profitable of professions?” He suggests knowingly.

Gwen’s lips pinch into a pout and she narrows her eyes at him.

He replies with an easy grin. “Am I wrong?”

“Hm.”

Thancred grins for half a moment then looks down at the lute, thinking and drumming his fingers on the neck. Wondering what to play next, maybe?

His expression suddenly brightens, “Well, fear not,” and he pushes the lute into her hands, “that’s a problem easily solved.”

More concerned about dropping or damaging the lute than protesting, Gwen clutches it awkwardly, delicate but firm as if it were fine glass rather than wood. She makes a vague sound of dissent before finding proper words, “I don’t really-- I didn’t wasn’t trying to--” she shakes her head abashedly, “Really, I just wanted to listen.”

Thancred merely chuckles as he shifts over and settles just beside her, her fumbling protests inspiring nothing but amusement. He pulls one of her hands to the neck and the half-formed objections suddenly settle on her tongue and fade away. She stills, unsure if she should maybe try and make room for him or just let herself be moved. 

He leans into her and wraps an arm around her shoulders so his free hand can find her other, nudging his way half-behind her. “Here, hold it like this. Gently, now.” He pauses, “Well, I would say ‘like a lady, not a weapon’ but I don’t know if that would be terribly helpful.” 

Gwen sputters ineffectually, skin prickling --not unpleasantly-- under the weight of his arm and the press of his side. Her back is ramrod straight, but she manages to not quite go rigid. A smidgen of curiosity nudges its way to the front of her thoughts, tempted by the chance to play. 

Undeterred by her sudden motionlessness, Thancred sets about getting her hands into place. “Hands here and here, light but firm. Ehh, you’ll get it. Now, straighten your fingers out-- I didn’t say splay them, dove, you won’t be able to play like that. Yes, that’s better. Here, put your hand in mine and push back against my fingers. Not too hard, just a bit.” 

She tentatively presses back against his hand, firm but not so much that he can’t readjust her grip. She’s reminded that his hand is larger than hers, though not by much. 

He has to adjust a bit so he can properly press down on her fingertips with his own, and her fingers bend along with his. Their layered hands curl a bit awkwardly around the neck to hover over the strings, but they manage it. “Good. Try to maintain that. So, first things first, this,” he shifts their hands a bit and presses her thumb to the top string, “is the E string.” 

He rattles off the letters for each string, pushing her fingers to touch each one in turn. Gwen can barely hear him, too distracted by his presence, the heat of his hands on hers, the pressure against her back, his chin brushing her shoulder and the occasional whisper of his breath through her hair or against her cheek. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wonders if there is any benefit at all to trying to teach like this, or if it’s solely an excuse to be close and touch. If it’s the latter she… doesn’t mind, really, though a bit more warning would have been appreciated

“Let’s start simple, shall we? Careful not to touch the other strings.” He spreads his fingers and hers belatedly follow, then guides them to pin two of the strings under her fingertips. “Curl your fingers up a bit more. More.” 

She has to shift her arm and crane her wrist at an awkward angle to arch her fingers over the neck and avoid the other strings. She wonders how he’d made it look so natural, even comfortable, when he’d been playing. 

“Good. And now,” his free hand finds where hers is sitting, forgotten, on the body of the lute, and guides it to the strings, “strum. Ah, but don’t use your nails. Use,” a nudge, a little twist, and he presses the outside of her thumb to a string, “the side of your thumb here. Alright, give it a try.” 

At a loss, she lets her thumb fall down the strings in a way that’s a bit like someone staggering down uneven stairs. 

A tottering chord blooms in the air, the notes choppy but all in harmony. 

Thancred hums approvingly, “Again, one fluid motion this time.” 

Gwen strums again, her touch a little heavier and smoother, and the same chord rings out louder and more steadily. Played properly, she recognizes it as one of the chords from that little shanty song he’d been playing.

Oh. That’s...rather simple--or simpler than she had expected it to be, somehow. But that’s how a lot of complicated things work, isn’t it? The individual pieces aren’t difficult, it’s when one tries to make something of them, or use many at once, that things become complex. Notes and chords might be simple and easy enough on their own, but being able to actually play is something else entirely.

“And look at that, you’re already playing,” Thancred says approvingly. “Not so hard, is it?”

“It’s not,” Gwen agrees, studying the position of her fingers and the two strings she’s pinning.

Thancred’s fingers ease off and hers lift with them. “And then here,” he moves their hands down the neck, pressing down strings with her index, ring and little fingers. The bottom string --E? No, the top one was E, wasn’t it? Are there two? She should have listened-- is noticeably thinner than the rest and digs a little more sharply. “Arch your fingers. Good. And…” 

At a prompting nudge she brushes her thumb across the strings again, making a new note. 

Gwen smiles to herself, a modicum of tension leaking out of her shoulders and back. 

“You’re a natural,” he hums.

“I’ve played two notes,” she replies.

“Chords,” he corrects. “And you played them well.”

Gwen shoots him a sideways look and stiffens when she’s reminded his face is only ilms from hers. He grins guilelessly in reply.

She shakes off the minor surprise and works her expression into something skeptical before casting a meaningful look at their hands: hers on the strings with his to guide them.

Thancred rolls his eyes, “Fine, don’t take the compliment. Now, here...”

He guides her to the next note, and the one after that until they fall into a steady, slow rhythm. The lazy pace and gaps between each note made it a little odd-sounding, but the fact she hadn’t yet managed to hit a wrong note boosts her confidence.

Gwen lets herself be absorbed in the moment, concentrating on her hands and trying to remember which strings to press or strum for which notes. Her mind starts to haze over a little as she gradually relaxes, growing more comfortable and content with the press of his arm and his hands around hers with each note. 

She finally notices that his hands are calloused and rough like hers, and then realizes she’s not wearing her gloves. That’s probably good, actually, as they likely would have gotten in the way of playing.

She shifts a little, resettling a little more comfortably, and he does the same. They manage to not upset their slow song, and she smiles to herself.

The notes start to come more slowly, the pauses between them stretching longer even though the song isn’t over.

Gwen doesn’t notice when they stopped altogether until the last note has fully faded from the air. She blinks the haze away and lifts her head, feeling oddly groggy, “Hm?”

“Oh, you are awake,” Thancred says with a laugh. “And here I thought you’d dozed.”

“Ah, sorry.” She realizes how heavily she’s leaning against him and sits up, heat sparking in her cheeks, “I, ah, heh, seems I’m more tired than I thought...”

He gives her an easy smile, “Tis the nature of music to let time get away from you. Mayhaps we should call it a night?” 

He releases her hands and takes the lute as he leans away. The places she’d been pressed against him feel a little cold. It’s easy to distract herself from that, as the wrist she had craned around the neck is complaining enthusiastically and her fingertips stinging from the strings, each with a small little dent in them. “My wrist would appreciate a break,” she says with a laugh, rubbing at the ache.

Thancred chuckles sympathetically, “Ah, right. You’ll get used to that if you keep up with it. We can continue our lessons another time, but...” he catches her hand and ducks his head to brush his lips against her knuckles.

Gwen stiffens again, the nearly-extinguished sparks bursting into a full blush. 

He grins, a little smug, “...Perhaps at a more reasonable hour next time?”

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

do not ask me how long I’ve had this 85% complete because the answer is SO. FUCKING. LONG. adlfjaskldfjasoidfjalskdnfa

Endings are hard lol but I think this came out alright!

Thanks @rhymingteelookatme for beta-ing! forever ago OTL lmao

Is this even a semi-legitimate way to teach someone guitar??? Probably not

#Thancred Waters #Thancred x WoL #WoL x Thancred #Guinevere Ashe #Gwencred #asks #thanks for the ask! #I wanted non-angsty fluff #and this is what my brain came up with #she never learns to play even though she wants to >.< #the-divine-miss-blue #my writing #Answered

[urmomsstuntdouble]

ok ok my brain is very small but it has a lot of thoughts and somehow eating a bowl of cold soup + 2 butterfingers equals energy and i have Things in my head so here they are, but under the cut in case u dont feel like reading them

1. what were yalls first jobs? i've been working at a summer camp since i was 14, but ive also worked at a jewish bookstore, some brief contract-y work with an environmental protection group, and now im a waiter, but i feel like service industry work is the quintessential young person thing to be doing and im behind or smth because id never worked in a restaurant until i was 19

2. once again i am remembering a time my mother told me she thought i was autistic but we couldnt see a therapist due to a bunch of fuckass healthcare policies and Evil Corporations Being Evil. twould explain some things tbh

3. its been in my head for a while that romano and lithuania would be dope pals but i happened to listen to a song today and that song grabbed me by the shirt and pushed me into a wall and said hey here’s what you’ve gotta write. i dont make the rules. all that is to say: nyotalia au lithuiania and romano, in new england working in factories around the turn of the 20th century (or 1836, i havent decided yet) n maybe itll be a little gay, who knows

4. i got gendered correctly in public today which was cool but also kinda unexpected cause my pronouns are they/them and most people will assume what they want based on how you look. in a completely separate incidence a couple dudes in a pickup truck yelled at me and i think they were catcalling but um? these ears? standing next to me i might not even hear you

5. my grandma had a stroke a little while ago and she was in the hospital for a while but she is no longer in the hospital!!! yall have no idea how happy i am that she’s fine, i really couldnt handle losing someone right now

6. and lastly i wanna say how are all of you lovely people? this week sucked for me, and i cant imagine it was sunshine and rainbows for anyone. maybe if u feel like it you can complain in the notes. actually yes lets do that this is now the official Bitching Post. hav catharsis, if you’d like

#ry talks #also if u read all that...thanks for indulging me luvs #also hm should i tag #hetalia #aph romano #aph lithuania #also if anyone cares the soup was khao piak sen and it was really good #ceros posting

[chrysalispen]

xxvi. like a friend, with whom their love is done;

AO3 link is HERE

fic under the cut

== The return to the village was a quiet one, Hugh sulking as he was all but dragged along with Aurelia’s hand braced against his shoulder in such a way that he knew escape was impossible. To be a twelve-year-old again, she thought distantly, with naught to bring care for summer days except whether or not one was allowed in a swimming-hole.

The Millers’ small home was just as she’d left it not two bells past, now with a small army of chickens clucking and milling about the pathway to the front porch. They squawked and flapped as she and Keveh’to shooed them away, and swarmed the small yard for more feed as Hugh opened the door to let the three of them inside.

“Mum!” he called. “I’ve brought Miss Aurelia and the Sergeant!”

“Come in, everyone,” Frieda called cheerfully, and Aurelia let out an internal sigh; she was sure her orders had been quite disregarded the moment Vahne arrived on the woman’s doorstep. “Our new little friend is in here with me. Come have tea with us.”

Sure enough, when they entered the big room of the house, Aurelia saw Vahne sitting in a small chair with her hands clasped anxiously in her lap, looking visibly pale and distraught. Her oak-brown tail slapped the leg of the low table, skinny body tense, and her large ears flickering wildly at every stray sound. The lady of the house was not only not in her bed, she was waddling her way over to the fireplace to retrieve a tea kettle filled with boiling water.

Aurelia scowled at her. “For heaven's sake, Frieda! We just talked about this-”

“Oh, enough of your clucking, you great mother hen! I’ll not have a child sitting in here unattended while I lay about doing nothing. A spare few minutes to make some tea won’t harm me nor the babe.”

The Garlean’s eyes narrowed.

“You do not get to be on your feet unless it’s an emergency, and tea does not constitute an emergency,” she said. “Hugh is well old enough to pour some tea without your assistance.”

“Aurelia-”

“It isn’t a request. Hugh, pray take the pot from your mother so she can rest.”

With a great and melodramatic sigh, the ginger-haired Midlander all but threw herself onto the couch next to her two youngest sons, Bran and Geoffrey. The two boys, six and four summers respectively, took almost no notice of their mother’s foul mood. They were wholly preoccupied with their strange visitor, and in watching every movement she made with open and wide-eyed curiosity- that in itself was hardly a surprise, Aurelia thought, as Miqo’te were few and far between outside the city. Meeting children close to their own ages was likely something of a novelty.

Their gaping had been soundly rebuffed, however. Vahne was either making a valiant attempt to ignore them or - like a cat - simply had not deigned to notice their interest.

“Mama,” Bran piped up hopefully, not taking his eyes off her, “since there’s a guest, might we have biscuits?”

“This isn’t afternoon tea, Bran,” Hugh began, but Frieda only smiled at the boy.

“Of course, love. There’s still that jar of gingersnaps in the cabinet. Why don’t you go help your brother find them? I’ll stay here while Mistress Laskaris and Sergeant Epocan have a chat with our friend.”

“No,” Vahne said hoarsely. “No, I-I only want to speak to Miss Aurelia.”

“Sweetling, there’s no need to worry. You’re as safe as can be here.”

“By myself, ma’am.” Her hands shook where her fingers lay knotted at her waist; it was obvious she was terrified and only barely hanging onto the merest threads of her composure. “I have to speak with her alone. It’s important.”

“Surely a bit of tea-”

Firmly, she shook her head. “Thank you, ma’am, but I’m not hungry.”

“Biscuits can come later.” Aurelia took the Miqo’te girl by the elbow and gently urged her to stand. “Let’s talk outside first, shall we? By the chicken coop around the corner.”

Her concern for the girl was enough that she barely took note of the stifling afternoon heat when the pair set foot back outside. She nudged aside Frieda’s hens with one foot and guided Vahne around the corner to find a patch of shade beneath the overhanging eaves of the coop before turning to her and offering a small smile.

“Goody Miller’s a very sweet lady and her offer was genuine, just so you know. But we’re alone now,” she said, keeping her words as quiet and gentle as she could manage. “What’s happened to bring you back so soon? Have you been hurt?”

Sniffling piteously, Vahne scrubbed at her eyes with her bared forearm and shook her head. The childish bravado of yesterday was quite gone; now she looked small and forlorn and frightened, and every ilm the Miqitten she was in truth. Not knowing what else to do for the moment, Aurelia opened her arms in the way L’haiya used to do when she was distressed. She was quite uncertain that the gesture would be accepted, and was more than a little surprised when a pair of wiry arms wound themselves around her waist and squeezed tight.

The girl stammered, “I-I-I’m not here for me. I-”

“It’s all right,” Aurelia carefully smoothed her fluffy curls away from her wet eyes, “you can talk to me. Tell me what’s happened.”

“...She doesn’t know I’m here!” Vahne cried. “I’m- she’s going to be so angry, I broke all of the rules and she’s going to- I’m so scared! But I-I couldn’t- he needs help, I couldn’t just let him-”

“Deep breaths,” she said. “Count to ten.”

“I-”

“I’ll count with you if you like.”

“N-no, I’m-” The small body pressed against hers trembled from head to toe for long minutes before the arms around her waist relaxed, and Aurelia let her go. Vahne took a slow, deep breath, then stared down at her feet. “I’m not supposed to be here. There’ll be the seven hells to pay once she finds out I’ve come to fetch you. But… there’s-”

At her hesitation, Aurelia said, “There’s been an emergency?”

“I’m…. I’m not supposed to tell anyone. Not even our friends know. But-”

“But?”

“I had to go find help. He’s like to die,” Vahne burst out. “I can’t talk about it here, but- he’s so ill and nothing she’s done is working! Not the potions or the conjury, none of it!”

“Vahne-”

“Please, I need you to come with me, you have to come back and help him if he doesn’t have help he’ll die- ”

“Vahne, love. Take a breath.” She braced her hands upon those thin shoulders. “You don’t need to explain any further. I’ll go.”

“Oh thank you, thank-”

“First things first.” Her hands squeezed those thin shoulders. “There are some things I need to get from my house, and I need to let my partner - the Keeper man you met - know about this.”

Those eyes went huge with alarm. “You can’t tell him about us! People aren’t supposed to-”

“He won’t give away your secret. I promise. But he needs to know where I’m going so that the other healers don’t worry. Even if he just tells them I’m helping someone who’s sick outside the village.”

“B-but-”

“I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

“I…. I can try.”

“I want you to stay here with the little ones for a bit while I talk with my partner. I’ll need to fetch my medicine bag from my house, and once that’s done you and I can go together. All right?”

Vahne’s expression was still skeptical, but after a moment she nodded.

“Good. Let’s get out of this awful heat. I’m sure Goody Miller will be happy to let you wash up.”

Frieda, predictably, was more than grateful for the distraction (and at least as curious as her youngest sons), and while Vahne took her seat once more Aurelia went into the parlor where Keveh’to was helping the boys retrieve the jar of gingersnaps on the high shelf of their mother’s cupboard.

“Sergeant,” she said. “We need to talk.”

He didn’t bat an eye. “Take those to your mum,” he directed Bran, passing the opened earthenware to the boy. “Be careful not to drop it.”

“Are you and Miss Aurelia coming?”

“In a moment.”

Once he had judged the children to be out of earshot, he turned to her with a frown, his voice dropping near to a whisper.

“So. What’s got your new little friend upset?”

“There is someone in dire need of medical aid. I wasn’t able to get much out of her beyond that, but she was being secretive enough about his identity that I suspect her guardian would be in a great deal of trouble if it was widely known.” Aurelia shook her head. “I’m sorry, but whatever’s happened with your dead man, you’ll either need to continue your investigation alone or wait until I return.”

“Return? What do you mean-” The furrow in his brow deepened visibly. “...Where are you going?”

The Garlean stared at him as if he’d gone entirely daft. “Well, with the girl. Back to her home, of course. What did you think I meant?”

“What- you absolutely will not.”

“Keveh’to, I must. I’m a chirurgeon. This is my profession. No matter how much you mislike the decision, I cannot simply-”

“You would risk your standing with the Hearer- with the Elder Seedseer - for a girl you met by chance yesterday. A girl whose family is possibly harboring an outlaw?”

“We don’t know what he is, only that she won't discuss him. ...Although I shall own that is most likely to be the case.”

“Ewain’s going to be furious with you.”

“Ewain has yet to approve of aught I do. ‘Twould be a terrible pity to disappoint his abysmal expectations, especially if it means healing someone of whom he might not approve."

“You know very well what I mean! Trevantioux’s not in charge but he’s still Ewain’s assistant for now, and he’s of half a mind to have you punted back to Gridania as it is. If you go so far as to simply take off on your own like this, the Hearer might actually listen to him.”

“It falls to you to make sure that doesn’t happen, then, doesn’t it? Make excuses for me if you must, but I am going.”

His frustration was writ large across his face, and although Aurelia couldn’t help a sense of passing amusement at the sight - apparently even the good sergeant had his prejudices - her concern for Vahne’s predicament left her with little patience nor time to coax him into an agreement.

“Very well,” he sighed. “When? Tonight?”

“As soon as I’ve gathered my things.” When he opened his mouth to object, Aurelia raised one of her hands. “I know, but I really don’t think it would be wise to wait on Ewain’s approval- Frieda!”

“Aurelia-”

“Yes, love?” came the response from the hallway. Aurelia ignored Keveh’to’s quiet string of exasperated oaths.

“Can you watch her for about a quarter bell? I’m running back to the house for some things and then our friend and I will be on our way!”

“Aurelia, we should talk about-” She pushed her way past him and opened the front door, Keveh’to trailing behind. “Damn it, wait for me!”

==

Trevantioux must have chosen to linger on his way home; the house was still empty when she threw the latch and slipped through the door. She hurried past the small partition that made up her room, reached into the plain cabinet by her cot, and retrieved the heavy standard-issue medicus’ field kit from its resting place for the first time in moons.

From his spot in the doorway, she could hear Keveh’to tapping his toe impatiently. She reached into her leather satchel to search for her journal and her gathering bag, then shouldered her burdens and made her way into the main area. “Surely you don’t plan to walk with all of that,” he said.

“Why, Sergeant Epocan! If one didn’t know better, one might suspect you were concerned for my welfare.”

“Someone should worry about you. For a lass as quick-witted as you are, you are downright bleeding pigheaded sometimes, do you know that, Mistress Laskaris?”

“So I am,” she said, without skipping a beat. “Obstinate as a gigas, my governess used to say. ‘Tis the Garlean in me, you understand. As a race, we’re rather a stubborn lot.”

The scowl he wore trembled, the tiniest bit, into a smirk. She grinned.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone,” she said, “but I will be back.”

“That isn’t what I’d call reassuring.”

“Keveh’to, I have had any number of opportunities since our arrival here to attempt an escape. Please. I’m asking you the same thing I just asked Vahne.”

“Vahne?”

“The girl. I’m asking you to trust me.”

He folded his arms over his chest, ears flat and tail flickering unhappily.

“I do,” he admitted, gruffly.

“And pray make my excuses to the Hearer. I know you’ll think of something believable.”

Frustration gave way at last to resignation. It was the same sort of look Sazha used to give her when she’d successfully talked him into some childish scheme or harmless prank, and she felt a sharp and unexpected pang in her breast, one that she shoved down immediately as she brushed past him to open the door.

She needed to go back for Vahne so they could be quickly along her way. Remorse could wait.

~*~

Vahne seemed both surprised and relieved to see her - though rather less pleased about carrying two of Aurelia’s satchels - and they were off as soon as their waterskins were refilled and Frieda had pressed extra biscuits upon them (never minding Vahne’s embarrassed insistence that she wasn’t hungry). The stiffness and tension flowed out of the girl’s shoulders once they entered the tree line on the opposite embankment of the creek bed. She had lost none of her anxiety; it lingered still in her furrowed brow, but she had stopped crying and even made a brief attempt at conversation as the two made their way through the forest.

“So how did you meet him?”

“Who?”

“You know who.” Vahne’s brow lifted beneath her fringe. “No one out here just makes friends with a Keeper.”

“And why shouldn't I? Keveh'to is an adventurer like myself. He fought the Empire as part of the Twin Adder. I met him when I first arrived in Gridania.” It was the truth, Aurelia thought, for all that it was rather broad and quite sparing of some few selective details.

“All right, so what’s he doing out here, then?”

“He was assigned out here and so was I, so we traveled to Willowsbend together.”

Vahne squinted at her for a long beat in silence, adjusting the strap of Aurelia’s herb satchel from one shoulder to the other before she spoke again.

“I think you’re lying, miss.”

“And I think you’re being impertinent.”

Her young companion huffed, lower lip protruding outward with her sullen and sidewise glare. “Adults always say that when they don’t want to answer my questions.”

“I wonder why that would be.”

Vahne’s glare deepened into a fitful scowl and that was the end of the discussion.

The afternoon wore on beneath the quiet crunch of leaves and the occasional snap of twigs, and they walked in a silence that continued unbroken with the exception of the occasional bird call in the distance. Aurelia stopped their trek long enough to rest and take some water and a light snack, and she could sense the fear and impatience coming off the girl in waves even to pause for such a basic necessity. As the pair made their way into the depths of the Shroud, the sun sank lower in the trees until the light grew dim in what little of the sky was visible beyond the canopy.

Aurelia was loath to admit to it, but exhaustion was beginning to run its treacly fingers up her legs, dragging her footsteps. They seemed to sink deeper into leaves and loam with each passing step. She’d long since fallen out of the routine of daily hard exercise that castrum life had imposed, and this was a longer trip than she had expected. Even half-emptied the field kit dug painfully into her shoulder, but there was little for it save to continue on and hope there was respite in sight.

As if on cue she felt a tug at the corner of her dalmatica.

“Up ahead.” Vahne adjusted the strap on her shoulder and pointed. “There it is, that’s my Aunt Rhaya’s cabin.”

She would have missed it if she weren’t looking for it. The small homestead all but blended into the background of birch and sycamore, a thread of peat smoke twining in a vague ribbon from what appeared to be a thatched roof half-covered in pine needles.

Despite what must surely have been the welcome sight of her home, the Miqitten at Aurelia’s side did not move. She stood transfixed upon the path towards the clearing and stared in the direction of the cabin’s front door, her luminous grey eyes glassy and bright with newly formed tears.

“Vahne? What’s wrong?”

“My aunt, she…” Those thin shoulders slumped forward. “...Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“What makes you say that?”

“She’s- she’s going to be mad at me,” she whispered. Her voice was small and tremulous. “Really, really mad. I don’t know… she might not let you inside.”

Aurelia tried to offer as reassuring a smile as she could muster. “Well, let’s not invite trouble before it appears, shall we? We can cross that bridge when it arises. I can take my bags back if they’re too heavy for you.”

“No… no, it’s all right. They’re not any trouble, really.” Vahne’s mouth arched downwards in a trembling bow. “It wouldn’t help, anyroad.”

A lantern light flickered fitfully in one of the windows, and as dusk descended upon the forest it became a beacon for them both, healer and huntress in training. Aurelia nearly startled when Vahne slipped one thin hand around hers and squeezed, tightly- but knew almost as soon as it happened that Vahne would be embarrassed should she remark upon it. She liked the girl and wanted to spare her feelings, so she only returned the gesture with a brief squeeze of her own as they drew near.

Something instinctive drew its fingers up her spine all of a sudden and Aurelia stopped, grabbed her young companion’s hand, and pulled her to a halt as the door was flung unceremoniously open. A handsome Miqo’te woman who looked very much like Vahne all but threw herself across the threshold, bow and arrow nocked and ready to fire. The expression on her pretty face, what Aurelia could see of it in the growing darkness, was grim and tight-lipped.

Vahne quailed at her side, half-concealed behind a nearby stack of lumber. The woman, who Aurelia assumed must be her aunt, did not seem to notice.

“Stay where you are! Don’t come any closer!” she snarled. The creak of wood was audible as her slender fingers pulled the bowstring taut, and Aurelia doubted she would hesitate if her bluff was called. “Get yourself back to the road, stranger, or I’ll see you buried in the forest.”

“Madam, please,” Aurelia began, “I’m-”

“You get one more warning before I let my bow speak for me. Your choice.”

That face could have been hewn from the white stone of Amdapor for all the softness in it- and in the next heartbeat, Vahne stepped forward and pushed her back behind the lumber pile, shielding Aurelia with her body before she could protest.

The woman’s eyes flared wide with surprise, and her grip on the bow relaxed.

“Vahne? What are you-”

“I won’t let you hurt her, Auntie,” Vahne burst out, flinging her skinny arms outward. “You’ll have to shoot me first!”

Vahne’s aunt was quick to recover, the angry set of her jaw returning in full force.

“...Who is this person?”

“This is Miss Aurelia,” she replied, and after a rather more hesitant beat, added: “She’s a conjurer. She’s the lady who saved me in the ruins-”

“Where you were not supposed to be.” Those steely grey eyes, a shade or two darker than the girl’s, narrowed to slits. “...Vahne, so help me, if you went into Quarrymill to fetch her-”

The girl’s face had gone pale.

“No! Aunt Rhaya, she… it’s just a little village, on the far side of the creek. I wasn’t- I-I was careful to make sure that-”

“You know what we discussed! No one was to know about him, Vahne! No one!”

It was quite clear this impasse wasn’t going to be solved any time soon without her intervention. Aurelia cleared her throat and nudged the girl to one side, neatly sidestepping her extended arms, and both Miqo’te stared at her.

“Good evening, madam,” she said, as politely as she could manage. “I hate to interrupt, but- I assume you must be Rhaya? Vahne has spoken of you before.”

Vahne winced, visibly, at the hostile glare the other woman gave her before turning her suspicious glare upon the newcomer- but her aunt nodded, slowly.

“Aye, I’m Rhaya Wolndara. And who’re you?”

“My name is Aurelia. As your niece says, I’m a conjurer and chirurgeon, and a member of the guild in Gridania. Now, I’m given to understand that someone in your household is in need of a healer. Is this true?”

“We don’t need help from the likes of you,” Rhaya said flatly. “I don’t know what Vahne told you, but no Gridanian is about to set foot-”

“Aunt Rhaya, please! He’s going to die if we don’t do something!” Vahne blurted. She stamped one foot in the dirt and the tears in her eyes overflowed, trickled down her cheeks, dripped onto her kurta. “I told you about her yesterday when I met her and you said it was fine and we don’t need her but it’s not fine, he’s dying!”  

“Vahne-”

“She wants to help! Can’t you at least let her try?”

Aurelia looked between Rhaya and Vahne, whose tears were clearly borne of anger and frustration, and opened her hands in a conciliatory gesture.

“Vahne has given me no details save that there was an emergency,” she said. “If you like I can come in, make an examination, and tell you what needs to be done and a decision can be made from there. But this is a private matter and I see no need to involve the Guild nor anyone else.”

“....You won’t tell anyone you were here,” Rhaya said, after a long and deliberate pause. “I have your word?”

“You have my word.”

The flickering candlelight from the lantern haloed the huntress’ lithe form in such a way that made her expression difficult to see, but after a pause, Rhaya lowered her bow and gestured towards the door with a jerk of her chin.

“Shoes at the door. Follow me.”

#chapter 26 #reborn by fire #chrysalispen writes #aurelia laskaris #garlean warrior of light

[captain-of-the-historicfuture]

Ooh! I noticed you reblogged the 3 asks so... #3, 6, 9, 11, 12, 20, 25, and 34?

Oh my hEck, you have no idea how happy I am to receive these (and to have you back in my inbox; it feels like forever). The notification cut off after “3”, so I thought there was only one question but was still pleased to have an ask. Then I opened it and kfjsjfjsj happiness multiplied.

3. Three songs that mean something to you?

This one was the last one I answered out of this list because it was really hard convincing myself not to just choose three random songs from the Planes soundtrack.

Fearless by Liveloud, See You Again by Wiz Khalifa ft. Charlie Puth, and Stupid Deep by Jon Bellion. Every time I hear these songs, I pretty much drop everything I’m doing to kgjsjfj let the lyrics and schist wash over me. Who says I don’t have fleblings?? I just don’t really experience them without music to activate them. :))

6. Three characters that inspire you?

Hoshi Sato. No hesitation. Boom. Hoshi Sato of Star Trek: Enterprise. First one on the list.

Suddenly every other character I have ever met except Shrek evades my memory. I think my brain is getting back at me for filling it to the brim with Planes crap as of late kgjsjjf. Anyway. Two other characters who inspire me…

Teresa Lisbon from The Mentalist and Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano from the Riordanverse.

9. Three things you like doing on a rainy day?

Look out the window to watch, be safe, and uhh sit on my porch in cozy clothes with a steaming mug of hot choco. I can’t do that last one very often because Life doesn’t usually spare me the free time and energy, but I have once or twice and it’s nice.

11. Three books that you would recommend everyone to read?

Funny you should ask, for the first one on this list is The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. The second one is The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers. (I have a Lot to say about this book kfjsjfjs.)

I had some trouble deciding on the last one because I’ve read so many good books and 99% of the time I call a book my favourite until I read the next one. (Kfjjsjf any Charlie vibes from me?) However, I kind of went, Screw it, just gonna choose one of the lesser known ones I read recently so it can be a good and more clear-minded recommendation (one of the wisest instructions starting with “Screw it” the voice in my head has given me, I must say), after a while sO. The third book I would recommend everyone to read is The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz by Mordecai Richler.

(I just searched it up to make sure I was spelling the author’s name right and… There’s a movie??? Okay, maybe it’s not as lesser known as I thought it was??? Still, I’ll keep it on the list because that book was a journey. I loved it, and it was pretty memorable to me. I mean, that’s in part because right after I finished it I read Brave New World and lemme tell you… My brain did Not like that shift ksjfjsjf.)

12. Three apps you use the most?

Hghshrjdjs I was about to go defending myself and saying I only use Tumblr so much because I don’t have school yet but… ’Twould be a lie,, I would make a liar out of myself,,

I’m low-key salty about how much I depend on Spotify now because I used to say, “I’ll never be like my peers, letting Spotify take advantage of my music and podcast addiction like that! Six skips per hour? A heckton of ads? Dishonest ‘watch this short video for thirty minutes of ad-free listening’ bargains? Or pay? No way, José.” And then I went and did let Spotify take advantage of my music and podcast addiction.

Safari is for reading fanfiction, Docs is for writing fanfiction.

Safari is helpful. I turn to it a lot.

20. Three adjectives that you’d use to descibe yourself?

Independent, annoying, and uhhhh thorough.

25. Three people you’d never get tired of?

Jfjsjfjs the only people I’d really never get tired of are fictional characters. Like, I get bad days and wanna be alone, and I get off days and just get irritated/frustrated with people easily. I’m not so much getting tired of them, just getting tired. Say we ignore that for the sake of this question though. Then, I would name my ninth grade Eng. Lit. teacher, my sister, and pretty much all of the people I always see in my [tumblr] notifs.

Yeah, y’all count as one person now. You’re all a single blob. Make amends with your individuality now because you’re never seeing it again.

34. Three people in history that inspire you the most?

Ching Shih was the first to come to mind. She entered my line of sight in, like, fourth or fifth grade and hasn’t entirely left it since. Then, hMmmMmmmMMMMMMmmmm… J. R. R. Tolkien and Jesus dhfjskfj. There are probably more that I’m forgetting. History contains many heroes.

Thank you very much for these! I loved answering them, and I hope you’ll return with more. ;P

Send me numbers to ask me three of something!

#thou canst not then be false to any man #invictusmaneo

[everlarkficexchange]

Unmasked ~ Twenty-One

Written by: ~ M ~

Prompt #88

Rating: E (Explicit) This fic will contain consensual sexual content; mild language; discussions of injuries, illness, and amputations in a historical setting; discussions of miscarriage; discussions of minor character suicide; references to non consensual sexual situations; minor character death. 

My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery. 

Now, dear readers, a bit of fun. I thank you for allowing me to write and share with you from behind a mask, for embracing this story wholeheartedly despite not knowing my identity. A few of you have wondered at it, and since we approach the end of this story, I have a small game for you to play. At the end of each chapter from now until the final one, I will provide a clue. You must use the clue to hunt for a word in the text of the chapter itself. Gather the words, hold onto them, for they will provide the final clue to the puzzle. 

Understanding that I cannot control your actions, I do ask that you use caution in discussing any theories. If you believe you have solved the puzzle before the end, I ask that you hold your silence and allow others to enjoy it as well. This is meant to be fun, so in the modern parlance… No spoilers please!

Please enjoy the twenty-first chapter of this adventure. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~ Chapter 21 ~~

Over the next several days, I immerse myself in tasks and avoid the concerned eyes of my family. Between the many guests, the festival, and Maysilee, I run myself ragged and am grateful to do so. If I am too busy to think, then I cannot think of Sir Robert’s words. If I cannot dwell on them, then I cannot insult my dearest friend by begging her to tell me it isn’t true. Such fickle hearts that stray so easily with the slightest bit of doubt! I do not want these thoughts in my heart.

Throughout each day, my mother has plates of food and tea sent to me, to entice me to eat more – ginger root tea in the morning, a dandelion tea in the afternoon, chamomile in the evening. My father expresses concern and I wave it off as fatigue. 

“Too many guests to attend to, nothing more,” I assure him with a smile. I can see that he does not believe me, and yet Haymitch and Effie are kind enough to provide a timely distraction that keeps him from persisting. He has no choice but to let it go for the moment when he is faced with the same quandary that I hide behind.

My mind and my heart, torn apart between what I believe, and the distance between us, do not allow me to confess my fears, my shame, to anyone. Was I truly fooling myself, believing Peeta and I happy and in love? It would not be the first time my heart misled me so. The man in the mask lurks in the corners, taunting me with my past gullibility. I try not to think of him, yet the harder I try, the more present he becomes in my thoughts.

Madge worries over me, I know she does. I can see it in her eyes, and yet I cannot look too closely nor for too long. I know Sir Robert’s insinuations to be false, against all I know of her character, and yet I cannot seem to shake their hold. They creep into the darkest, most fearsome corners of my mind, an invasive vine of doubt clouding out the light of all reason. The more I fight them, the more they seem to take root. My own mind has become my worst enemy.

At night, I find no rest. Terrifying images of swirling reds and dancing flames. A leering man in a mask and one who seduces with sweet words and sweeter kisses. Betrayal and pernicious lies that leave me gasping and crying, reaching for the companion of my bed and of my life who is not there.

I long for him. I wish him here to hold me and know that I cannot wish that until I gain control of and evict these doubts from my heart.

Early in the mornings, before I rise, I lay in our bed and read each of Peeta’s letters again, perusing the pages of the sketch book meant only for me, hoping for some sort of solid proof to uproot the gnawing fears. He took his other sketch book with him, or I would peruse that one as well. While the early letters help, the latter, more impersonal ones only serve to clear a space for the fear to grow further into my heart. I’ve no reason, no accounting for his growing distance from me and it feeds the fear. 

Rain arrives and either cancels or drives the festivities indoors, such as they are. The day before Peeta is meant to return, I wake late, to a near silent house. I grumble to myself about being left abed too long and force myself into motion. I’ve much to see done today and do not intend to waste time.

I work and see to the household until I finally feel that I have earned some rest. I think I need solace and comfort, and the only place I know for certain I can find that now is in my mother and father’s embrace.

In searching for my parents, I discover a rather odd sight and halt in the hallway, peering through the door to Maysilee’s room at the pair playing on the floor.

“Katniss! So good to see you looking better. How are you feeling?” Delly says and Maysilee hurries over to hug me. “Won’t you join us?”

“Yes! Come play with us, Miss Katniss!” Maysilee pleads. I couldn’t possibly refuse her, much as I would like to avoid Delly right now. I agree and sit on the rug next to Maysilee, dutifully playing the role assigned to me and falsely deepening my voice to that of a man’s as I accept tea on behalf of the doll.

Maysilee giggles and then yawns. We play for a while longer until she curls up in my lap. I comb my fingers through her thick, wavy blonde hair and smile contentedly as she sucks her thumb, drifting off into sweet girlhood dreams. I should move her to the bed, yet she looks so content, I hate to wake her.

Only, this means that I am left in uncomfortable silence with Delly and no idea how to speak to her. She clears her throat and seems determined to initiate the task for me.

“I must thank you again, Katniss, and your family…for welcoming us so kindly.”

“You are Peeta’s sister now, that makes you family,” I say, keeping my eyes focused on Maysilee.

“Yes, well. Even family can become a complicated tangle sometimes, no matter how much one loves them.” For some reason, this makes me chuckle. I appreciate Delly’s candor. Somehow, she does not sound bitter about it, and I envy her that. When I lift my eyes to her, she is smiling, arranging the skirts on a doll as though she hasn’t a care in the world. For some reason, she reminds me of Effie and I realise I have been remiss in so many of my manners.

“And I must congratulate you on your nuptials. I do not believe I have had the chance and apologise for my tardy felicitations,” I say.

Delly’s smile wavers and she turns watery eyes to mine. “Thank you. Truly, Katniss. I worried that perhaps you might hate me and I could not bear the thought of it.”

“Why would you care if I hated you?” I ask before my mind can stop the question. I blame the comfort of Maysilee’s warm body asleep in my lap, the steady rhythm of her breathing and the soft pattering of the rain on the roof.

“We are now sisters in way…are we not? But primarily it is because Peeta loves you so.” Her answer surprises me. For a moment, my fingers halt their motions. Maysilee shifts and whimpers. I continue my attentions to her and Delly looks away, out the window towards the rain. “When he first spoke to me about the lady he had helped in the rain one day, I had such hope. It had been so long since I’d seen light such as that in his eyes. He will not…he will not speak to me of what happened while he was with the infantry and yet I know it eats away at him. He came home with a… a darkness in his soul that I did not know how to touch.”

“You know him so well then?”

“As you know the Countess,” Delly says with a quirk of her lips and an almost amused look. “He may be several years my elder, but we were friends since I could walk and he was in many ways my protector when we were children. I think our parents thought perhaps we might marry one day, but I had always thought of him as my brother. Even if I hadn’t, fate,” she sighs, a heavy sound at odds with her usually cheerful disposition “Well fate decided otherwise, and she does know far better than I, in this case especially.”

Such a pleasant way to describe what happened to them, and yet I am drawn into the tale yet again, much as I was when Peeta first told it.

“Anyways, when he asked me to replace your boots and he was so…particular with the whole thing, so troublesome in pestering me for details afterwards, even though I insisted that I never share the conversations of my customers. ‘Twould be a breach of their confidence to do so!”

I cannot help but smile at her indignation, at her conviction in maintaining the trust of those whose footwear she fashions.

“And what did you think of me after that meeting?”

“Oh, that you would be a perfect fit for Peeta. You were so strong, so very brave and yet kind. I could see in an instant why he was taken with you, but then so soon after, I saw him in Capitol. He said that Robert had begun courting you and…” she pauses and glances back out the window. I wish to scream at her to continue and yet she does not. I think then of what Peeta said, about how Robert had proposed to her several years ago, and she refused, afraid it would bring him down in the world and he would resent her for it. It strikes me then that this appears to be precisely what has happened.

Oh poor Delly, to have her heart slashed so.

I continue to caress Maysilee’s hair for courage and find my voice. “It must have been terribly upsetting for you. To think that Sir Robert’s affections had wandered.”

“Forgive me, Katniss, but that is not what led me to what I did. You must think me so fickle.”

“In truth, I am still attempting to discern what I think of you.”

“So very bluntly honest. Just as Robert said,” she appraises me with a smile and shakes her head. “I did not think Robert’s affections had wandered. He hardly spoke of you at all, only of facing what was expected of him, his duty to his family name. Marriage, family, the pride of the Marquis. No, it was not Robert’s words that drove me back to him but Peeta’s.”

“Peeta’s?” I ask, even more confused.

“You will think me terrible. Robert has always been fond of attentions and an incorrigible flirt,” she says this rather fondly while I think she should wish to strangle him for such behaviour. “There were always at least a dozen ladies hoping to be Mrs. Robert Mellark and while he could fall in and out of love with all of them on any given day, none of them showed any advancement or sign of success in securing him. He always returned to me, in letters most of the time, since we could so rarely be together. Until you.”

“He did not love me,” I say with a shake of my head.

“No, he did not, as it turns out. But Peeta did,” Delly says with conviction that almost frightens me. “He did and he still does.”

“That still does not explain why you eloped with Sir Robert,” I argue. “Perhaps you had them confused.”

“Oh no, I could always tell the difference, even before the scars. And of course it explains why. You must understand, Robert was the only one in that family to open their heart to Peeta when he needed someone the most. Ethan and Henry did eventually, but it took years to do so.” This much, I already know to be true, by Peeta’s own admission. “Peeta will forever be bound to love Robert for this. He will spend his life attempting to reciprocate in some fashion. As part of that, Peeta would never allow himself something he wanted – be it a toy, a sweet stolen from the kitchens, or the love and attentions of a certain person – if Robert wanted the same thing.”

I stare at her with wide eyes, understanding that Peeta’s loyalty to Robert would lead him to sacrifice a great deal. It then dawns on me precisely what sacrifice Delly refers to in this case, a chance at something – or rather someone. My cheeks burn with the realisation.

“Peeta wanted to be the one courting you. He wanted you… so very desperately, but Robert seemed to want the same thing.”

And so Peeta would not even take the chance, withdrawing to a position of observance, to protect his brother who falls in love too easily, to ensure that the fortune hunting lady Robert had chosen to pursue in earnest would not break his brother’s heart, even as our courtship, such as it was, broke Peeta’s. How very sad indeed.

“It was Peeta’s certainty that you and Robert would be married soon, Peeta’s refusal to even entertain the thought of courting you when he so clearly wished to, that convinced me I was about to lose Robert forever. That is what drove me back to Robert. I had to know if he seriously intended to marry you. I always regretted spurning his first proposal, even though I was right to do so, I…oh Katniss I am so sorry. I was terribly selfish in running away with him.”

“Well,” I say with my throat constricted and my head pounding. “Not entirely. You did save us both from a loveless marriage.”

She stares at me and then begins to laugh. It is quite a cheerful sound, and I find then that I am rather fond of Delly. There is much that needs fixing in this family, and that includes the sadness I still see lingering in her eyes, even as she laughs. If she truly loves Robert, rakish ways and all, then she deserves some form of happiness with him.

“Oh look!” Delly exclaims cheerfully. “The rain has finally stopped!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rain only clears for an hour. Not even long enough for me to strengthen my fragile grasp on my doubts and pull them from the muddy quagmire my mind has become. It stops just long enough for Maysilee to wake and decide she wishes to play in the gardens. It stops just long enough for the post to arrive and nearly destroy what little gains I have made with Delly’s words, her belief in Peeta’s love for me. Someone else’s belief in our love is not enough. I need to believe it for myself, and I do not seem to have the talent for hoping and believing today.

There is no letter for me from Peeta. There is, however, a letter written in his hand addressed to Lady M. Charmaigne. My heart clenches as I deliver it into Madge’s palm. She smiles, bright and beautiful, and turns from me.

“Maysilee! Darling, Mister Peeta has answered your letter. Come and I will read it to you.”

The shock and relief register, sweeping through me so quickly that I’ve no chance to guard my expression. Of course. Maysilee asked to write to him and he has responded. This is no secret  love letter to Madge.

“Katniss? Are you ill?” Madge asks.

“I…” 

I cannot answer. It all overwhelms me, and I have spent so much effort fighting it, that I find I have none left. Madge asks Sae to take Maysilee to the parlour to read her letter instead, and I am left in the soggy gardens with my dear friend and a storm of feelings I cannot seem to sort. It is too much, building and building over days, weeks even with little to no release.

“I am so sorry. Madge, I…please forgive me. I cannot face him alone much longer, Madge. Something is…wrong with me,” I whisper between crazed gasps for air. 

She takes my elbow and guides me to a bench in the garden. We sit and I am struck by the memory of just such a scene in Peeta’s sketchbook, rendered with beauty and care. Both of us, lovingly drawn.

“Who? Sir Robert?”

I nod and stare across the neatly tended flower beds, towards the cursedly empty lane. No riders. No Peeta.

“Why not?” Madge asks and there is a strange sort of anger in her voice.

“Because he…” I cannot even say it.

“Because he broke your engagement? Katniss can you really still mourn such a thing?”

“No. No, it isn’t that,” I say and turn to look at my friend. The blaze in her eyes frightens me.

“As it should not be. I know his elopement left you in a very awkward position for a time, and that your pride was hurt, perhaps even your heart to a small degree, but honestly Katniss. You have to let him go. Had Sir Robert not eloped with Delly, you would be married to him right now!”

I make a wretched noise of disgust and she laughs. Then I laugh and tears burst free, a torrent of them. I am no longer able to contain them. “And it would be a wretched marriage!” I moan through my tearful laughter.

“Completely wretched! You could never be happy with anyone so inconstant. And you would not have your Peeta then.”

Doubt flares back up and I eye my smiling friend for signs. Oh God above, why am I falling prey to such doubt? I know my husband and my friend better than that. Only that…he has deceived me before. The truth slices through me, swift and deadly as a sword.

“My Peeta,” I whisper and she nods, no sign of envy nor deceit in her cool blue eyes. Only the openness of my friend. And I can no longer contain it. “I am so confused right now. He said things…about you and Peeta and the strangeness of our family here…” I trail off and Madge shakes her head, brow creased in her own sort of confusion. “He said you would not linger here if there were not a reason… that you would find another husband post haste, and he does not know about what happened after your marriage yet implies the same sort of… arrangement. I know you would not betray me so and I shouldn’t even ask but–”

“Oh,” she says, her eyes widening in understanding and then narrowing. “What evidence could he possibly give for that?”

“He said you have the look of a woman in love.”

“And you believed him?”

“No,” I say and my convictions slowly begin to return to me. I do not know why, only that I draw from her expression the strength to voice my fears and begin to banish them. “No, I believe you have the look of a woman who is finally happy, and it does not require love.”

“I am happy, and it did require love, but not necessarily from a man.” Her words are shocking and calming and so welcome all at once. Everything I needed to hear and I regret not speaking to her sooner. “You know I have reasons for not pursuing another marriage, but that does not mean my life is without love. I love you, Katniss, as you love me. You are my dearest friend, and you have so generously and lovingly welcomed myself and Maysilee into your home and your life without expectation. I linger here because Everdeen has become our home, and all of you our family. Your family – Primrose and your parents – I have always loved along with you, and I confess that yes, I count Peeta now as part of my family as well. 

“Your husband has been…extraordinary with Maysilee. I cannot deny that she sees him as a sort of father figure, but it does not follow that there would be an amorous relation between myself and him. The very idea is absurd! You know how he loves you. I would hope that you know how much I love you! Of course I look to be in love and happy. For I am happy here, and there are many people whom I love dearly. As do you…”

She tilts her head and examines me and I burst into more tears. Everything wells up out of me onto her shoulder as we sit in the garden in the late afternoon sunshine. I cry and pour out my heart. The love I feel for Peeta and our child whose existence inside me I grow more certain of with every day that passes. His sister and mother and his gradually chilling letters. Delly’s words and Sir Robert’s. My anger with myself for falling prey to such pernicious lies.

“Oh my darling friend,” Madge coos and holds onto me. “You are with child! No wonder you are so uneasy.”

“What?” I ask and break free of her embrace. She smiles at me, the expression wistful. “I thought pending motherhood was meant to be a happy condition!”

“In many ways it is, but the fears are real too. I felt it too, with Maysilee. All the fear and the doubt about the future, my ability to love her when I felt no love for her father, not even affection. I barely tolerated him. The terror that I would be a wretched mother. How could I possibly protect her from the worst of the world? And the fear of what our future held for us, it felt… It felt…”

“As old and as immutable as time,” I whisper and she nods.

“Yes. Exactly.” Our eyes meet and she sniffles a little. “I should be angry that you would even entertain the idea of my betraying you so. Or the idea that Peeta could betray you so, but I understand it is not he nor I nor even yourself causing such doubt, but Sir Robert. His presence and your history with him has naturally caused much discord. Even your father seems ill at ease lately. But you know me, and you do know Peeta as well. You must silence the doubt. Only one day more. Then Peeta will be home, and I know you will see in his eyes exactly what you need to see.”

I clasp her hand in mine and squeeze. She leans her head on my shoulder and I sigh happily. It is good to know my friend is exactly as I believed her to be. Quiet, kind, and brave, with a strength to rival any fortress.

“Thank you, Madge.”

“You must come to me sooner with these fears, so they do not torment you so, especially now that you are to be a mother.” I nod in agreement. We sit in silence then. We could continue like this for an age, until Sir Robert wanders into the garden.

“Ladies, I hate to interrupt, but your charming daughter calls for you, my Lady Hargrove.” He sweeps a bow and smiles at us. I stiffen, but Madge squeezes my arm as she stands. She turns to me and gives me a true smile.

“You know what is real, in your heart. Silence the rest,” she says and I nod. Her eyes flash with a bright sort of fire and I draw more strength from her. The strength to stand as she departs and to face Sir Robert.

“Well this is pleasant. Such a charming garden, a lovely lady for company.” My heart hammers in its duplicitous dance and I am quite tired of my body treating me thus. 

I squeeze my eyes shut and attempt to control it. This is not my husband. Why my body insists on responding like it is, I do not know. He has stolen the face of my love and plants doubts in my head where they do not belong. I laugh inside at the thought and Maysilee’s indignant tone when she voiced it a few days ago.

“I am glad to see you enjoying yourself today, Mrs. Mellark. We have all been rather concerned for you. My wife seems to think our presence has caused you some distress.”

With my eyes shut, his voice sharpens in my mind, the inflections wrong. An unfamiliar scent reaches me. Wrong. Wrong. All wrong, my mind and my heart protest, just as Maysilee did, and finally, my body listens.

When I open my eyes, I am able to smile at him, although my face feels strained in doing so.

He stands with feet braced apart in a confident pose, a tentative smile on his lips. Good. He should be wary of me. 

“I cannot imagine what would give her such an idea,” I say but the sarcasm of my tone seems lost on Sir Robert.

“Has my brother had opportunity to enjoy your lovely gardens? He was rather fond of the gardens at de Vale, always running off to them when Mother took to scolding one of us.”

“Thank you, Sir Robert,” I say and clench my hands together. “Indeed he has had opportunity to enjoy it, and even to sketch some of it. We were married in the summer, you know.”

“Ah so he still insists on his scribbles.”

“They are much appreciated around here, and I would hardly call them scribbles,” I scold and Sir Robert cringes.

“Of course. I know he is quite talented. I was merely thinking of the many times he was taken to task for drawing instead of focusing on his Latin conjugations.” I’ve no answer and stand still as Sir Robert fidgets. “It is good to be out of the house for a time, after all the rain the past day. Would you care to join me in a stroll through your gardens?”

I do not want to spend any amount of time alone with this confusing, infuriating man. I’d rather stomp on his toes and spit in his tea. How uncharitable of me.

“Very well,” I say instead and begin walking. For Peeta’s sake, and perhaps even a little for Delly’s, I will be polite to this wretch.

“This statue is quite unique. It reminds me of one I saw in Northwest Panem.”

“That is where my mother is from,” I inform him. “She brought the statue with her when she married my father.”

“Such an expense, dragging a ponderous statue that distance,” Sir Robert grumbles and I laugh with no humor.

“My father loves her, always has. He would have dragged a dozen statues from Northwest Panem, if she wished it. Thankfully, this was the only one she desired.” 

“Oh the things one will do for love,” Sir Robert scoffs. I ignore his complaint and continue, recalling a bit of something Delly said just yesterday at tea. 

“When did you have occasion to be in Northwest Panem? Is that where you and Delly honeymooned?”

“Yes,” he answers, his smile strained now. “Although exiled might be a better term for it,” Sir Robert mutters then offers me his arm and motions towards a corner leading into the hedgerows. “Shall we?”

I leave his arm waiting and take the turn unassisted. My slippers crunch on the gravel walk. Sir Robert’s boots right behind. He takes longer strides than I and soon walks beside me, arms folded behind his back. I do not look at him as I continue to walk.

“In all the business of the festival, I’ve not had the chance to ask you… Where then has my brother run off to? You did not exile him, did you?”

“He has run nowhere, nor have I exiled him. He is greatly missed, but his leaving is understood. Peeta answered a plea for help. A friend from the infantry recently and most unexpectedly came into lands in need of some attention.”

Sir Robert makes a strange noise at this. “He runs off to help some grumpy soldier for two weeks when he could be here with you and the lovely Countess?” His comments annoy me, given the implication once again that there is something between Madge and my husband. I control the rage and answer with shocking calm.

“His willingness to help a friend is quite noble, and how would you know his friend’s disposition? I did not even tell you the name of the man.”

“Yes, well. I’ve met enough of them to know they are all grumpy and far too serious, including my brother at times. He was much more pleasant before his time away. Although, he always was insufferably noble, at least he used to be fun when pressed to be so,” Sir Robert says. 

His words only stoke my rage. Used to be fun? How could he say such a thing? Has he any idea of what Peeta’s “time away” entailed? Such a spoiled attitude, acting as though Peeta went away on holiday instead of being banished by their father to the infantry for the temerity of existing. Such arrogance to think Peeta did not endure his service, sweating and bleeding and dying in many ways, so far away from any place he’d once called home. And despite the fact that I once called Peeta that exact same thing — insufferably noble — I halt and whirl to face Sir Robert.

“You make it sound like a flaw in his character. To be noble.”

“Not at all. What is, perhaps, the true flaw in his character is leaving such an exquisite bride behind so soon after the wedding and neglecting her in such a shocking manner. Were I your husband–”

“Were you my husband,” I say with an inordinate amount of rancor. His face pales and his eyes widen as he realizes what he has done.

“I misspeak.”

“Indeed you do,” I say, anger and some awful sadness mixing inside me as I stare at this man, his face identical to and yet so different from the one I most wish to see. “For you are not my husband.”

And I am, as I told Madge, exceptionally relieved by the fact.

“Come now, you were honest with me that day in the garden. You cannot pretend to a broken heart. You made it quite clear that love was never your quest.”

“Which garden do you speak of, sir?”

“Which garden…” His face shows confusion and he shakes his head, yet his teasing smile remains in place. “The one…at your Uncle’s townhome…when I proposed?”

It is awkward enough for him to be saying it outright, yet I remain silent, waiting for a realisation. A hint of something that never comes. His smile falters. His feet shift. A goose honks overhead. The earth moves forward a small degree.

“Have you already forgotten my proposing? If so, then I truly have reached a low, although it would not be surprising.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, removing his hat in the process, and the movement is another sharp pang to my heart. Peeta does the same thing when agitated.

One more day, I remind myself. It is only one more day. A trifle. Nothing. Peeta will be back in a blink and I will regret these maudlin thoughts. Especially once I tell him the secrets I carry now in my heart and in my womb, a secret promise for a happy future for us to share.

“I remember you proposing marriage, and I further remember the shame of it when I learned from your father and Peeta that you had eloped with someone else with no word to me at all.”

“I do apologize for that. Surely you must understand. I could not pause to post a letter. How should I explain that to my Delly? Sorry, darling! Just need to stop here to inform the woman I proposed marriage to this morning that the wedding is off! Such confusion.”

He attempts a smile. A joke then. I am a joke to him. I stare at him until he coughs, finally grows uncomfortable with his words and the implications. He purses his lips and glances at the ground. I use the silence to continue walking. The fresh air is welcome, invigorating even. I piece my resolve back together one step at a time. Sir Robert follows but we remain silent for a time.

“He speaks highly of you. In his letters.”

“He would not insult me, even were he miserable with me,” I say and Sir Robert sighs.

“Indeed that is my great fear. That he would be miserable and suffer in silence. It would not be the first time he did so. But at least admit that the outcome is better for most of us involved,” he says. There’s a thread of concern, almost desperation in his voice, as though he is not sure of it himself and needs me to do the reassuring for him. It makes me wonder if Sir Robert now regrets his actions, or merely the consequences of them. I stand still as stone until he shuffles his feet to a halt beside me. I cannot repair whatever damage he has done to his own and to Delly’s life, but I can take him to task for what he did to me.

“Yes, humiliation and forced betrothal are precisely the outcome I wished.”

“It could not have been so awful. You act as insufferably noble as he. Clearly you and he are well suited and you must forgive me.”

“Why must I?”

“Because despite what you may think of me, I do care a great deal for my brother’s happiness, and it is clear he has lucked into a comfortable and secure life here with you. And I cannot stand the thought of anyone thinking so ill of me.”

“I would not dare to think ill of you. Peeta loves you, and so as you imply, there must be something redeeming in your character.”

“There, see!” Robert says triumphantly. 

“And yet you insist on implying that he is ignoble and would perhaps develop feelings for my dearest friend…perhaps even act on them?”

“Yes, about that. I did warn you my thoughts were a touch rude. Her behaviour and that of her daughter struck me as odd. It seemed a perfect situation for such a thing, perfectly reasonable given the lack of blood connection. Surely you–”

“I surely do not. Do you suggest family ties must be bound in blood to be real? If you believe that, then you surely know very little of your own beloved brother’s life before you entered it. I know Madge better than you could ever hope to, and I begin to believe that I know Peeta better than you could hope to. You claim to wish to protect him? Then cease suggesting he might betray his own character and break his promises to me, with my dearest friend nonetheless.”

Sir Robert stares at me as the fury flows out of me with the words, replaced with relief. Relief to be saying these things and in fact…believing them. I draw myself down to a less aggressive, more ladylike stance, once more folding my hands together and continuing to walk. Silence reigns for a time, a most welcome quiet, only the sounds of our footsteps.

“You are quite right, madame. I have…acted most abominably,” he finally admits.

“Indeed you have,” I agree and he sighs.

“Then we are in agreement of sorts? You will forgive me for my erroneous thoughts?”

“Why should I?” I should absolve him, for Peeta’s sake. Yet even as I think it, we pass a stone bench and my memory conjures the sweet scents of blossoms in the spring night. So many memories I have tucked away for fear of what they mean, now hazy and obscured by time. There is one more thing yet unresolved between us, though I fear the resolution of this mystery.

A scattered few drops of rain strike the ground. I hold up a hand to catch several as Sir Robert makes a noise of protest. He grasps my elbow and we hurry through the rest of the garden, seeking refuge from the rain beneath the roof of the verandah just as the sky opens, pouring its contents on the world.

“More rain will make the roads impassable,” I mutter.

“Indeed. Mrs. Mellark, I do apologise for my behaviour. It seems I am in need of another of my brother’s lectures. He was rather fond of preaching when we were younger. It’s a wonder he didn’t take the cloth as a profession. I will beg him to spare you at least. Such lovely ears should not be tortured so,” Sir Robert says with that smile that no doubt melts all the knees in Capitol, and yet I find it no longer affects me. How odd. It is then that I notice…his lips pull up evenly when he smiles. Not lopsided.

Another memory leaps into focus, unbidden and unwanted. A blonde head tilted towards me. Blue eyes bright with mirth. An asymmetrical mask covering…the left side of a face. Yes I am certain it was the left side. A peculiar design for a mask that I had thought was meant to match my dress at the time, but now I wonder if there was another reason and plumb my memories further… 

A pair of red stained lips curling in a lopsided smile.

Peeta’s smile is lopsided… is it not? Have I imposed his now beloved smile upon the face of the man in the mask in a fit of wishful thinking? How sad that I cannot recall for certain in this moment. He’s been gone far too long for my liking. I cannot seem to distinguish memory from fantasy and push them both aside rather than sort them. Instead I shall deal with what is in front of me.

I shrug to show my indifference to Sir Robert’s charms. In truth, his flattery does warm the heart, but it is fleeting and meaningless without the constancy of devotion behind it. The steadiness that Peeta brings to everything in many ways is what lends credence to all of his flowery praise of me. 

“Why have you come here, Sir Robert? To Everdeen?”

“I wished to visit my brother. I’ve not seen him in months. Have I any other need?”

“As long as that is your sole reason,” I say as we continue to stand, observing the rain rather than retreating once more to the confines of the house. 

I watch the gardner hurry up the path, a basket overflowing with blooms, covered with a cloth on her arm. She curtsies and hurries inside, the scent of the flowers trailing on the air behind her and an image, vivid and sweet returns to me. 

The cloak of night and soft lips on my scars. Merciful heaven. Guilt such as I have never known surges up inside me, hand in hand with latent desires. It should not matter. Peeta and I… we are happy, I believe, or at least on the path to happiness. We have begun to build something together, grown together in a way I had scarcely dared hope for when I set out to secure a marriage. I do not wish to jeopardize it and yet I feel an unquenchable need to know for certain.

The man in the mask…such a plague to me all those months ago. I have rarely thought of him lately. In my mind I had divided them into three men to better deal with the confusion and heartache. There is Peeta, now my husband and my love, a man I trust and rely upon, the father to my unborn child. There is Sir Robert…a man to whom I was briefly engaged, although I knew so little of him, and now realise ‘twould have been disastrous for me to wed. 

And third there is the man in the mask, someone I felt enamored with for a night or perhaps longer, who I think represented to me the hope that I might not have to endure a marriage without affection, without trust, without…love, though I only sought one of those at the time. The man in the mask represented perhaps some sort of fantasy, an illusion that I might still have all three. And I have achieved that dream against such terrible odds. I should let him go, as I long ago let Sir Robert go, and yet…I cannot.

The problem lies in the fact that these three men do not exist well in my mind at the same time, although I know that two of them must be one and the same. If it was Sir Robert in the mask, he romanced me most shamefully for a man on the cusp of an elopement with another. Used me most shamefully, but ‘twould make it easier to let the man in the mask go. All of it would then have been a lie, an act, and none of it real.

And if it was Peeta? I do not know. I admit that while it would be easier to relinquish the man in the mask were it Robert instead, I nearly hope it was Peeta, because I cannot bear the thought that he may have lied to me about it after we were engaged, because those feelings that sprung to life inside of me that night with the man in the mask… I feel so many of them now with Peeta. 

It feels almost a betrayal of him to have felt so for another man, and yet…at the time I believed it to be Robert and would that not be a betrayal of Peeta as well? How could I betray him when there was nothing between Peeta and I at the time of the masquerade, nothing at all save a pair of boots, a questionable rescue or two, and some peppered tea. And what of the betrayal of my heart that occurred that night? 

For there to be betrayal, there would need be trust first. 

It is such a muddled puzzle in my head, and I begin to feel a headache forming. This is why my brain conjured the three man solution. Think of them separately and I need not consider the implications of that night. For even if my hopes are realised and it turns out that it was Peeta in the mask… why then would he have kissed me, and with such intimacy and passion? Surely he could have shared a glass of wine with me, chatted about the portraits, and then been on his way. That would have been distraction enough from Sir Robert’s absence, and I would have remained unaware of the elopement, unable to raise a cry of suspicion until the following morn or perhaps even later. Why take the added step of kissing me? 

Delly’s words rise up as an explanation and yet my mind is as hazy as the rain soaked world before me right now. I cannot see to the end of the garden and I do not know. I do not know and I hate that this now arises to make me doubt my feelings for my husband when I have only so recently dealt with a different source of doubt.

“Mrs. Mellark,” Sir Robert intrudes upon my reverie. “Tell me what I can do to earn your forgiveness. Peeta would not wish any sort of conflict between us as we are both important to him.”

“You wish forgiveness?”

“Of course. My brother is…well he is the perfect brother to me. Perhaps you do not understand. As an eldest sibling, you would be the example for your sister. I, as the youngest, inevitably have the successes of the older shoved in my face. With Peeta, however, there was always… Well it was different with him. Father would never have used him as an example for me to follow, even though he is older. The expectations placed on me, on all of us save for Peeta, could often feel suffocating. And our older brothers, Ethan and Henry they expected as much out of me as Father did. But Peeta, he was not just my brother, he was… he is my friend. One of the few I can truly trust and be myself around without fearing recrimination, save for the occasional insufferably noble reminder that I know is right, even if it annoys me to hear it. I tease him for his righteous attitude, but he still cares for me and attempts to protect me, even from myself, no matter how many times I disappoint him.”

I can only stand in silence for a time.  

“Do you understand what I mean?” he prompts.

“I do.” And I believe that I do understand. Such a sad life they must have led surrounded by all the comforts and education that money could buy and none of the affections of a real family until they found one another. How sad that it was only with great loss for Peeta that were able to do so. And now Sir Robert seeks absolution from me before his brother returns and finds himself once more disappointed.

“A relief,” Sir Robert says with a smile. 

As I gaze up at him, I cannot help but catalogue the differences not just in their characters, but in their features. Beside the most noticeable – Peeta’s scars – I am certain Sir Robert’s jaw line is rounder, softer. His eyes, while usually full of mirth, carry little depth and no capacity for intensity. His hair borders on foppish. Peeta’s nose is dusted with freckles that speak of his time out of doors while Robert’s remains clear of markings. Peeta’s hands are calloused and scarred from labour and a rougher life while Robert’s remain apparently smooth and pampered.

Perhaps I imagine it yet I am almost certain Peeta’s shoulders carry more breadth and strength in them, and while my observations might be superficial, they only add to my growing belief that while the outcome was initially messy and uncomfortable for all involved, Sir Robert has done me a great favor in eloping with Delly. I cannot, however, bring myself to sever the bonds between brothers, nor even cause deliberate tension, not when I know how important they are to one another, despite the wrongs Sir Robert may have visited upon me.

“I wish my brother happy in life, and you as well. So please, I beseech you. What need I do to earn your forgiveness for my callous behavior in abandoning you so that another more worthy might wed you instead?”

I scowl at the man. Even though his words are accurate in a way, as well as a backwards sort of compliment, I would not recommend his behaviour, nor praise it. But as he gives me an earnest, pleading look to rival Maysilee’s, an idea comes to me.

“You will take better care of your wife. I rather like her.”

“Indeed. I should do that anyways.”

“And…tell me what is your favourite colour.”

“My favourite–” he chuckles and his smile extends to his eyes now. “What a Peeta sort of question to ask, but if you must know, it is red. My favourite colour in all the world is red. Do I earn your forgiveness now?”

“I will consider it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I awaken to thunder. A great crack of it causing my pulse to leap and my body to do the same. I sit up, momentarily stunned as I stare out my window. Buckets upon buckets of rain pour from a churning autumnal sky. It lashes the upper panes on my windows and invades the room through the open lower half. The wind howls, twisting the wet drapes in a frightening dance. Lightning rends the sky in brilliant scars of light that turn the night into day, the sky to a voft violet for a second right before another great crack of thunder hurls me from the bed and into action.

I slam the window shut and cry in distress as my skin responds to the frigid rain on the floor beneath my feet. My feet slide over floorboards and I frantically move to stand on the rug, teeth chattering at the cold, rain soaked fabric of my shift now clinging to my calves. The chill permeates my body. I shiver, hugging myself and then resting my head on the sash.

Another bolt of lighting illuminates the gardens below, the river of water rushing along the paths. The accompanying crack of thunder shakes the house.

Travel home today will be difficult. Unsafe. Perhaps even impossible. Peeta may not be able to keep his promise to me.

With a sigh, I move to the fireplace and add a log, stoking the blaze in the grate back to something that might warm my now cold frame and dry my shift. I curl up on the sofa and listen to the rain. I do not bother mopping up the mess. It is my own fault, my fanciful whims getting the better of me. Peeta prefers to sleep with the window open, and so I have chosen to continue to do so in his absence.

The storm rages outside as I stare into the fire and my eyes droop. I am so very tired. 

When I wake, it is with a start and confusion. A warm blanket covers me and fresh kindling is piled beside the grate. A tea service sits on a nearby table, a curl of steam drifting up into the air from the spout. The sky outside has lightened considerably, indicating that it is morning. I struggle to stand and throw the window open, gasping at the cold bite of air that sweeps in and embraces me. The honking of geese overhead reaches me as I squint into the bright sunlight, my eyes relaxing as great, puffy white clouds race across the azure sky, momentarily blocking out the light and what little heat the sun provides. Rainwater drips from the eaves of the house and puddles in the garden below. If I hold my breath, I can hear the faint rushing of the stream in the neighboring woods.

Peeta is meant to be home today.

My heart skips at the thought. I linger over the tea. I dress and then change my mind, discarding one gown for another with an urgency that disturbs me. When I finally leave my chambers, it is well past the hour of breakfast. Everyone else in the house seems to have eaten and moved on to whatever amusements they might find in the now pleasant weather. I eat then wrap myself in a warm coat and sit on the verandah, attempt to read and fail.

Finally, I wander into the study, ringing for tea and warming my hands by the fire as I wait. I mull over everything said to me the past few days and despite the mounting evidence, I still doubt. Doubt and doubt and doubt until the tea is brought and Mary retreats and the fire pops loudly. 

A memory sparks to life in the blaze. A letter. One I never read and thought to burn.

I scramble to the desk and search the drawers, casting aside bits of wax and broken quills, scraps of paper until I find it, all the way in the back of the drawer, forgotten for months. The letter Peeta gave to me the day after we were betrothed. I sink into the chair with it shaking in my hands, the weight of it pushing me deep into the cushions. It is thick, several sheets at least. I breathe heavily and rip open the seal. The top sheet slides askew as I unfold the thing and I catch sight of the corner of a drawing.

For one moment, I am immobilised. Frozen in my seat and then I separate the top sheet with Peeta’s writing on it and set it aside to stare at the drawing. Only it is not one drawing, but rather several crammed onto the sheet. Three pages of them. A mad, disorganised ejection of images from his mind, as though he feared that if he did not commit them to charcoal and paper as soon as possible, he might forget them. I know it is his work, as I would recognise his touch anywhere. And they are almost entirely of me, wearing a mask and a gown with one bare shoulder. Gazing at portraits, laughing, staring up at the artist with a teasing gleam in my eyes, weilding a fan, comforting the girl with red hair and red lips.

He has drawn the entire evening I spent with the man in the mask in exquisite detail. It is difficult to ignore this last piece of proof. A lightness burgeons upwards in my chest, threatening to choke me with something like tears and hope.

The mask, I realise. The truth is in the mask. I grab the first sheet as well and race upstairs, leaving my tea on the desk to cool as I search my room until I pull the mask I wore that fateful night free of its confines and set it on the table, next to the drawings.

“Oh!” I gasp and sink into the sofa.

Perfect. 

He has rendered the mask in perfect detail, the intricate designs painted on the plaster, the whorls of color, the shading about the eyes, the curvature over my forehead, the fall of the feathers and the cowl over my shoulder. The minute details are too faithful, too accurate, to have been relayed by word of mouth. Whoever drew this… he saw me wearing this very mask. He saw me wearing it, and I have only ever worn it the one night before hiding it away and leaving it locked out of sight.

That is when I am finally able to accept it, to know without a doubt in my heart, my soul, and my mind… Peeta is my man in the mask.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To be continued…. Chapter 22 will be posted to @everlarkficexchange

Your clue for chapter 21: Remember that it is a word you seek, a single word. The others might only lead you away from the answer. What was Peeta meant to provide the night of the masquerade?

#Springtime Edition 2019 #prompt 88 #M #late submission #submission