#Collab writing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vahalia-cress-ffxiv · 4 months

Text

Metamorphosis

The relationship with Osric was diseased. There is no divinity here—no vast happiness in mountains of wealth; carved by a Cress' grand design.

Vahalia was epicurean without shame in how she consumed. Be it things, people, space, and time -- taking and taking but when she gave it was a wealthy spread, a fount of macabre-knotted love and distorted appreciation. The most dangerous of friends – and worse – the most dedicated to punishing for betrayal.

Prickles of the finely broken shards of sapphire shifted in her hand the moment her fingers unfurled from her palm and the gritty and sharp slivers presented themself. Static and far-off voices echoed within her ear, the linkpearl nestled within the shell of her ear had been on as she heard the flying colors read aloud to her. The Captain of the Sirensong beckoning her to come to a decision.

She didn't need gifted blueprints to ships as she had always found her way to obtain such things. She didn't need to ask for permission to collect the debt owed to her by another, she would simply take what was owed to her. Several generations splintered from one another without nary a stitch to sew them back in place.

Whoever said everything had to be whole anyway?

The opposite side of the line was fond of the preaching of laurels and champions made by nothing but spoken words and less of actual deeds. No field to crawl across and claim victory over. After all what victory was there in handouts?

Vahalia knew struggle and disappointments, she knew loss and cultivated barriers built from loneliness. Sowing seeds of fear from fields of anger; of course, the tiller was none other than ambition.

What good was a mountain if not carved out by one's blood, flesh, and tears? To stand atop a monument of stone and foundations to brag about one's accomplishments when such were accomplishments by one's own determination, stubbornness and aspirations and sometimes detriment. What use was there in handed down wealth if one was not strong enough to hold it; or shoulder it for as long as one was breathing?

Festering poison, stirring within her as malice and determination. She would take all that belonged to her -- or what she perceived to be hers by birthright -- she would dismantle each vessel she came across by hand if she had to. After all, she knew how to claw and dig through the rot to reach riches.

“Put Edalene on the position and keep the pressure. Commandeer it, level the crew by any means necessary, and bring the rest to Blackwater. I’ll have someone meet you at the docks in two days to trade off on the cargo.”

A pause and then the voice signed off before the room around her faded off into silence again. Devoid stars, burned out in pools of golden honey gazed at the deep glitter of blue within her hand and it was then was discarded into a cloth nearby, low and rhythmic was the tap of her fingers on the box on her desk – a box gifted to her by Damien alongside a simple note, a note that seemed to please the Lady of the House greatly.

She would have to pen a missive soon.

There was the sound of movement in the front hall, quickly followed by the sound of hushed voices then the front door opening and closing, armored footsteps and a much louder, much firmer voice was heard through the hall. “I beg your pardon? Where?”

Osric moved through the front hall, two men from the Barracks trailing behind him whispering in hushed voices. “Enough - both of you. I dismissed this man before I left, I walked him to the edge of the property and removed him, and here the two of you are informing me that he is on the property of this estate to speak with me rather than being confined at the barracks?” He turned on his heel, grabbing both of the men by the scruff of their necks, fighting back a snarl as he moved towards the door. “Explain to me why I shouldn’t remove you while I remove him.”

“We’re…we’re just messengers, sir.”

“Incompetent, the lot of you. I told you, I don’t need bodies, I need competent fighters, and I will not tolerate this type of nonsense. You’ve shown yourself incapable of following even the simplest of orders.” Osric nodded towards the door, which one of the staff moved to open. The two men were dragged outside, their whining and complaining entirely ignored until the third individual was spotted, lingering just outside the gate - a jump that the dark-haired man was able to make easily enough, and while he landed gently, the two men he was carrying were not so fortunate, their ankles twisting painfully. He dropped them before turning his attention to the third, slamming the sole of his boot into the side of the man’s knee, grabbing his collar to hold him up at eye level for a moment.

“I told you this morning, you weren’t good enough to be part of this company. You and these two louts go crawl back to whatever hole you came from. If I see you again a lame leg will be the least of your concerns. Do I make myself clear?”

Without waiting for an answer, the man was rather unceremoniously dropped and Osric made the jump back over the gate to the front door, closing it with a bit more force than necessary and taking a deep breath before realizing that the office was occupied and the estate wasn’t as empty as he’d believed it to be.

He leaned his head into the room curiously for a moment, offering a small nod from the doorway when he saw the room's occupant, “Vahalia, welcome back.” His gaze shifted to the box briefly, curious, but not enough to ask questions for the time being.

The voices and chill from outside in the hall had broken Vahalia from her musing and penmanship along the parchment she had seen to, eyes scanning towards the door. Part of her silently missed the warmth of Thavnair. How could one not when pitted against the biting cold of Ishgard?

Sighing and seemingly agitated, her utensil lowered and Vahalia appraised the entrance, “Quite the nonsense happening. Has anyone ever told you that you never shoot the messenger?” She spoke, eyes turning back to her task at hand, fingers elegantly working the pen into a fine script. There had been a small bite in her words, nothing of which she chose to rectify as was typically the way with her. Unapologetic through and through, never mincing her words.

“Dare I even ask what transpired?”

Blue eyes snapped back to Vahalia from their momentary focus on the box as he stepped into the office, “Culling the herd, if you will.”

“Par for the course with you as of late. People aren't born into perfection, even if such a thing were to exist. There is a reason why training exists, people hone their skill over time, it might do well to adopt some patience and be mindful of that..” She reminded him, mildly annoyed at the display she had partially witnessed, at least the conversation of such, sound carried rather well through an old manor.

The bite was noted, it would be difficult not to, but he took it in stride not allowing his thoughts to linger on it over long. Instead, he exhaled sharply, hands clasping behind his back as he moved to stand behind one of the chairs settled before her desk.

“It’s a straightforward enough tale. Recruits have been put through a series of assessments as they’ve been brought in so their current skill level can be determined. It’s also to help determine who may be an issue as they move forward - can they follow orders or not? One such individual, who felt that following orders was not a necessity, was outside. I’d dismissed him earlier today with the order that if he returned he was to be confined at the barracks and I would deal with him when I returned tomorrow. Rather than follow that order, because they were ‘friends’ the two individuals or ‘messengers’ chose to lead this individual to the estate to ‘inform’ me that he’d returned and wanted to speak with me. So all three of them have shown me, repeatedly, that they cannot follow even the simplest of orders.”

He scowled, his brow furrowing, “...and I won’t tolerate it. The insubordination alone is infuriating. I don’t need bodies to fill spaces, I’m not looking to have fodder in a fight. This is to be a legitimate force to be reckoned with - and while I can teach an orphan from the Brume how to wield a lance, and having someone who can improvise within a battle is needed from time to time - Patience for someone learning a new skill is one thing. Patience for someone willfully ignoring what they’ve been ordered to do…I will not tolerate people who cannot follow even the most basic of orders and are going to endanger the lives of the people around them. Which reminds me…”

He turned, stepping out in the hall and calling for Wyland quickly, the two speaking in low tones for a moment before he stepped back into the office. “I’d meant to have a carriage called to pick up those three and deliver them to the barracks to be confined and displayed. I don’t imagine they’ve hobbled far.” He glanced across the desk at her. “That’s what had transpired…and now dare I ask - what’s in the box?”

“Or you could have gone the more tactful route and simply converse with the man to have seen what he wanted to speak to you about.” Vahalia paused and the writing utensil lowered when Osric asked about the box. It was small enough to sum up a few scattered ilm by a few ilm.

“There were conversations had well before the man was dismissed. I will not endanger the entire group because one individual feels he is entitled to the opportunity to do as he pleases.” He shifted, arms loosely crossing over his chest.

“Nothing you would care to stomach but if you must know it's a gift from Damien.” Her eyes lingered on the box a moment before setting them to Osric briefly then back to her penmanship along the parchment as she gave the piece space to dry, “Proof that the man means business and has this family's best interest at heart, specifically Valeria.”

There had been a momentary pause and Vahalia set the letter aside, once more seeming to afford Osric with her time, “He took whatever actions necessary to get a point across. What is that saying you always recited? ‘There is nothing I wouldn't do for family’?” Once more Vahalia hummed and she laced her fingers together and tucked them under her chin, elbows at the desk face, “Get used to it. He'll join the family before long, he's proven his place well enough for me to take him seriously. The man has grit, I'll give him that.”

Has this family’s best interest at heart or his own, I wonder. His jaw clenched, but only for a brief moment. Becoming emotional had only served to complicate matters in every other conversation - it wouldn’t help anything here, he was well aware of that. “It’s not just a saying, but yes - there is nothing that I would not do for those that are important to me. Though I am aware the execution has not been ideal as of late.”

“Ah yes, nothing you wouldn’t do. But sit on a couch while your wife handles the threat –” she gave him a knowing look, not going further on the matter but she didn’t break the pointed gaze and noted the tension he held around his neck and jaw. The way the flesh in the neck moved and both the orbicularis and buccinator flexed ever so briefly – how easy it would have been to just cease the movement entirely with a swift, hard jab of the pen into…

His gaze narrowed before shifting to the large clock behind her for a moment - nothing would be gained by rehashing previous conversations and events, he’d learned that well enough - gathering his thoughts before moving back down his expression carefully neutral, “You don’t expect it will be a terribly long courtship then?”

Vahalia blinked, attention focused once again, “Depends on them I suppose, but the overall goal of courtship is marriage, so they will be married at some point I suspect.” a sigh loosed past deep crimson lips and Vahalia’s head tilted faintly, “What is it you want Osric? The last time we spoke I was quite solid on my stance.”

“So you were. And I believe I was quite clear in that the three stated options were not options at all.” He shifted, leaning his hip against the chair. “As for what I want - there are a great number of things that I want, quite a few that I recognize that I will never have simply because they are unobtainable for a variety of reasons. I want to see the militia at the barracks become a fighting force to be reckoned with. I want to be able to trust those around me to some extent again. But the most important want I have is a desire to repair what is here.” He motioned with one hand between the two of them.

“If you say so.” she retorted and she blinked once more shaking her head as she looked at Osric, “For someone who nit-picks the small things and enjoys yelling at the hired help you really have nothing to bring to the table in way of your own solutions, hmm? Aside from criticizing someone else.” She stood from the desk and made her way around the side of the large piece, her right hand slid a few papers across in Osric’s general direction, “I’m sure we can converse without having to mention the Barracks, I’m well aware that is your focus right now. Not quite sure about the trusting part but us…” she mimicked the motion between herself and him that he had made moments before, “ – its a farce. There is nothing to repair, Osric.”

The hand that Vahalia had along the papers lifted, “I’ve been doing this all for a long time, I never needed a partner but was a choice I made for the sake of the House in thinking that the House needed one. I thought you had those qualities and we both know you didn’t, and still don’t. This isn’t personal, it’s business. It has been business since day one.”

“It just happened to be convenient to find someone who was willing to give up their name and merge their house and assets with yours.”

A shoulder lifted in a bit of a shrug as Vahalia meandered towards the pitcher of cool water to pour herself a glass, “I’m prepared to give you the Barracks – or the old Slater Estate back – as well as see to the gil matched in whatever you arrived with. Your staff and assets are yours to take as you wish. We can separate and go our separate ways, co-parent….do whatever it is these people do these days. All it would require is our signatures and exchange of deeds and funds.”

“Or…” she continued, “I can forcefully separate from you, keep all the assets out of spite. Both have the same outcome but that depends on you how much you insist on drawing it out since I know you’re stubborn. When we signed our ‘marriage’ certificate, we had witnesses present but neither Wyland or Valeria signed the documentation. In truth, the ‘marriage’ was not witnessed for all that the proceedings detailed.”

Leveling her gaze to Osric, her fingers swathed gently over her pen as she then held it out in Osric’s direction, “Your choice. I’m not about to make any of this easy.”

He ignored the offered pen, the arms crossed over his chest tightening as he pushed away from the chair he had been leaning against. “I told you before and I’ll say it again, no. You say that I’ve failed to meet my end of the bargain - well you indicated that I’d be taken care of, that I would want for nothing even knowing that I was going into a loveless marriage. A farce as you put it. That hasn’t been the case, has it?”

His eyes narrowed toward the papers on her desk for a long moment before his gaze shifted back over to her. “But that farce certainly produced the heirs you needed…didn’t it?”

A hand reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose as he exhaled slowly keeping his emotions under control rather than letting them boil to the surface. “I will not walk away from this willingly, Vahalia. I’m too invested to simply throw up my hands at the first barrier that presents itself.”

Of course, she waited until it was apparent Osric wasn’t about to take the offer and her hand lowered, “And as I told you before, and I’ll say it again, I’m not hard of hearing. I know what you’ve said in the past.” she shifted slightly, “My end of the bargain said nothing about eternity and I’ve stayed quite true to my offer and then some, I think my patience and grace has gone quite a ways in the stretch of these months we’ve had.”

Vahalia snerked defiantly, “Oh congratulations! You figured out where to put your prick at the right time. You’re not a miracle worker, Osric, any man could have done the same. These babies aren’t being born out of love, I would have ended up the same with any other man sans the Cress name but I’d probably have gotten a better tradeoff than I currently am faced with. You say no and you’d rather subject me to this futile nonsense and waste our time for the rest of our lives while making a mockery of not only this House but me. We both know that you need me far more than I need you. Does having the Cress name make you feel like a somebody? Hmm, what is it? Has little Osric caught feelings, is that what keeps you hanging on by a thread? Hoping that something will blossom and flourish so long as you endure and hope that it all pays off?”

Osric stood, stoic - a low static noise ringing at the edge of his consciousness as she went on and on, hitting every topic with seemingly practiced ease. A familiar feeling teased up the length of his spine as his jaw clenched and he tried to focus on anything besides the nagging sensation at the back of his skull.

“I have simply realized a poor investment and sought to make it right by cutting our losses. There is no reason why we cannot come to a middle ground but you continue to refuse. So now, You’re holding me in a relationship I don’t want, not even as a front for society’s sake. But, if you’d rather make me your enemy Osric then so be it. You might not walk away from this willingly, but I will.”

His gaze darkened, the low noise getting louder with each statement she made - what initially started as a static noise was now a ringing, getting louder and louder with each passing moment. Muscles tensed, the edges of his vision going red as not only this conversation but the previous conversation, the conversation during the Starlight celebration, during tea with Hakan and Valeria, the confrontation with Carrera…they all came flooding back at once, and something…something in the back of his head snapped.

“This isn’t a barrier, this isn’t even a wall. Us not being able to agree on dogs or cats is a barrier, Osric. This isn’t. I can’t stand you or the sight of you, your nonsensical tactics and the way you handle people and needle out instantly without trying to find tact and patience anything is a problem and you can’t change the nature of people. This is why you fall short because this environment isn’t for you. Day by day and with each interaction that annoyance grows and I’d rather rid myself entirely of this rather than simply put up with it for the rest of my life. And you are trying to weasel out of the consequences of your actions or in a lot of cases, inaction.”

“ENOUGH!” He shoved the chair that’d been in front of him out of the way, as he moved to her, pulling her away from the desk and pinning her to the nearby wall, hands held overhead. “You want to list every fucking flaw I have? You think I’m not aware of them already, Vahalia? You can’t stand me? I didn’t need your name to feel like somebody, Vahalia. I may have hated my name, but it suited me just fine. If I wanted to make a fucking mockery out of you then I would have by going out and finding a mistress and having a bastard child, but I haven’t done that. No, I’ve been here, trying to see to the needs here.”

A few ilms bigger than she was in height but that didn’t seem to phase her as Osric, unknowingly, was now faced with an uneven match before him, an action, a full range of motion which instantaneously brought about consequences. A fire of hate blazed in Vahalia’s eyes, “I haven’t even started and I’m sure even then I’d find several more to hate yourself for that not even you couldn’t find. If your name suited you just fine then why didn’t you keep it instead of throwing it away like a stain?”

He gripped her chin and tilted her face up to face him, tightening the hold on the hands overhead. “If you want me gone so fucking badly, why not just kill me and have it over and done with?”

She nearly laughed and craned as close as she could up to him with her jaw within his grasp, her canine bared, a smirk pinching into her cheek just under his fingers where a dimple usually formed, “Be careful what you wish for. Now get your fucking hands off me or it will be the last time you have hands.”

“What I wish for?” Every muscle was coiled tight, the scoff that came from him mixed with a snarl. “When has it ever mattered what I wished for? You bid me to allow you to consume every ilm of me and so I did. And it wasn’t enough. Everything you have asked of me I have done, have tried to do, and it wasn’t enough, will never be enough. Consumed and discarded.”

He released his hold on her, turning and kicking the chair he’d pushed aside into the wall with no small amount of force, his form all but shaking in rage and pain, though he refused to acknowledge the latter, his chest constricting painfully.

“What does it matter if I care for you, which I never bothered to hide? I knew nothing would ever come of it - you made that blatantly clear. And why didn’t I keep my name - because foolishly I believed that in setting it aside and in abolishing my house to join it with yours we could build and create something greater and move forward from what our parents did and the mistakes they made. Because there were opportunities to move past my fucking past and leave that behind and make what once been an anchor useful. Because, Fury forbid, it helped you and I-,” he caught himself, his chest aching, but not from the scar, “...for whatever reason care for you…even if all it’s going to bring me is ruin.”

“You've been ruining yourself, not me.” She sniped venomously, “No one else Holds Osric back but Osric. The sooner you stop blaming others around you and move past the shit weighing you down, the better off you'll be. You hang on to shit like it's the only thing going for you because you're too afraid to find and explore other things that complete you. Instead, you let your trauma and hatred define you and be your entire personality instead of embracing the true you. Because heavens forbid you be anything else but pristine, or say the right things. You'll find life is a lot more enjoyable when you stop pandering to people who expect perfection and benevolence all the time.” Vahalia stepped away from the wall and instinctively her fingers felt around her wrist. She could feel the familiar churn and roil within her chest cavity, the very same that was both shield and sword – Creature begging to be released from his finely crafted prison by way of how she felt the onyx at her throat thrum with tasteless energy.

His gaze snapped to her, narrowing for a long moment. Wasn’t that exactly the expectation - perfection, that he know exactly what to say and what to do at all times? That he say and do just the right thing in the right moment? Weren’t his failings the reason they were having this conversation? But by trying to do those things he was somehow holding himself back?

“Caring for someone doesn’t fix mistakes, caring for me doesn’t put you in the position the House needs from you that I’ve stipulated has been required and a necessity from day one. You either can or you can’t, and being mean isn’t the same as being tough. We should look at every situation as needing careful tact, especially when it comes to Ishgard and society here. The workers you yell at and belittle, the folk who need little attitude adjustments they’re all connected to the city and word travels fast. Before long finding anyone willing to work for the House or possibly be a business partner will be increasingly difficult because of your actions. Grace, tact, and meticulously calculating things are what is needed in this position and you miss the mark on all three. You think solving an issue is throwing your feelings out there and butting your head against the issue until you get a desired outcome or someone gives in to your word vomit of how slighted you are or have become. The sooner you can look past the grime and shit you think makes you who you are, is when you find your true self. Consuming you was to be just that but like your sister, you both would sooner see yourselves as martyrs.”

Vahalia lifted her chin, almost in a defiant manner, “These are the things I have been trying to tell you time and time again and it has not sunk in. Either you are oblivious or in denial but this has not been the first time I have expressed this.”

Osric again crossed his arms over his chest not in a defensive manner, but rather in an attempt to ward off the tightening in his chest that wouldn’t seem to ease, his jaw clenched tightly. “I’ve no interest in being a martyr, and I didn’t say that you were ruining me. I’m well aware of how Ishgardian society functions - I know how people love to talk. The workers I spoke to time and time again before I had to raise my voice, the recruits I had to speak to over and over again before I had to make the choice to dismiss them? Those were calculated decisions, ones that were not made on a whim or lightly. And there are far more satisfied workers and recruits than there are those whom I have had to dismiss and those whom I had to have words with. I have heard and tried to take to heart everything that you have said - I am trying to make changes and move forward and trying to fix the mistakes that have been made.”

“I need fewer excuses and more methodical action.” Vahalia spoke, her hand lowering to smooth out the front of her attire and naturally stopping at her abdomen before lacing with her other hand, “Perhaps when you start feeling less sorry for yourself you will find yourself. It’s a shame you can speak to me like this and have some semblance of confidence yet you are entirely incapable with others.”

With a graceful swish of the fabric of Vahalia’s skirts, the woman had made her way towards the entrance, “I have an appointment to get to.” There was a brief pause as she allowed him a moment to speak but then also found it as an opportune moment to add something, “You would not be the first man to care about me, but I think you need to ask yourself why that is and make sure it’s not just blind following. When you are able to come to the end of the road and face-to-face with an explanation, you and I can speak about it.”

“It’s not blind following if it’s a route I actively choose and want to pursue.” He moved towards the entrance of the office, posture straight, but tense. “Go to your appointment, Vahalia. You’ve made it quite clear that this conversation is over and I have plenty to consider.” His gaze cut to her for a moment, his expression carefully neutral.

“You missed my meaning entirely,” she noted and there was a devoid expression though a hint of disappointment that he chose to take her words with offense. Being far from an incapable intellectual, Vahalia wasn’t completely oblivious to what admiration looked like – perhaps even more on account of others. She had seen it before in the eyes of men, she had also been the bearer of bad news for them and perhaps Osric was simply smart enough to save himself from that disappointment and let-down.

Her eyes washed over the ex-dragoon not too far off from her person – perhaps best left that way – how oddly militant and solider-esque he chose to make himself, the stance itself presenting to her that it was perhaps a defense he was building up for himself while the war within him coiled around parts of him, knife-like with everything it touched upon.

The sound of her heels touched upon the stone flooring and without any addendum, Vahalia made her way to keep her appointment with Doctor Aethwyn.

Brief Mention(s): @damien-gray-ffxiv - @edalene-slater-ffxiv - @dawn-aethwyn

#Stories #Blurbs #Collab writing #{ Of Ravens and Lances }

12 notes · View notes

castien-ffxiv · 11 days

Text

Brine and Blood

The calm of the sea, slow waves lapping at the docks, and the din of wooden boards of both where Castien stood and the berth moaned against the salty kisses of the ocean beyond. Limsa and the Sirensong were merely a second home away from home. Then again, up until recently, every place had been a second home away from home. It had been wherever her feet had taken her for the majority of her life for as far back as she could recall.

The city had already been bustling and the captivating trickle of orange and pinks decorated the stretch of the horizon far off – sunset had been upon them and in due course the Song would make yet another voyage. Beyond it’s typical route of transport, much of the belly of the vessel had been cleared of its carted wares and stored within the small warehouse not far from the docks.

This time, the Song was out for blood and plunder. The reason? Vengeance.

It was far beyond the scope of trade and gil. Betrayal often marked one for certain death. Even on the seas, there was a code.

A code broken and one that could only be paid in full with lifeblood.

Five million per vessel brought back to Black Water Bay that had belonged to the one known as Ophelia. Still at large, the woman remained elusive but there was only so far and long someone could run until being found and five million gil was a hefty sum that very few could gloss over without revising.

Who better than the carefully picked crew of the Sirensong and their dedicated Cartographer?

Castien knew the oceans, routes, currents, and lands like the back of her hand, the perfect coupling with the Song’s astronavigators. There wasn’t a ship on the sea that they couldn’t find and use the oceans and landscape to their advantage to overtake what they required.

Unlike the Sea Scorpion, the Sirensong’s sister vessel, what the Song lacked in speed she made up for manpower and weaponry. The emptying of the hull would certainly make for swifter sailing.

The blonde lifted her hands to tuck back her wild hair into a bun, gloves, and belts double and triple-checked and chakrams ready to be in pique form. There was naught else left to do but wait for the rest of the crew and cast off.

Shifting crimson eyes from the horizon and back to the city’s docks, there came a lingering few that made for the gangway, the outstretched and welcoming arm of the Sirensong, eagerly awaiting all those who would be accompanying her beyond.

Bodies of strong men and women, ripe for the voyage emboldened by the task at hand and the hefty reward promised, marched their way up onto the Sirensong, some already humming their shanty like a prayer in their own way, others steeling their gaze with purpose, immediately going to work once upon deck to check, check, and check again. Vahalia did not suffer lazy fools, and it showed as hands became busy at whatever capacity they could afford until called elsewhere.

Amongst them: a new blood, but a familiar creature, a familiar loom; a land she had begun chartering and conquering with quiet promise to nurture.

The creature came to stand next to the Cartographer as she gazed out over Limsa. His raven hair was already tied back by a leather strand, the wispy strays kissing his temples and the wind. He might have attempted a shave, though it was just to cut the length from bushy to a handsome sculpt. But the best part was the coat: nothing like the rag of leather he had called a coat when they had first met, but an actual fit of black leathers, bolts of silver, and a shirt of rich Cress purple. At his hip, his belts were laden with simple but newly forged weapons ranging from cutlass and dagger to pistols, but upon his back, most important of all, a handsome darkened steel gunblade sporting the promise of quality by none other but Brightburn AAA&E. Perhaps for the first time in a long while, the beast of a man named Cyrus was in his element. The energy exuding from him was palpable, a brooding seethe and excitement for whatever was to come. She had seen this before, in the dim of Shady’s before the cage.

He closed his eyes as sea breeze swept over them, tipping his head skyward as his chest rose and fell with a big breath.

“Are you ready to lead us to ruin this Ophelia cunt’s entire world?” He asked, his fangs showing with a smile promising of blood and violence.

“Always.” Castien replied with a smug grin, her expression filled with mirth. There was a different sort of joy in being able to cut the waves and sail under the stars. It was art that one would have to experience to truly find the excitement within. The woman busied herself with coiling the ropes from the deck and placing them proper for later use.

The bustle of the ship roared to life, and the yells over her shoulder were eventually followed closely with a sharp whistle from the bridge, preparing the crew for casting off. The anchor below caused the ship to wade within the water, a soft bob coming to the deck as the large chain was slowly hoisted from the depths of Limsa’s waters, “Should we find her that would be a miracle. From what I know of it, her whereabouts have been a mystery since the undertaking of her first ship. She has ten more out there on the waters somewhere and I’m willing to bet she’s hidden away on one of them. There haven’t been any reports of Airships or the family having owned any.” there was a small chuckle, “Of course, she could very well be on a faraway island somewhere but then we’d simply have to search harder. Brazen people who think themselves above others and have a thirst for danger rarely tuck tail and run. If I were a betting woman – which I am – she’s sitting cozy in one of those damn vessels of hers.”

Cyrus fell in next to her, assisting her with ropes to cut the time, double and triple checking the quality and heaving them into their proper positions; knowing full well that not doing so could end disastrously just in case. There was a process and protocol for a reason. He watched the experts around him, too, visually learning–and quickly–taking in what he could. And so he was quiet as he listened to Castien as well, admiring her thoughts as they were spoken to him. He loved that, he realized; hearing the inner workings of this woman and her mind made him privy to things that had made her so successful.

The clatter from the gangway filled the air and the piece lifted from the dock below. Mast and sails, ropes and hard labor had finally brought the Song to move. A slow start and an easy sail out of the port caused the flush of waves below to splay at the ship’s keel; salt filling her lungs as Castien breathed it in with heavy delight.

The further Limsa was becoming, the more the Sirensong picked up speed and in a ruffle and flurry of heavy sheets, the sails unfurled to catch the wind, ushering the vessel onward.

As they were moving a heap of rope, Cyrus looked across to her, seeing the true joy in her features in the salt and sea. His reverie was interrupted as a crewman suddenly rushed past him, easily sidestepping out of the way. While he had been hired as muscle and protection, there was plenty of time and he wanted to utilize it productively, especially with one he could trust.

“I’ve been on vessels before, but never one like this. Simple transports and the like. This is a well-oiled machine. There’s purpose here. I mean, five million is nothing to sneeze at. You’ll guide me, yeah?” He asked her, hooking a thumb on his chest strap for a moment. His attention shifted when he heard a familiar call from the galley, staring toward it as memories flooded back to him.

“I hear the Lady Cress has quite the network and skilled engineers. Any other way and I suspect I’d be out of a part-time job.” Castien replied with a small chuckle. Straightening her back she tucked her hands into her back pockets, “I’m not much of a sailor but I’ve been around enough to help out. Myself and our astronavigator will have the charting well in hand and have a few back up plans if bad weather or our course come to change. Best to be prepared for everything, no?” she hummed lowly and her curiosity piqued as she followed Cyrus’s attention.

“I don’t miss that for a fucking moment. I’d go down there and help but fuck if I peel another damn popato.” Cyrus finally drew his gaze away as the yelling ceased. On the main deck, the crew moved with purpose. He watched one lean over as seasickness got the better of him, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and continued as if nothing happened.

“Have you met with the astronavigator yet?” he asked.

“Many moons ago, we’ve worked together in the past though the Siresong has two and myself and Osric’s sister, Edalene switch off on voyages on the vessel. Her work varies from my own but we see each other in passing.” she looked out over the horizon that still bled a bright line of the setting sun glittering over the ocean waves, “I suspect we’ll make our make in a few hours. The cover of darkness will be a boon.”

“Indeed,” he replied at the mention of dark. “That’s when we thrive, is it not.” He breathed in deep and took one more look around the main deck. With everything in order, the crew seemed to be at ease; some hung around on starboard, some at the stem, and even at the port, talking amongst themselves. One group, in particular, seemed to be eyeing their way, but Cyrus quickly realized that it was the cartographer that they were interested in.

“Indeed it is.” she hummed and looked around briefly, “I can think of a few things to do in the meantime, I have my sketch pads and a lovely piece of wood to work on when time permits.” taking a few steps towards Cyrus she motioned her head to the side to indicate one of the doors upon the large ship that led to the belly bellow, “Interested?”

Cyrus followed her gaze and her word seared him for some reason. He had to keep himself stoic in front of company, for one reason or another, but she’d catch the hint of a dimple with a flash in his gaze. Without a word, he gestured for her to lead the way and fell in behind her, a hand at a gentle rest with a hook of thumb through a loop. He saw in his peripheral how the group shifted and glanced their way, warning in his eye: do not disturb, it said.

With the mad shuffle of feet up and down the stairs, the entire ship became alive with whispers, hurried movements and low chatter. It was enough to cause Castien to place her focus elsewhere as she loomed around one of the corners to survey the scene while deft hands adjusted her attire with haste, “It might seem as if we’ve found our quarry.” she spoke looking back to Cyrus, the pair having found a cozy dark spot way from the activity above.

There was a small smirk present on her face when Castien made him her focal point for a few stints, “You don’t need a nap do you or are you ready to make the gulls sing?”

Cyrus had never seen a ship slip next to another so easily in the dead of night. Clearly, his most recent employer took on only the best and he would have felt honored in that sentiment if he wasn’t already focused on his job at hand.

An enemy overlook’s corpse took a drop into the sea with a splash that melded with the ebb and flow of the waves. The wooden walks were dropped gently and the ship was still quiet as men moved in tandem. The big man himself had to keep himself steady on the narrow planks. But Cyrus didn’t have time to think about anything except revenge. It may not have been his own bout, but the word alone stirred him into the best of action. He waited until the scout at the helm gave him clearance and then slipped below deck. And “revenge”? It was a good word to cling to as he moved like silk through the sleeping crew in the barracks. His footsteps were swift and tactical as he prowled through the cabin; heavier were his blades as they sliced through flesh, leaving the crewmen mangled or worse. He basked in the scent of copper as it left pools in the planks below his feet.

Eventually, someone with a throat intact cried out; letting the rest of their mates know: “Help! Someone help us!” Even then, the voice was silenced with a sudden blade through the jugular. Cerulean and amber glowed in the darkened cabin, sharpest of fangs exposed in a wicked grin. He laughed, the ruthless sound echoing through the barracks.

Gunfire popped out over the open ocean, the two ships engaged with one another, both Siren’s and two different songs, locked into a heated battle. Castien rose above the stairs and along the deck to follow after Cyrus and the crew, swords at mid-clash, the hard fracture of the opposing ships mast rang out and when the wood of the vessel moaned in protest and yells carried out through the masses, the broken wood shifted the enemy ship before the broken mass finally released into the water. Frantically the crew of the Dirge swept over the deck, cutting ropes and lines to let the mast find the depths without taking half the ship along with it.

Canon fire boomed and sulfur and smoke filled the air – rust. Copper. A metallic taste tapered past her mouth and into the back of her throat.

She was looking, searching for one specifically that could very well have been among the masses of the Dirge.

Ophelia.

When her body willed it, Castien vaulted over the railing of the Song and landed amongst the crowd upon the deck of the Dirge, chakram slicing and whirling through the bodies, a spray of blood, garbled screaming and somewhere far off near the helm of the ship there had come a cacophony of orders, barking commands and the clang of swords above.

Still, not a woman in sight that matched the description but the ship still had her Captain, but where?

As someone from the Dirge aimed to make a break for the railing and escape by throwing themselves over, the front of his throat was caught by Castien’s open palm, enough force and momentum she clipped him mid-run, clotheslining him hard to the deck where knee met gut and maw met his nape.

No escape. Kill everyone.

That was the orders. The Siren’s Dirge was now to be at the mercy of the Cress name. Five million gil on the line was far too much of a heavy price to have a moral compass here or to choke.

Labored breaths came from the stranger under Castien’s weight and when she released him, he was far too gone to retaliate, let alone make it back to shore.

Cyrus rose from the depths of the ship, his entirety drenched in crimson except for the back of his pants, and captured the vision of Castien; her mouth tight over a weak neck. His heart exploded, better than the adrenaline of any of the fights he experienced in the last month. Seeing the man get discarded like a piece of rotten meat only stirred him more into action.

He turned, rushing forward to slice his blades through each leftover meat sent to the deck. They crumpled with little more than a mere whimper.

When they were done, he focused on Castien. “Where next?” He asked, his heterochromia wide with bloodlust, mouth wider with a fanged smile. The man seemed to be enjoying himself.

Throwing her head back, drunk off sanguine she rose to her feet and jabbed a hand towards the opposing ship, “Find whoever is in charge of that vessel and apprehend them. Kill anyone in the way.”

The deck was thinning out from Ophelia’s crew, some even trying to make it back to their ship but the scattered few that stayed to fight certainly shown their mettle.

It was the sharp pierce through Castien’s side from behind that had her cry out, rage consuming her and her maw snapped open, painted is warm blood that coated much of her jaw and neck. With grit teeth she reached back to ram her chakrams deep into the shoulders of the person who had caught her unawares, strength and swift movement playing into her wrath as she hoisted the frame of the man behind her up and over her shoulder down onto the deck in front of her, one chakram loosed from sinew and bone as she hammered the blade down and down and down into the man’s face and throat.

Sickening cracks and slopping sounds of cerebral matter chunked and flew every which way and her breathing labored more and more with each slam of the circular blade into the body though it was already expired, the particles of the physical body itself beginning to trickle away from the living form.

Cyrus caught her cry; he didn’t even have a chance to run to her rescue before he saw her loose her rage. He watched as she turned the assailant into viscera. Watched as she defended herself. He realized his claws were out. His fingertips hurt. His toes hurt. His back hurt, the familiar sensation of moonlight. He was hungry. His spine arched and he was suddenly cutting his gaze to his allies.

'No. Stop. You do this every time. Stop it.' He could hear his own voice.

Forward, she said.

Forward is what he heard, and forward was where he went. He saw movement from the brig and launched himself. He powerlined the male, who instantly crumbled under a thorough slashing. He threw his head back with a wicked laugh and leapt back onto the home ship, holding fast to the mast. She’d recognize his eyes as they watched her from his perch. That gentleman she knew from months previous was unlike whatever this thing was. It grinned at her where he hung, ready for the next instance.

Already spent Castien listed herself and caught the salty wind that had followed them to this very spot, letting it fill her lungs. Her hand lowered to the puncture wound that sunk deep into her flesh – it was too much to hope for a clean cut but she knew she’d heal well enough in due course.

Making her way towards the other ship she heard the cheers ring out of their fellow crew mates and her crimson eyes veered upwards towards where Cyrus had been– was– what was Cyrus currently. A monster among men; the both of them.

She simply smirked up in his direction, knowingly yet impressed and she finally hopped over to to the Dirge as she sought out the small few that were alive within the deck of the opposing ship. The crew of the Song made themselves useful as well as they too aided in clearing the boat, it hadn’t taken long before they had found a man and dropped him to his knees.

“The Captain, is that you?”

“Nay, the Captain is dead. You lot seen to that!” he spit along the ground between the Captain of the Sirensong and Castien.

“Then who the fuck are you?”

“Quartermaster.” he grit his teeth spitefully, “Pity you’ve missed your fun.”

The Captain paused and turned his attention to the crew of the Sirensong as some of the members had already gone about tying up those from the Dirge that remained, Quartermaster included, “Can’t say what the next call is here, lass.” he regarded Castien and she gave it a solid, careful thought.

“We bring him in with us for questioning. Kill the rest and bring the Dirge to Black Water – no stalling, no deviating from the plan.”

“Kill him,” Cyrus couldn’t help himself from speaking as he had found himself already in the lounge of it all, mostly followed by the scent of Castien’s blood, of all things. “Skip all the steps.” He made a point to look at their victim over her shoulder, his eyes illuminated by bloodlust.

“If we just kill him we don’t have to deal with the questioning part.” He whispered in Castien's ear, reiterating his point.

Castien looked up and over her shoulder, hand still to her side and her ever-piqued attention upon those they had taken into their custody, “Kill him and we lose what information he has.” she whispered back to Cyrus, “Ophelia isn’t on the ship but we also have her quartermaster and we do need her as well as additional information to the whereabouts of her ships.”

Once more Castien’s pointed crimson gaze looked upon the Quartermaster then the Captain of the Sirensong, “ – betting he knows where the warehouses are. A walking manifest.” she smirked gently.

The Song’s Captain let out a sharp whistle and lifted his hand where there was a signal causing the Crew of the Song to go about their business and new orders, the Crew seeking out anything of import. The Dirge had now been officially under Cress occupy and whatever would be found within and on the vessel. Trade with Carrera would certainly be lucrative for her.

“He comes with us. Everything else?-- ” there was a mild pause from the Captain as he looked to both Cyrus and Castien in passing, “ -- Pack it, keep it or kill it. I don’t give a shit. We’ll reconvene with the Lady of the House to share our outcome.”

He didn’t wait for a response, his tone while calm and patient when he offered the statement, was certainly an order. Despite Castien and Cyrus being hired for the job, it was the Captain and his vessel that they had to adhere to with respect.

Cyrus couldn’t help the bestial growl that loosed from his chest as Castien and the Captain both stilled him. He bared his teeth at their victim; this poor thing that wriggled like a piglet in front of the both of them. Hopeless. Full of life and yet… so useless. His whole body shivered with a hunger he couldn’t touch.

“If it means nothing to no one,” Cyrus said, his voice utterly thick with intention, a desire nothing Castien had ever heard, “I want it for mine own.” Why did the room seem so stifled, the shadows so thick? They closed in so quickly and stuffed the senses so fast it was almost like a sudden spring’s storm.

The quiet lurched...

Collab w/ @cyrus-ffxiv

#collab writing #Stories #Blurbs #{ ᴀ ᴡɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴄᴏᴠᴇᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴄᴀʀʟᴇᴛ ᴋɪꜱꜱ } // { ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴍᴏᴏɴ }

5 notes · View notes

osric-giroux-ffxiv · 3 months

Text

A Change in Plans

A conversation she didn’t want to have – lately there weren’t many conversations she had been looking forward to having with much of anyone. Moods tended to sour rather quickly as of late when tensions were high. It was a small wonder that she had kept much of her composure at all or kept things together enough to run things effectively and without any pitfalls in her pregnancy.

Dawn kept warning her against stressful situations and yet trying to avoid them, she had constantly been faced with them.

Lowering her hand to the cuff of her sleeve, she adjusted the fabric around the mark around her wrist, bangles and all helping to conceal any of the redness, even her makeup had been long since washed away, her hair let loose and her overall look having been that of someone who had spent much of the night in and resting.

Finally, a solid knock came upon the door of Osric’s chambers – bright and early. She wasn’t about to miss the chance to beat the courier to the punch, or rather that she was going to catch Osric before he made post for the day with the missive she had asked him to write. The day before was but a blur, her catatonic state having made it difficult to discern much of what she had thought, felt and how much time had passed.

Only a beat or two passed before the door was opened. Osric stood on the other side, appearing a bit worn, tired, but determined nonetheless half-dressed as he was. Dark slacks, boots and a white undershirt, and just behind him at his desk - a desk that currently had a rather large bag and an envelope set in the middle of it - his coat hung on the backside of his chair. It was fairly evident he was preparing to leave for the day, and wherever he was intending to go, he did not expect it to be a pleasant venture.

Whoever he might have thought was behind the door this early in the morning, perhaps Wyland or one of the other staff, his wife had not been who he expected, if the look of concern was any indication.

“Vahalia…what can I do for you this morning?”

The door was opened a touch wider as he stepped back to allow her into the room if she wished to enter, looking back over his shoulder and quickly clicking his tongue at the two pups who had started to wander over, signaling them to return to their beds. With the two canines dealt with, he turned his full attention to the dark-haired woman once more.

Instantly Vahalia’s brow rose at the greeting from all parties and merely storing the interaction away she stepped within the room past the door, hands primly folded to her front, “Lucky that I happened to catch you before you left. I’ve taken to some council with my Advisor and explained the situation. It has been suggested to me that the missive itself and whatever is left of your envoy, we burn. The papers, all information – simply send the goods you found to the Knights and be done with it. If they ask what you found in there aside from the contents, you don’t know.”

He moved to close the door, making sure to give her her space in the process. A hand reached up and ran through his hair as he listened to her, gaze cutting to his desk and resisting the urge to push back on the assertion that it was his envoy - it was semantics, the man was dead and if he was to walk into the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly with just his head he knew how it was going to look, no matter how adamant he was that the man had needed to die. Someone was going to have to be held accountable, and that someone was likely going to be him. The thought had already kept him up all night.

Osric’s gaze found hers once more - his mouth closed, but tongue moving across his top front teeth, the motion barely visible as he moved past her towards his desk.

The documents were easily handled, and without a word they were plucked up from his desk. He moved over to the fireplace across the room, tossing the missives he’d found into the flames within and watching for a moment as the flames started to consume them.

“So we burn the head…what’s been done with the rest of his body, Vahalia?” Satisfied the papers were going to be taken care of by the flames within the fireplace, Osric turned back towards her, hands clasped loosely behind his back. “I’ll also need to notify the men who are delivering the goods of what the story is - while I can inform the individual who assigned us the task, if they report a different story with the goods then there will be questions.”

The Lady Cress squared her shoulders, her chin almost lifting defiantly but she happened to steel herself and the uncomfortable discussion but the needed one; a necessary evil yet again to seeing tasks delegated properly,”While the idea was good in theory, it does not hurt for a third opinion which I’m grateful we have. The body is long gone and we have Creature to thank for that. Let us hope that your men are loyal to the cause and don’t stumble in their dedication or words. The story must stay consistent.”

His hands clasped into fists, jaw tightening for a brief moment as he considered the men in question. Colson and Geoffrey he had few concerns about. The two were loyal to their employer, and had been from the beginning…but Silvaire.

The man had been a Temple Knight, only leaving the order because of obligations outside of his ability to control. If the choice was between remaining loyal to House Cress and being truthful with the Temple Knights…Osric exhaled sharply, lifting a hand to his ear as he turned away for a moment.

“Colson…who is with you? Just Geoffrey? No - that’s fine. How far out are you?” He paused, gaze drifting back towards the flames for a long moment. “...Very well. Yes, the goods are to be returned to the Congregation upon your return. And you are to inform them that what you return is all that we found. Am I clear? Good. I’ll be in touch soon.”

He released his hands from behind his back as he turned back around, walking past her to retrieve his jacket from the back of his chair. “...It seems I’ve another individual I’ll need to speak to, besides just the gentleman who asked us to complete this job…”

The woman looked rather perplexed as she turned, watching Osric make his way past her, “Another individual to speak to?” light golden colored eyes blinked, “Who else would have known aside from your men that would give you pause?”

“No, it’s one of the men who went with me that gives me pause.” He slipped his coat on, leaving it open as he reached up to run his hand over his face. “Silvaire - a former Temple Knight. He was dedicated enough during the job, but if asked to deceive the knights.” He shook his head, jaw clenching tightly. “I need to be sure, and I need to be sure before the goods arrive.”

Vahalia simply sighed and her hand lifted to the bridge of her nose. By all indication there was likely to be some recourse after, how could they get lucky enough not to?

She watched Osric in silence, his movement certainly an indicator on his wish to depart. Making for the door she opened it and began to step into the hall, “This is why I prefer to deal with people who have no loyalties. Everything to gain and nothing to lose – folk like that have little to no ties to buckle them down. You should consider mercenaries in the near future and only those you can absolutely trust with your most deepest of secrets without regret.”

Osric’s gaze cut over to her as he adjusted his coat.

Trust. It was a simple, but heavy word, all in one. If he were to only consider those he trusted especially with his deepest of secrets, then he’d be able to count those he’d truly consider on one hand, without utilizing all of his fingers. It wouldn’t be much of a fighting force at that point. And it wasn’t a point worth arguing over, certainly not right now, when there was an issue that needed to be handled.

He knew where his loyalties were - to the house and the woman standing in the doorway - and what steps needed to be taken - sorting out the rest would come after dealing with the immediate threat.

“They have plenty of incentive to remain loyal to us, and a majority of the force is made up of mercenaries, but I’ll have a discussion with Silvaire and…assess where his mind is, and address the issue from there.” He finished buttoning up his coat, glancing over at the fireplace where only ashes remained of the missives and then turning back to Vahalia in the doorway. “…all we found were the goods that are to be delivered to the Congregation - ceruleum and all. I’ll burn the head this evening when I return. It wouldn’t do for me to carry it with me on this errand.”

“It might not even be necessary to bring it up. Bringing it up could only draw attention to your panic.” She clearly wasn't trying to argue anything at any point, merely offering additional considerations for an already bombastic situation that could blow up in their face at any given moment – especially if attention were to be shifted in a direction they didn't want people looking, “If people don't ask about it, then don't tell. If the commission was given to you there should be no reason for any of your men to speak on it. Pay them and be done, easy.”

There was a slow exhale as he considered her words. He had intended to face the issue head-on - but if the issue didn’t have to be addressed at all…

Vahalia’s brow furrowed, “I didn't imagine you'd skip all through Ishgard with it in your possession. I'll have Bruce see to it in your absence. I'm asking that you reconsider tracking this person down and bringing unnecessary attention to the issue at hand. It Isn't hard to smell blood in the water if someone is bleeding and I don't know about you but I would like to keep my neck. If this turns around on us, I will be forced to disassociate from you entirely and disown your connection to the House. You might want to think wisely.”

Osric paused a thought seemingly passing but not voiced, before pulling on the cuffs of his jacket for a moment before grabbing something off of a dresser and pinning it to the front to hold the cloak that he fastened over his shoulders - a silver wolf-head piece that he’d been gifted. “I would very much like to keep my neck. It’s difficult to be present for one’s children, for one’s house, for one’s wife, if they’re missing their head.”

The way his words intoned the word ‘wife’ as if it had been acid from his lips, caused Vahalia’s own to twitch in a singular movement, her thumb roving over the family ring on her finger.

He turned towards her, barely catching the motion of her lips, eyebrow quirking for a moment before he moved towards the door, his jaw set. What he could have said to have caused such a reaction he was unsure.

“I will meet Master Thierremont at the Congregation to inform him of the job's completion and the arrival of the goods. Will complete our obligations and should be the end of this whole…saga.” His gaze shifted back to the bag on his desk for a moment. The impassive soldier - he’d been that before, he could be that again.

A scorned breath left her, something akin to a sharp exhale and the woman twisted towards the door, clearly, she was holding him up and her presence was less than ideal, “Very well then, I won’t keep you from your business else you may tarry.” there was one more paused glance over the man and the canines he often kept his company with and she stepped out of the room without furthermore to add, allowing Osric to make his own decisions based on the information she provided to try and counsel him.

Osric watched her go, letting his shoulders drop for a moment after she exited the room. For a job that for all intents and purposes had been a success it certainly was beginning to feel like a failure. He shook his head, straightening up before casting one final glance at the bag on his desk with no small measure of disdain.

Right now his feelings didn’t matter - there was business to tend to, and a conversation he didn’t want to have.

Collaborative writing with @vahalia-cress-ffxiv

#stories #collab writing #blurbs #{of ravens and lances}

8 notes · View notes

artemismoorea03 · 1 year

Text

Seeking Assistance (Chirp AU)

Macaque has been focused on defeating Wukong for so long that he forgot there were other threats in the world. Now, four demons have decided to remind him that even Celestial Primates could get their asses kicked.

Now wounded and with no where to go Macaque has to figure out how he's going to survive the approaching winter without alerting MK or Wukong to what happened.

If he manages to make it to winter at all.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Yet another part of the Chirp AU written by myself and @monkiebois.This series is a lot of fun but just a reminder that this is a side project. Monkiebois and I both have other projects we're working on. :D Between that work/school and a bunch of other day-to-day things this series will probably be slow to update but will be updated when we can.

* arises from the depths of the void * SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG COLLEGE AND FINALS AND AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA- anyways thank you all so much for the love youve been giving this au artemis and i appreciate every little comment and kudos. enjoy the chapter! * falls back into the void to pass out *

Something Macaque often forgot about being a demon with a long extensive history is that he made a lot of enemies in the past. It didn’t help that he had been so focused on revenge that he forgot to consider protecting himself from other enemies that weren’t Sun Wukong. Though, he also didn’t consider most of them true threats.

After all, he was a Celestial Primate, one of the most powerful beings in the three realms. He was the Six-Eared Macaque; able to hear the past, present and future! He was just as powerful as Sun Wukong and nobody dared to mess with him. At least… that’s what he spent nearly his entire life convincing himself. But there was a problem with this ‘amazing hearing’. He couldn’t shut it off if he didn’t physically focus on shutting it down, meaning that often heard everything all at once, and it made it hard to tell what was future, past and what was happening in that moment.

It wasn’t until he was thrown into the heat of a situation that he could properly recognize danger.

Which was exactly what he was experiencing now.

Macaque slid across the room, his back hitting his counter with enough force to dent the side of it. He let out a shaky breath, growling at the four demons who had apparently decided that this was the perfect time to practice teamwork in order to strongarm him out of his territory. They were fast and about as strong as the average middle-grade demon but their team work put them at a bit of an advantage.

They wouldn’t be able to kill Macaque, but the bruises he was already sporting was proof enough that they were determined to chase him out of his dojo whatever the cost.

Macaque glared, dashing to the left at one of the enemies, managing to slide around them to get behind them. He then dropped down, sweeping his foot and knocking the feet out from under the demon who crashed to the ground with a pained noise. Macaque then scrambled to go after the next demon when arms grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms to his side as the larger of the demons began to squeeze. This demon was only a bit shorter than Sandy and the strength behind the muscles was nothing to laugh at, especially when he could feel his already bruised bones creek under the strength. Macaque let out a pained cry, slamming his head backwards into the chin of the demon, who shouted and dropped Macaque.

Macaque then stomped on the demon's foot, swinging his elbow backwards, hitting him in the ribs and knocking him back. He jumped out of the way of the third demon who swung a punch at his jaw, stumbling slightly as his left ankle throbbed. He was running out of energy, but retreating would mean losing his territory. Where would he go if he lost his home? Where would he build nests for MK?

He formed a staff, swinging it at the next approaching demon who to his surprise pulled out a sword. Suddenly this fight grew much more dangerous as the sword blocked his attack, giving the demon he needed to attack again. He was easily the fastest out of the four, shoving back on Macaque knocking him slightly off balance which gave the demon the opportunity to kick him in the stomach. Macaque hissed, sliding back as he slammed into his training dummies.

The four demons began to approach him, having him once again cornered.

‘ Run away! ’ His instincts scrambled at him. ‘ It isn’t worth it! It’s just a building! ’ But at the same time he couldn’t convince himself to run. If he ran away then MK would lose his ‘safe space’. He had to keep fighting, he would keep fighting.

Macaque dropped out of the shadow, letting out a pained whimper as he hissed and put pressure on his side. At least two of his ribs were broken, his left eye was swollen shut, his lip was split, his ears were ringing, and he had rips through his clothing from the sword that had been used. Thankfully the only wound the sword managed to leave on him was a slice to his left rib cage that had only grazed him.

That being said, it was still bleeding considerably which was… not great.

He had lost his home. MK had lost his safe space. The only good thing about this situation was now Wukong didn’t know where he was and that he was able to leave with his life. The rest of it sucked though.

Macaque glanced around, frowning. He had ended up not far from Pigsy’s Restaurant in some abandoned buildings that had been condemned after the Spider Queen’s New Year's Fiasco. There were plenty of demons and humans who crashed there though, so he would be safe there, at least for a short time.

He walked over to a wall, leaning against it before he slid down with a heavy sigh. His healing would kick in soon which would heal his injuries but it didn’t fix his problem. He was still homeless and without help he could stay that way forever. But it wasn’t like he could go crawling to anybody asking for help. If he told MK he would undoubtedly help him but then he’d have to admit that he got his ass kicked and chased out of his own house. He couldn’t tell anybody else, because he wasn’t friends with anybody else! He could - in theory - tell Pigsy but that would still be admitting that he wasn’t strong enough to protect himself and his home.

No.

He had to figure this out alone.

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

Keeping MK away from the Dojo was the easy part, all he had to do was message Pigsy and have him tell the kid that he’s been busy and working around the city so he wont be home often but would check in whenever he could. The harder part was the fact that Macaque had very little to his name on a good day and now he had nothing. Just enough money to buy a water bottle that he could fill up at the mall or park and a vending machine sandwich for one day.

That was it.

That had been all he had been keeping on his person at the time he’d been kicked out and he was far from strong enough to have a rematch. Which meant it was time to do some old-fashioned hard work. His original plan had been the theater! After all, that’s how he made money before but the second he entered the building he was handed a bill and said that ‘the damage you caused last time you were here isn’t worth the risk of employing you again. Also, pay this sum or we’ll take your monkey ass to court ’.

So that… wasn’t great, adding it to the list of ‘ reasons this whole situation isn’t great/sucks ass ’.

It also meant that he had to do things the old-fashioned way.

He glanced around, letting out a shaky breath. It had been a longtime since he had to do something like this but at least it made easy money. Macaque let out a slow shaky breath, stepping up onto a rock in the park as he looked around. He then placed a paper cup he’d grabbed from a nearby trashcan and put it on the ground in front of him. Sucking in a slow breath, I began to sing.

He wasn’t like Wukong.

He couldn’t draw, or make friends easily. Not to mention his still healing injuries would prevent him from doing much manual labor. So he sang, one of his few talents. He tried to stick with more modern day songs so that those who were in the park would know some of the songs that he was singing, but he also didn’t know a lot of ‘modern’ songs. He would just sing what he knew and go from there.

At the end of the day, when his voice was weak from all the singing he’d done he returned to the abandoned building, stomach growling as he looked at the pitiful amount of money he’d gathered. He hadn’t counted on the fact that most people now used plastic currency rather than loose change. He had enough money for either some food or some warmer clothing. Or rather… a thin jacket.

Macaque zipped up the thin jacket he had bought and pulled the hood over his head. The winter breeze brushed past and left Macaque shivering under its cold embrace. Winter was approaching so he used the money he had made from singing to buy a dark purple jacket. It might be made of thin material but at least it was something. Macaque doesn't know how long he’s going to be homeless for, especially with this debt he’s racked up from the theatre–memories of said event made him wince slightly.

So for now warm clothes and cheap food was a priority. At least until he can find a warm place to stay for the winter, which he doubts. Without enough money he’s more likely to be forced to sleep under a highway bridge then actually find somewhere warm. Macaque just hopes and prays it doesn't snow. His currently fur and currently layered clothing can only hold off the chill for so long. But even with the cold taken care of–for now– he still has food to worry about. Purchasing the jacket left him with barely enough for a candy bar so for now he’s gonna have to settle.

He’s done it before, so he doesn't know why he hesitates, even for a moment. It's embarrassing despite how he’s done far more embarrassing things in his life. Either to save his sorry ass or because Wukon-

He’s not going to finish that thought. Macaque sighs and rolls up his sleeves. The cold prickling the skin underneath his fur as he approaches the dumpster. He needs some food, whatever is fine. He just needs something to keep him on his feet. He pushes the lid open slowly, careful not to make too much noise and alert the restaurant owner inside. He reaches his arms over the edge and kicks his feet off of the ground. Successfully leaning over the edge and into the dumpster. It was…disgusting. As any dumpster would be but it's what he expected. Dumpster digging is not pleasant under any circumstance. So he searched through the empty containers, dirty pieces of plastic, and all kinds of things. The rotten stench made his nose twitch but he pushed through.

He pushed through and all he managed to find so far was an extremely rotten half eaten apple. Not the most appetizing.

Oh who is he kidding, it has something green,slimy and unholy growing on it, he’s not eating this shit.

Macaque throws the apple behind him as he groans and lets himself hang limp over the dumpster.

A sudden yelp and a crack behind him makes Macaque panic and stumble into the dumpster in a pathetic attempt to hide like a cat caught in the cookie jar…if the cookie jar smelled like literal shit. Maybe jumping into the dumpster wasn't the most logical decision but, look he’s already homeless and has debt on his ass. He’s not about to be grabbed and thrown in jail for digging through dumpsters.

“Macaque?”

The familiar voice had Macaque's ears perk up while he was ducked into the dumpster. Who would have ever thought that the inside of a dumpster smelled worse…

“I saw your furry ass lookin’ through the dumpster Macaque stop hiding”

Macaque flinched, he contemplated shadow teleporting out of here because the smell was becoming too much for him to bear and he didn't want to be seen like this. Well technically he’s already seen but-

“Get your ass out or im getting Mk”

Macaque burst out of the dumpster with a loud and dramatic gasp, then laid over the edge and looked at Pigsy who just stared at him with a raised brow and a bag of trash in his hand.

“Hi” Macaque gasped out.

“Why are you diggin’ through my dumpsters Macaque?” Pigsy asked bluntly, grabbing the bag with both of his hands.

“Would you believe it if I told you the secret to beating Wukong in a fight was in here?” Macaque said sarcastically as Pigsy threw the bag into the dumpster.

“Nope, so you might as well tell me the truth,” Pigsy said, stepping away from the dumpster and reaching a hand out to help Macaque get his ass out.

Macaque stared at it for a moment, hesitating. Then swallowed whatever pride told himself to swat away the hand or turn it away and he took it. Letting Pigsy help him climb out and onto the concrete ground.

“Preparing for winter” Macaque stated, wiping off anything he could from his clothes with his hands.

Pigsy gave him a look Macaque didn't notice while wiping off the dirt and grime. A mix of disgust, confusion, frustration and pity.

“Come inside” Pigsy stated turning away from Macaque and into the noodle shop. Macaque knew he could decline. He knew all he had to do was walk away and he wouldn't have to face what was inside the shop. It's not like Macaque had him by the tail and was dragging him in. He had every chance in the world to turn away and leave.

So he followed Pigsy and walked into the noodle shop. Part of him wishes he checked exactly what restaurants dumpsters he decided to search through before diving in, another part of him relished in the warm air the noodle shop provided. Macaque decided to take a seat beside the noodle shop's island table while searching for Pigsy who had mysteriously disappeared into the kitchen.

Macaque turned away from the kitchen to look around the shop. Noting to himself how empty and quiet it is. Business must be slow lately. Macaque's attention was pulled back towards the kitchen when a full and heavy bowl was placed in front of him with a pair of chopsticks.

“I can't accept this” Macaque said, staring down at the noodles.

“You will” Pigsy replied, leaning on the table.

“I don't have any money” Macaque said, refusing to look up at Pigsy.

“Don't want your money Macaque”

“Then what do you want?”

“For you to shut up and eat something dammit”

Macaque hesitated for a moment, looking at the bowl. This wasn't like when Pigsy fed him after fighting LBD, this wasn't an obligation… but the prospect of Pigsy doing this out of kindness was enough to make his heart ache. When was the last time he had felt genuine kindness and compassion that wasn't laced with some kind of backhanded comment, guilt tripping, or fact that he owed them something in return?

With a shaky hand he took the chopsticks into his left hand and began to eat. The moment the soup and broth touched his tongue tears began burning his eyes. His throat hurt from singing, his body ached from the wounds that weren't fully healed, he smelled awful, his already dirty and matted hair and fur felt even more disgusting, and all he wanted to do was go home.

"What happened, Macaque? And don't give me that 'preparing for winter' crap." Pigsy said, and while he was firm with his words he wasn't demanding an immediate answer.

"Where should I start? The fact that I was attacked in my own home and chased off? The fact that I have to pay for repairs to the theater and they won't let me work there again? How about the fact that I spent the last 12 hours singing and only made enough to buy this jacket from a pawn shop while it was on sale?"

Pigsy's brows raised in alarm, a sympathetic look filling his eyes. "Wait… you were attacked? Are you hurt?"

Macaque sniffled, using a napkin to wipe his eyes so he didn't get dumpster slime in his eyes. "I'm fine… all that's left is a scab on my ribs and some bruising. I don't heal as fast as Wukong but I'll be fine in a day or two."

"You mean to tell me you were attacked to the point where you were bleeding and then climbed into a dumpster with a healing wound?"

Macaque flinched, "Uh… yeah, in hindsight not a good idea."

"A terrible idea!" Pigsy sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Tell you what we're gonna do. You're gonna eat those noodles and if your still hungry, I'll make you more."

"But-"

"I'm not done. After you're done eating I'm taking you back to my place for a shower and a good night sleep. I'm also going to look at your wounds."

"You don't have-"

"And we'll figure out the rest tomorrow. Macaque… I'm not giving you a choice this time. Even if it's just tonight, let me help you. If you don't I'll have to call in MK… or worse Sandy ."

Macaque sighed. Calling MK for this was bad enough, the guilt alone would rip him up. But Sandy ? Gods, he'd not only have to deal with the guilt but he'd also have to deal with talking about his feelings and stuff.

"Alright, fine." Macaque sighed softly, tapping his tail on the ground. "Just don't bother the blue-guy and MK… it's not a big deal."

Pigsy sighed, "You and the kid, I swear." He grumbled.

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

Macaque didn't know what he expected when he walked into Pigsy’s apartment, but he was honestly surprised by what he found. Which was Tang doing the dishes while wearing pajamas.

"M-Macaque?" Tang half-questioned, half-greeted. "How… are you?"

"Fine." Macaque said, as Pigsy looked at Macaque.

"Bathroom is the second door to the right. Go in there and get cleaned up, I'll find you some clothes." He said, his eyes slightly narrow.

"Fine." Macaque grumbled, walking down the hall as he heard Tang whisper.

" What the hell is he doing here? "

Macaque opened the door to the bathroom, stepping inside as he let out a sigh and dragged his hands down his face.

'The monk and the pig? Seriously? … Cute. But not great when I'm trying to keep attention off of me. ' He thought, looking in the mirror.

His clothing was filthy, yet thanks to his glamour his skin looked okay. At least that was the case until he dropped said glamours, showing off the white on the tip of his tail and his hair. It also showed his plethora of scars and healing bruises.

He let out an unsure noise, pulling off his jacket before pulling off his shirt. Bruises covered his chest and stomach, the healing wound on his ribs was looking rough , which wasn't a surprise given how dirty he was.

He shook his head, taking off the rest of his clothes before he turned on the shower and stepped under the water.

The warm water against his bruised skin and dirty fur was like heaven on earth. Tense muscles relaxed and he finally felt like he could take a breath. As he scrubbed the dirt out of his fur he decided to think. Really think. About what he’s going to do with the cards he’s been dealt. First he has Sun Wukong on his ass despite the promise he made to Mk, then he’s been forced out of his home and is left homeless with barely a penny to his name, lastly he’s knee deep in debt to the theatre building to pay for the damages he caused.

He’s in deep shit. The Monkey king, some pathetic demons and the bank are all after his ass and he has no way of getting out of any of this. At least not right now. He’s survived worse, this shouldn't be too much trouble.

Right?

He doesn't have a job, and no way of getting one right now. So with this debt he wont be able to get a place to stay for the winter. He’s gonna be forced to live outside during the winter…that's not gonna be fun. The only upside to all of this is now Wukong wont know where to find him.

A high pitched and scared chirp echoes in his memories. Macaque freezes, letting the water drip freely through his fur as he reminisces that familiar urge in his chest. A warm surge-like electricity coursing through him paired with an urge strong enough to pull him wherever it wishes. Macaque's arms go limp against his sides and his head falls. The showerhead hits directly over him and drowns his fur. He watches the water drip down his head and fur onto the floor. Not a drop of clear water to be found. Every ounce of clean water that touches him ends up filled with a disgusting mix of blood, dirt and sweat.

Maybe he should stay away from Mk.

Maybe Wukong was right, that Macaque would only bring trouble to Mk if he stuck around. He’s been nothing but a thorn in Mk’s side since they met and now he’s trying to stick around like some kind of adopted parent? It's pathetic really, pathetic that he’d try to insert himself into a family that doesn't need him. Attach himself to a kid that would be better off without him.

Pathetic to think that he could ever have someone,a family.

“I’m not sad, bud.”

“You are though. Your eyes are… they’re sad.”

“hmm, thanks…Momma.”

The feeling so warm and foreign in his chest, a light airy feeling that he hadn’t felt since the days of ripe peaches and sunshine. It’s revitalizing and almost addicting, leaving Macaque with a yearning that he hadn’t become aware that he had even lost.

A yearning for life.

Macaque doesn't know when the tears started mixing with the dirtied water, nor does he know when the water started to clear. Not like he cares. The memories of the past few weeks have been haunting him like a ghost, latching on no matter how much he tries to push it down for his own sanity. So now here he stands under the shower hiding his tears with the dripping water.

“But I’ll stay close so you can come see me now and then and I’ll stop hiding from you and your friends when you swing by…”

He made a promise to Mk, and he’s not about to break that promise just because some debt or demons get in the way. He’ll stick around even if it costs him more then he’s bargaining. He’ll stick around because he needs to be here for Mk even if Wukong wants him gone. He wont leave, the mere thought hurting his heart more than the idea of experiencing death all over again. He knows what it's like to be abandoned; he's not about to be the cause of his cub experiencing that same pain.

He’s not leaving Mk.

Only when the water is completely clear of dirt and grime does Macaque stop scrubbing, even then he takes another minute to just stand in the water and soak up its warmth. After he’s had enough he steps out of the shower and grabs the thickest towel from the bathroom closet to dry himself with. On the floor beside the door is some clean and folden clothes. Close enough to the door Macaque suspects Pigsy cracked open the door and stuffed them in without entering the bathroom.

They were nice, a soft grey long sleeve shirt with some old college logo on it and dark red sweatpants. Perfectly warm and soft enough to sleep in. Macaque decided to slowly and carefully leave the bathroom. While he was sure Pigsy was okay enough with Macaque around he knew Tang was still on edge and he didnt wanna push any buttons whatsoever. So best to be careful.

He looked around and saw that Pigsy and Tang were in the kitchen together, Pigsy had an arm around Tang's waist as they faced the oven with their backs to Macaque. Pigsy held Tang close and seemed to be saying something to him while they remained close.

There have been too many unfamiliar feelings stirring within Macaque, things he cannot explain. Yet now he feels something he knows and has been far too familiar with for years. Especially when he sees Pigs holding Tang so close and gently against his side. Both comfortable with each other embrace as they speak.

Macaque approaches the kitchen and sits at the island. Acting like he doesn't notice when Tang jumps and whips around to face him while Pigsy turns around casually.

“M-Macaque! hello i-i uhm-hi!” Tang stutters out while Pigsy gets back to his cooking. That pig never stops cooking does he?

“Hi” Macaque greets.

"So… Pigsy says you're staying the night?" Tang asked and Macaque nodded.

"Guess so." He grumbled, putting his head down on the counter with a shaky breath. "Sorry for the intrusion."

"Oh, it's fine." Tang promised, though he still looked nervous. "It's just…"

"Uncomfortable?" Macaque guessed.

Tang shook his head, "Unusual." He smiled, "Normally you're alone or refuse to let people help you. Did… something happen?"

Macaque bit the inside of his cheek for a moment, before letting out a soft sigh. “Infestation. My house isn’t currently… usable.” He said, turning his head away from the scholar.

PIgsy let out a soft noise, that wasn’t any kind of a grumble but definitely let out the same energy as if he had said, ‘ Infestation my ass ’.

“Infestation huh, well that sucks. Well, don’t worry. Our couch is free, you can use it for as long as you need to.” Tang offered.

Macaque wanted to immediately turn down the offer. The last thing he wanted was to bother these two for one night, the idea of bothering them for more than one night? He’d rather cut off his own tail. But… At this point what other option did he have? Try to go fight those demons again while he was still wounded? Keep digging in the trash hoping he didn’t catch some kind of infection or virus? Let them call MK, Sandy, or worse still - Wukong ? No he couldn’t do that either.

For now - as much as it pained him to admit - the safest space for him was right here with these two.

“I’ll think about it.” Grumbled Macaque.

“Alright, soup’s done.” Pigsy said, dishing bowls in front of both of them, surprising Macaque.

“I just ate…” He reminded him.

“Yeah, but if you’re anything like that monkey butt Wukong you’re probably hungry again, right?”

Macaque’s stomach growling quietly proved Pigsy was right as he blushed slightly and looked away. “Alright… thanks.”

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

“Infestation, huh?” Tang said as Macaque whimpered from where he was laying on the couch, letting Pigsy clean his wound.

It fuckin’ burned . It was sharp, sudden, and felt like ice. Ice that was on fire. Icy-Fire full of pain, agony, and absolute fuckin’ bullshit! Macaque clawed at the couch, biting the inside of his cheek once again as he tried to remember how to breathe through the pain.

“More like infection. Your little dumpster-diving adventures lead to a pretty nasty wound. We’ll keep an eye on it and check it out tomorrow, but you shouldn’t go climbing in dumpsters any time soon.” Pigsy said as he patted the wound dry then sighed. “Worst part is it’s on your fur, so unless we want to wax you, we can’t bandage it.”

“I’d rather not do that.” Macaque said, trying to ignore the dizziness and nausea that clung to his stomach and throat. He let out a slow breath, pushing those feelings down. “Are we done now?”

“Yeah, we’re done.” Pigsy said, letting Macaque roll back down his shirt before he laid on his uninjured side, curling up into a small ball.

He hated pain. He hated feeling sick. He hated all of this .

Pigsy let out a soft sigh, tossing an orange blanket over Macaque. “Get some rest, monkey. You look exhausted.”

Macaque just grunted letting him know he understood him, but then just curled up tighter under the blankets as he let out a slow and tired sigh.

He would be fine in the morning, a good night's sleep would help.

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

It didn’t help.

By five in the morning Macaque felt worse than before. His head hurt, his stomach hurt, he couldn’t stop shivering, and the entire wound site felt warm to the touch. He was too hot and too cold at the same time, he couldn’t get warm enough and he couldn’t cool off. His head felt like it was full of rocks, making it hard to keep it up properly.

His stomach was growling and he could physically feel the blood draining from his face as forewarning about what was going to come. He got up, scrambling towards the bathroom as his vision spun and his legs crumbled under him, causing him to fall and crash into a small table near the hallway. The table slid about a foot before it hit a door jam and stopped suddenly, throwing all of the decorations (which were mostly picture frames and books) to the floor.

Macaque didn’t have time to worry about it though as he clawed at the table, trying to stop himself from collapsing the rest of the way onto the floor. He was so dizzy, so sick, so exhausted. Thankfully, he was granted a small mercy in the fact that there was also a trashcan on the bottom half of the table. He scooped it up, shaking violently as he coughed and gagged, throwing up into the small bin.

Macaque heard a door open to his right but didn’t have time or energy to question it before he threw up again.

A small hand touched his shoulder causing him to jump slightly before easing into the touch of the hand as it rubbed circles on his back. Tears burned at Macaque’s eyes similarly to how the bile burned at his throat. It was all too much, and between how awful he felt and the embarrassment of all of this he was struggling to keep it together.

“What can I do?” Pigsy’s voice sounded a bit distant compared to Tang who responded from right next to Macaque.

“A glass of water? Maybe get a wet cloth and the thermometer? He’s really warm.”

Pigsy grunted, walking away as Tang gently spoke to him.

“Deep breaths, Macaque.” He said, still rubbing those slow circles on his back as the feeling went away and he was able to calm himself down.

“Sorry…” He grumbled, trembling slightly.

“It’s alright.” Tang said.

Pigsy walked over, carrying a glass of water, handing it to Macaque. “Sip on this, I’ll be back.”

Macaque took the glass in a shaky hand, sipping on the water, rinsing out his mouth before he actually drank some.

The water was cool and refreshing against his burning throat. He chugged down every last drop so he turned to where Tang was supposed to be but found he wasn't there…when did he leave?

Macaque looked around the unfamiliar landscape and realised he had no idea where he was. Where’s his bed, where’s his pillows and blankets? He really wants those right now.

Where's his cub?

Macaque let out a chirp, calling for his cub. After a moment of silence-well he heard something but it wasn't his cub so he didnt care– he chirped again but louder.

“Macaque, are you okay?” A blurry figure appeared in front of him, but it wasn't his cub.

“Wh-...where's my cub” Macaque slurred out,setting the glass of water down on the floor as he began to lose focus of the world around him.

“cub?........are you-.......Mk?” The sounds around him were muffled and Macaque could barely make out what was being said to him but as soon as the fuzzy thing in front of him had said Mk Macaque chittered in reply.

“Hmm, i want…my cub” Macaque pouted, his unglamoured ears folding against his head and tail curling up.

“Ta-......Call Mk….” Another deeper voice said as something pulled him up off the floor. Macaque felt himself being set down on something warm and soft. Then something else soft was placed on top of him. Macaque looked around and couldn't find his cub. Where is he? He’s just a baby, he shouldn't be alone. He chirped again but got no reply.

With one final desperate and tired chirp Macaque couldn't keep his eyes open any longer and let himself fall into darkness with a silent sob.

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

When Mk got the call he was still in bed, half asleep as his alarm screamed at him to get up. Pigsy never calls his phone this early. He’s usually in the kitchen by now setting up shop. No need to call when Pigsy can just knock on his door if something happened. So when Mk heard the ringtone he had set to Pigys’s number he jumped out of bed and answered the phone.

The last thing he was expecting to hear was that Macaque was staying at Pigsy’s because he had an infected wound and because of the infection he was too sick to function and was crying for his “cub” before promptly passing out.

So now he was running through the city, completely forgetting about the tuk-tuk, Pigsy’s house isn't too far off. So with all his sudden energy and forgetting about breakfast, he rushes through the city and finally makes it to Pigsy and Tangs house where Pigsy is standing outside waiting for him.

“Is he okay?” MK asked quickly, sliding to a stop. “How did he get hurt? What happened?!”

Pigsy put his hands on MK’s shoulder, “Kid, breathe. He’s alright, but we don’t want him pushing himself harder than he is. We want you to go with him while we wait for Sandy to make it back to port so he can come to check on Macaque. Until then though you might be our only hope and to keep him in one spot.”

MK let out a soft sigh, “Okay.” He said, following Pigsy into the apartment and over to the couch.

Macaque was laying on his right side on the couch, curled up under a blanket as he shivered violently. Macaque’s cheeks, nose and ears were slightly red and he looked paler than normal. But what really caught MK’s attention about Macaque at that moment was his appearance. The tip of his tail and the ends of his hair was white, he had streaks of a blue-gray color through parts of his fur, the last and biggest change though was his ears. The name Six-Eared Macaque now made sense. He had three ears on each side with strange colors within the inside of each ear; cyan, blue, and red.

“Macaque?” MK sat on the floor near Macaque, gently putting his hand on Macaque’s forehead.

“His temperature is like… deadly high for a human, but for a demon…” Tang said with a sigh, “We have no idea what we’re looking at.”

“What do you mean? How high is it?”

“106.8”

MK let out a nervous noise, digging out his phone. “Should we call Monkey King? He might be able to tell us what we’re dealing with.”

Tang seemed more onboard with the idea than Pigsy did as the pig let out a soft sigh and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Listen, kid.” Pigsy began, “Wukong and Macaque worked together during the Lady Bone Demon shit, but they’re far from friends. Plus… if Macaque found out we called Wukong he would freak out. We need to think about what Macaque would want for now, if he gets worse or isn’t getting better then we’ll call him, but for now we should keep Wukong as far from this situation as possible.”

Mk’s grip on his phone tightened, for a moment he considered not listening to Pigsy and calling Wukong anyways. The memories of the last time Wukong and Macaque were in the same room together, the fighting, the screaming…the blood. Mk closed the phone app and instead opened google and searched for ‘average demon temperatures’.

“It says…its not healthy but not deadly either” Mk continued reading “demons can withstand more intense fevers than humans so he should be fine as long as he rests” Mk explained before he turned off his phone and put it away

Pigsy sighed, "That's reassuring at least. Now we know he isn't dying, just feels like he is." Pigsy walked over and rolled down the blanket a bit before pulling off gaze from his ribs.

The wound under the gaze wasn't looking good, it was off-color and smelled awful. It was also oozing a bit which was unpleasant to see. Though, it was obvious what kind of wound they were dealing with.

"How did this happen, Macaque…?" MK questioned, running his fingers through Macaque's hair as the older male panted in his sleep. "How did he end up here?"

"I uh… found him in an alley, brought him home, and cleaned him up." Pigsy said, "Poor bastard was gonna try to tough it out but let us take him in for the night. Good thing too, can't imagine where he'd be right now if I didn't find him."

MK frowned, putting his head on Macaque's shoulder. His chest ached at the prospect of Macaque dealing with this kind of stuff alone, but what made it worse was the fact that Macaque was used to doing it alone. He was hurting, sick, and miserable… It was terrible to see. MK just wished that he had been there for Macaque when he needed him rather than off playing at the arcade with Mei.

'I'm sorry, Macaque… ' He thought, ' I promised that I'd protect you… '

Okay, so his promise had been to protect him from Monkey King, but still. MK hadn’t been there when Macaque needed him.

He would be there next time though.

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

Sandy arrived a little over an hour later and gave the still-unconscious Macaque an exam. His fever had stayed about the same, but thanks to an IV with fluids and medicine to get the fever down, as well as a freshly cleaned and dressed wound, Sandy was sure he would be fine. Though, Sandy did agree to stick around for a while until Macaque was awake.

Sandy was also the reason that Mei found out, and Mei was how Red found out, and in turn, Princess Iron Fan and Demon Bull King found out.

"Room for two more?" Mei asked from where she was standing at the door with Red Son who was as surprised, as was the basket in his hand.

Pigsy groaned, "Sure, why not. Don't break anything."

The two walked in just as MK was putting the final touches on a nest for when Macaque finally woke up.

"This is for the monkey when he awakes. But this is for you." Red said, handing Pigsy a bottle of wine. "My father says, and I quote; ' Drunk monkeys are a pain, but sick monkeys are a nightmare. But at least you're stuck with the more tolerable of the two '."

Pigsy laughed half-heartedly, "Thanks for the warning."

Red and Mei walked over to the living room and while Mei investigated the nest, Red checked Macaque's temperature.

"What happened?" Red asked.

"Don't know, Pigsy said he was hurt when he found him. His wounds got infected." MK said, "They called me when Macaque passed out while calling for his 'cub'."

"Cub? But monkeys have infants, not cubs." Mei pointed out.

"I know, but it's cute so I don't question it." MK shrugged.

"Animal Demons are often called 'cubs' while more human-ish demons have different terms depending on location." Red explained. "Now, I should go. I delivered the basket and I have a lot of scheming to do."

"No, wait, please stay." MK pleaded. "Sandy knows the medical stuff but… we don't feel safe calling Monkey King… you might be the only option we have…"

Red looked at him for a moment before he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. " Fine . But if that's the case, Nyoodle Boy, then move over because we're gonna fix this nest of yours."

"Why are you making a nest anyway, MK?" Mei asked.

"Macaque said that nests help with physical health… so I thought I'd give it a try. I'm not very good yet."

Red sighed, "That's fine, you're new to it. Let's get it finished."

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

“ And I’m telling you they don’t stack. ” Said the first voice that reached Macaque’s ears, sounding so sudden and loud it nearly made him whimper.

Why was the world so loud? Why did his head hurt? Why was he so uncomfortable and sticky? Why were all these voices so close?

“ And I’m telling you, Red Boy, they totally stack. Which means you have to draw 12 cards. ”

Those voices… the dragon girl and Red Son…? What were they doing so close?

“Macaque?” This next voice was right next to him, as a hand touched his shoulder, causing Macaque to finally open his eyes, glaring against the light. Looming off to his side was… MK? But… what?

Memories of the attack, losing his house, and then being found by Pigsy flashed through his mind followed by bits and pieces of that morning. He let out a soft groan, why had they called the kid? He didn’t want the kid to know what happened but now he was here seeing him in person? What was fair about that? Nothing was fair about any of this.

But since when was anything in Macaque’s life?

“Hey, bud…” He said, blinking sleep out of his eyes, “What are you doing here?”

“Pigsy called me when you started calling for your cub.” MK explained and Macaque felt his cheeks grow even warmer. Macaque ran his hand down his face to try and hide it. “But it’s not just me. Mei and Red are here too because they were worried.”

“I wasn't worried, my mother sent me.” Red said, as though to remind him.

“Alright, Mei was worried and Princess Iron Fan was worried so she sent Red.” MK corrected himself, “Sandy and Tang are in the dining room, and Pigsy is making lunch.”

‘Lunch?’ Macaque thought, it hadn’t even been sunrise when he first woke up, how long had he been sleeping?

Macaque looked down at his right arm, which had an IV in it, attached to a pole against the couch above his head. Between that and the new bandages around his wound, it was clear that Sandy had been there tending to his injuries which he was equally thankful and embarrassed about.

What kind of warrior couldn’t treat his own wounds or protect his own house?

He was the worst .

Maybe that’s why Wukong abandoned and killed him. Because he knew he was useless. Because he was broken. Because when Pengu created him they made him with whatever was left over from creating all the other Celestial Primates. He was a mistake and a failure.

Macaque let out a shuddering breath, draping his left arm over his eyes to try and hide the left eye as it began to burn with tears.

“Are you okay… does it hurt?” MK asked.

He wanted to tell the kid what a loaded question that was but instead just replied with; “Nah… just tired, bud. I’m alright…”

Mk squinted his eyes, he opened his mouth to say something but Redson quickly interrupted him with a slight push “you look like your in pain” he stated plainly.

“Red!” Mk scolded

“What?” Red gasped offended

“You don't just-”

“He does, I thought we were supposed to be taking care of him!”

“Well you could be a little nicer then ‘you look like you’re in pain’”

“I'm just stating facts, he's injured and you wanna sugarcoat things?”

“Well no but-”

“Exactly my point now” Redson turned to Macaque and Mk followed suit “Macaque why are you crying?”

“REDSON!”

“WHAT?!”

Oh, was he still-...Macaque had been so focused on the two boy’s bickering he completely forgot he was upset for a moment. It was kinda funny so he admits he got distracted watching them and that he forgot his cheeks were still wet with tears.

“I’m okay…” Macaque quietly told them, “Or… I will be.Just don’t handle being sick very well.” He said, rubbing the tears off of his face as he let out a shaky breath. “Can you guys help me sit up? I feel like my tail is going to fall off.”

“Sure.” MK gently took Macaque’s arm that was free of any IV’s while Red went behind the arm of the couch, grabbing Macaque under the arms as the two worked together to move him into a sitting position.

It was dizzying and a bit uncomfortable sitting up again, especially when the pain in his ribs continued to radiate and feel unnaturally warm, but it wasn’t at a point where he felt like throwing up again. Once Macaque was sitting up he was able to look around the apartment, namely towards the dining room where Sandy and Tang were in the dining room, playing a board game quietly while glancing over at him occasionally. On the other side of the dining room in the kitchen was Pigsy who was cooking something that honestly smelt really good.

“Sandy!” Mei called, causing Macaque to flinch slightly at the volume. “Macaque is awake!”

“Mei, inside voice.” Pigsy reminded her as the teen stuck her tongue out at Pigsy.

Sandy chuckled, getting up off his seat as he walked over to Macaque. “How are you feeling, Mr. MaQuack?”

“Fine. Little confused why everybody is here though.” He admitted.

“Pigsy called me and MK after you fainted. I mentioned the situation to Mei because I needed help getting some things, and then she told Red who was sent by his parents with some items from the Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan.” Sandy explained, taking a forehead scanning thermometer and gently placing it against Macaque’s forehead. He then smiled, “Your temperature is back to a normal range, which is good. Can I look at your wound?”

Macaque lifted his arm, letting the blue skinned man remove a gauze bandage and examine it.

“The infection looks like it’s clearing up finally too and your healing is starting to kick in. You should be mostly healed - if not fully healed - by tomorrow.” Sandy said proudly.

“Great, thanks.” Macaque said, keeping his arm up as Sandy taped a new bandage over the wound. “Can I get this IV out? My arm is cramping.”

“Sure.” Sandy said with a smile.

Macaque looked away as Sandy got to work, not because he was squeamish or anything but because he just didn’t want to look. After it was removed Sandy gently patted Macaque on the head then walked back to the table.

“So what happened, Macaque?” MK asked anxiously. “All Pigsy said was that he found you wounded in an alleyway and that he brought you here to help you take care of your wounds.”

Macaque was thankful for that at least, he didn’t want the kids knowing the whole story, especially when he knew that if the kids did know Wukong, Princess Iron Fan, and Demon Bull King would all find out and have different reactions. Wukong might think that Macaque deserved it, Demon Bull King would probably laugh at Macaque, and Princess Iron Fan would likely end up destroying his house while trying to help Macaque get it back. The kids would have their own reactions too, but he didn’t want any of them getting involved in this.

“I’ve… I got a bill for the theater I destroyed, they threatened to take me to court if I didn’t pay for repairs and so I’ve been doing odd jobs around the city to try and earn the money I need to pay them back.” He said, which was only a half-lie. “After one of my jobs I was jumped by a group of demons. I was tired from working all day and couldn’t properly protect myself from them. But I’m feeling better now, really. I’m okay.”

“Right…” MK said anxiously, “Is there anything we can do to help you earn money? Like… d-do you need help?”

“Nah, kid. Once I find a steady job I’ll be fine.” Macaque promised, reaching over and putting his hand on MK’s shoulder. “You’ve got enough on your plate, cub. You don’t have to worry about my shit too. I’m fine.” Macaque noticed the glance that Pigsy and Sandy shared but decided not to worry too much about it as he tried to distract MK and the other kids from the situation. “So what’s the nest for?”

“ Nyoodle Boy here thought you needed one after all you went through. So he made it for you when you woke up.” Red explained.

Macaque’s eyes went wide as he looked at MK. “You did that… for me?”

MK’s cheeks were slightly red as he played with his hands. “Of course I did.” He said quietly. “You would do the same for me - you have done the same for me. S-so I figured… why not.”

Macaque smiled, letting out a happy chatter as his tail swished slightly and he pulled MK into a half-hug. “Thanks, Bud… it means a lot. I feel better already.”

Now it was MK’s turn to perk up, a big smile forming. “Really?”

“Yeah. Can you help me over there?” He asked.

MK was happy to help, as he helped Macaque to his feet, the two going to the nest and getting settled in before Red hesitantly joined them as well, sitting a short distance away from Macaque. He looked weirdly content in this situation, which was almost funny given how often he tried to convince people that he couldn’t stand MK and Mei. Though, Macaque hardly had room to talk on that front.

“We were playing Uno, do you want to join?” Mei asked.

“Uno… that’s that card game with the four colors, right?”

MK nodded, “That’s the one.”

“Alright, then sure.” Macaque shrugged, “Warning, I’m terrible at card games.”

While the kids started the game with Macaque beside them now Sandy and Pigsy stood in a far corner of the room, whispering among themselves. Macaque’s ear’s twitched.He might be injured and a bit out of it but he’s not deaf. I mean, six ears. Don't they know whispers do nothing to hide their secrets from the Six eared Macaque? So while the little card game continued Macaque tuned his hearing into the two demons attempting to hide in the corner of the room.

“I think we should let him choose” Sandy whispered.

“Hm, I wanna keep a close eye on him tho’” Pigsy grumbled.

“And i can do that on the ship, i can take care of his injur-”

“I don't mean his injuries” Pigsy interrupted “i mean…him. I can handle his injuries as well as you can Sandy, we both underwent the same training back in the day. I just want to watch him, i want to see what he does. If he’s really serious about being better and being there for Mk”

“I understand friend, but still…i can do that as well and i think we should let Mr. Macquack decide whether he wants to work on the docks or in your shop”

Macaque dropped his cards and quickly turned to face Pigsy and Sandy.

“What?”

The two on the other side of the room jumped slightly, then turned to face Macaque as Tang coughed and mumbled under his breath.

“ He’s the Six-Eared Macaque guys, of course he could hear you. ”

Pigsy sighed, dishing up lunch and laying the bowls of soup onto the table before walking over with a bowl for Macaque. “Sandy and I were just talkin’. You need the money and we could both use the help around the ship and the shop, so how about you come work for one of us?” He suggested, making Macaque raise a brow. “You’d help me clean around the shop and help MK with deliveries on the days it’s particularly busy, or you’d help Sandy move around things on the ship and prepare for his deliveries whenever he hits port. Workin’ with me runs the risk of bumpin’ into Wukong now and then but you’ll be closer to MK. Working with Sandy would keep you away from Wukong but also would keep you away from the kid for extended periods of time.”

Macaque frowned, the idea of leaving his cub for any amount of time hurt more than he expected or wanted it to. It hurt more than running into Wukong scared him. “If… you’re fine having me, Pigsy, then I think I could chance working at the Restaurant for a while. Or at least give it a try.”

Macaque could see the way that MK lit up at the idea as he looked at Pigsy who handed the bowl over to Macaque.

“I’d be happy to have you. That being said, you and I will figure out the other thing later. For now, just focus on getting better, you’re safe here in the meantime.”

Macaque gave Pigsy a sad smile before he looked at the soup.

Safe…

He liked the idea of being safe.

#Chirp Au #lego monkie kid fanfic #lego monkie kid #lmk fanfic #Monkiebois #collab au #collab writing

42 notes · View notes

eivor-thorne-ffxiv · 5 months

Text

He was an amalgamation of rage. He always had been. There was nothing kind about Eivor when someone had incurred his wrath. While he and Cordelia would deny up and down that there were no feelings involved and his connection with the woman was one of an owed debt, he personally couldn’t deny the pang that had swelled in his chest upon learning that Damien Gray had laid his hands on Cordelia. While Eivor had been assured that Cordelia had done significant damage to the little lord, it didn’t placate the hulking Ala Mhigan who had been away from the estate to tend to Cordelia’s business.

It had been several days on the return journey and Eivor had traded out a lighter selection of armor for the thick furs and leathers that he wore underneath protective layer of plate armor. Despite the abundance of chocobos in Ishgard, the large man had still favored a horse and his dappled gray steed led the pack that had swiftly made their way through the large iron gates and up the gravel pathway that led to the large doors of the estate. Eivor had not wasted any time in jumping down from the saddle and handling the leather reins off to another armor clad individual as he made his way through the large doors.

“Where?” He grunted in greeting to the female attendant that had rushed to the door to greet whomever it was. “Her room,” was all that was offered in response as the sound of his thick leather boots stomped against the stone walkway and he recounted the familiar path to her quarters. He hadn’t bothered to knock as he twisted the handle and allowed himself entry to the doorway. “Where is he?” Eivor asked as he drew in a large breath which had made an evident rise and fall to his muscular shoulders.

“His estate.” Her voice was low, the tone holding little emotion as her attention kept to the reading.

“And you’ve no drive to wipe that pathetic estate off of the maps of Ishgard?” Eivor asked with an infuriated tone as he had stepped further into the room.

There was a pause in his demeanor as she had seemed so…plain regarding it. Where Eivor was bottled rage waiting to combust, Cordelia had found herself to be composed and idle. He would’ve brought the sky down upon Damien and not thought twice about it though the woman seemed to not be bothered by the situation.

It may have been a surprising sight to find Cordelia lounging comfortably within a large chair that was settled before the fireplace within her chambers. The loud echoing footsteps gave Eivor’s approach away and despite her knowing of his arrival, the woman remained focused on the book in hand. Ebony locks fell unruly over her shoulders compared to how she typically kept it up off her back. “Did you acquire the shipment? We are set to have everything manufactured and inventoried to be sent to Lady Cress’ ship to be sold and I want it all to be done smoothly.”

He had brought himself further into the room so that he could move to stand before the chair that she had comfortably in. “You have no need to question the status of the shipment and yet you do. Everything is moving ahead as planned and does not require your attention yet you give it weight when you should be dealing with other things.”

She allowed him to speak, her gaze still tracing the words on the parchment of the book, flipping the page once to allow for the time he needed to continue. Once it was clear he was done, Cordelia inhaled deeply with slow intentions and gently closed the book. Great care was given to this particular tome, having only recently received it from Vahalia during their visit and setting aside to the table next to her was done so just as carefully. The breath was released with a soft huff as she finally looked up to Eivor, the events of her altercation with Damien still evident on the blemishes of her skin that she hardly attempted to hide now. “My attention is exactly where it should be. My energy will not be wasted on Damien Gray. He is being handled in my own way.”

“Handled in your own way?” Eivor asked in disbelief. “You let the little lord and his staff just walk out of here with all of their belongings unharmed and now he’s in the safety and comfort of his estate. None of us know what he’s planning or who he means to rally.” Eivor had offered a flippant wave as he had huffed in annoyance. His ire for Cordelia would be misplaced but it was evident that her lack of emotion with the situation was a source of frustration for him. His ice colored hues had taken note of the marring to her facial features as his tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth in frustration.

As he continued on, Cordelia’s own frustrations began to grow and upon his final word, she pushed forcefully from her chair. “Apologies, Eivor, when did you become lord of this house? Who made it so that the intricacies involved you and your opinion on what I should be doing?” Her voice had raised a bit now from her prior calm demeanor, but even still she was a far cry from the anger that had boiled over a few nights before.

It mattered little that she stood, though, their height difference still required her to crane her sore neck to keep his gaze. Eivor’s gaze had narrowed down at her. He was a hulking statue of a man and rigged in a full display of armor would only lead him to be more intimidating to the regular passerby. Cordelia was not a regular passerby and it was clear that he had forgotten his place of servitude within her circle.

“I have eyes watching him, the information will be fed back to me when it is learned, if you must know. And for the record-" she paused, pushing by him to cross the room to her bedside table where a carafe of water sat. Pouring the glass, she brought it to her lips, allowing it to linger there as she finished her thought. “- he hardly left unharmed.”

He’d not reply to her and simply turned to watch her traipse across the room as he folded his large arms across his chest. The metal scraped against one another in an obnoxious scratch. “The missive made me aware that Lord Gray had been harmed as well.” He’d note with a clenched jaw. “But it seems as though I’ve misplaced my need to care for your wellbeing and should only focus on the wellbeing of your wealth until my debt has been paid.”

“Your care can be placed where ever you wish for it to so long as it does not get in the way of my work.” Her words came out in ice as she set the now emptied glass back to the bedside table.

It was rare these days that Eivor wound up on this side of her ire though it was clear that no one was free of the blast radius that Damien had created. “Then I needn’t get in the way of your work.” He’d reply with a flat tone as his arms uncrossed.

“You were brought here to settle a debt, to aid me as repayment for the items you stole from us. Do what you will with your emotions or need for feeling protective but do not forget that your place here is not as Lord of this house, for I do not need one."

He’d eye her for a moment beneath knit brows before he would inhale sharply and make his way towards the door of her quarters. “I’ve no need to be a lord. Hell, this wealth like this means fuck all to me. I’ll see myself to the quarters with the rest of the servants.”

Cordelia sighed heavily, walking toward the door as he did so though with a bit quicker pace in attempts to beat him there. When she did so, despite only barely, a hand lifted to press on the door to deny Eivor the ability to open it. “I didn’t say you had to leave.” She dropped her hand, adjusting now so that her back leaned against the wood. A long silence fell between the two as she simply stared up at him, her calm exposure returning.

An exhaled huff of frustration would come from the man’s frame as she had moved to beat him to the door and block his exit. While Eivor was entirely capable of moving Cordelia out of his way should he choose to exit, he instead allowed her to place her body against the wooden door to prevent him from moving forward. He’d not respond to her comment about leaving and instead clenched his jaw as his nostrils flared in slight annoyance. The change from his usual life to one within the Gray Estate was one Eivor still was adjusting to. He was used to living his life on a ship. Air or sea mattered little and he’d spend his nights under the stars. He couldn’t fathom the idea of sleeping under the stars in this dreadfully cold landscape. He had no love for the frozen tundra of a city.

“What would you have me do? Expel unnecessary resources to get revenge on him? I’ve taken steps to have him watched so, if my connection does his job well, we won’t be taken by surprise. I have no interest in wasting more time dedicating my attention to Damien Gray.”

“Myself and another man or two could make quick work of Damien Gray and his lackeys,” Eivor gruffly offered. “You’re sitting on a hope that your connection does his job well. No guarantee that he will.”

“Do you not see the issues that could arise from taking this head on in such a way?” She asked him, her head tilting just slightly, gazing up with an expectant look on her features. Arms rose to cross over her abdomen as she released a heavy sigh.” Not everything needs to be handled with brute force, Eivor. Some instances require tact, and this is one such instance.”

“What issues?” He’d quip back in a hastened manner. “Damien Gray attempted to take your life. A very clear attempt was made by the marks on your neck and when you defended yourself with the means that were near you, he beat you. I don’t know many that would refute that truth.” Eivor had offered a gruff rumble in follow up as he afforded himself a step back to fold his arms over his chest once more.

“The issues of too many eyes looking at me when I need them to be looking elsewhere.” Cordelia took a deep breath, her chest rising slowly as she attempted to ease her frustration that he wasn’t understanding. Whispers swept through Ishgard in waves following Ambrose’s death and while they had quietened for the most part, Cordelia still received the occasional sideways glance when she ventured outside of the estate into the city. “The rumor mill can be vile and work well against our favors, which is something I am trying to avoid and doing more harm to Damien Gray by my hands or by my command would hurt me more than help.”

Eivor couldn’t entirely understand her fixation with the rumor mill. There was little need for such things on ships. Sure, sailors gossiped but they were also just as likely to send a fist across the side of your face as a means of hashing things out instead of creeping behind someone’s back to spew malice and discontent. His icy hues would remain on her as his eyes rolled slightly. “I don’t understand this society,” he’d admit with a slight scoff.

She lifted a hand to his cheek, patting gently with the flash of a smile that faded as quickly as it showed. “Respectfully, dear, you don’t need to.” Maybe she was right. Maybe he didn’t need to understand it and maybe he didn’t want to understand it but that didn’t mean he was free from frustration. His brows would relax as his gaze followed her from the door to her place on the edge of the bed. He hadn’t moved from his spot near the doorway but he also hadn’t reached for the handle. “You need anything then?”

Her hand fell back to her side as she pushed from the door to return back to her bedside, finding herself perched on the edge of the bed. With a heavy sigh, Cordelia held his gaze plainly as she weighed her options. Slowly her steel hues moved along the height of him down his body before lifting to look back at him again. “Not with you in that armor.” She stated coolly before laying back on the bed, never breaking her connection to him.

collab writing with the lovely, @promethea-silk

#collab writing #the kraken & the moth

8 notes · View notes

promethea-silk · 5 months

Text

No Salvation Where I'm From

Her days had fallen relatively quiet since she last spoke with Ricard, the anticipation from awaiting word of the man’s meeting with Vahalia Cress quickly fading after a certain point. Cordelia had gone about her business, readying the ledgers and ensuring her products were all in order to be sent out on the Cress’ ship. Her mind rarely lingered on one thing for far too long, it raced beyond a singular concentration as the woman was ever moving. Could it be that her conscience was weighing on her, the guilt of pulling Ricard into a risky situation on her behalf eating away at her thoughts and thus she pushed it aside? Doubtful, extremely so, but there had been the briefest glimmer of this in her mind before it fell to the back of her awareness as day to day tasks consumed her.

Having received the rather terse letter by way of Wren’s deliverance, Cordelia had simply taken up her glass of wine to polish it off before penning a similar succinct response that held solely where her home was located within the city and when he should arrive. She had muddled through her options going forward in the matter, coming to two conclusions that would be kept to herself until hearing what Ricard would have to say when he arrived. Formed in blackened lace and silks, she roamed the hallways until finding settlement in a room off from the main floors, comfortable and lavished seating of various types set about the area. Bookshelves lined the perimeters of the room, taking up nearly every wall, and a moderately sized couch set closer to the middle of the room where a cart held various bottles filled with different hues of liquids within them depending on your mood.

Ricard knew most of the Ishgard well enough to navigate it with his eyes closed - the address she’d sent was one that was unfamiliar, but hadn’t taken long to find, as there were few places he hadn’t visited with some amount of frequency, whether that had been for his business, or his uncle’s. Regardless, he’d found his way there with relative ease, arriving just as the sun was setting, his firm knock at the door signaling his arrival and his darkened gaze meeting whomever happened to open the door.

He wasted little time giving his name and purpose, assuming the individual knew why he was there, and followed them back until he spotted his quarry, not bothering to wait to be announced. “Cordelia, we’ve a bit of an issue.” He offered a quick not to whatever individual had led him back before moving into the room. His facial hair was a bit thicker than usual, the circles under his eyes a bit darker - it was clear he hadn’t slept the night before. “Vahalia took the news about as well as I expected, which was not well at all, and she didn’t take kindly to the fact that I’ve been keeping an eye on your brother-in-law. In fact I was offered quite an interesting choice.”

“The job or my life - so I thought we might need to have a chat.”

Cordelia had barely offered any reaction when he came through the door, having expected such a greeting. She simply lifted her gaze from the book in her hands and sighed heavily, giving him a very pointed look. “Ricard.” The name was said sharply, mingling with the sound of the book snapping shut. Her demeanor was similar to that of a mother about to scold their child for bad manners. “We really need to work on your greetings.”

A flash of a smirk graced her lips as she adjusted in her rather lounged position on a large couch by the fireplace that crackled and popped with life. With a bit of a stretch, she reached out to pluck up the unusually filled glass of wine to bring it to her lips, emptying it just a bit before returning it to the cart that was placed next to the couch. Next to the glass was a piece of parchment and a pouch that rivaled the two she had given him upon the meeting when he had accepted the job. Waving a hand toward him, she nodded. “Well, go on then. And since you’re here, might as well make yourself comfortable, you look awful.”

“Sleep has been a bit elusive.” He looked for an empty seat, finding a spot and easing down before rubbing his temples in small circles trying to ease the tension there. “Vahalia did not take kindly to the fact that my tailing Damien involved any information about the Cress family. Any. No matter how trivial, no matter how small. Don’t know if she believed me or not regarding the information related to Valeria - at this point it doesn’t much matter.”

He sighed. “But, it does make things moving forward tricky.” Ricard glanced across at her. “I know Vahalia - I know she doesn’t do things by half measures, Cordelia. If I keep tailing Damien as is, there’s a good chance I end up in a ditch somewhere and Vahalia Cress will be claiming victory over my dead body.”

As he spoke, Cordelia watched him with a simple expression, almost as if she had already heard what he was informing her. Lips formed a thin line as she hummed quietly beneath his spoken words, head nodding with slow intent. “I see.” Once again, she shifted in her position, her back straightening to the poised posture that most were accustomed to seeing in her stature. “Well, we can’t have you going and getting stabbed again, hm?”

Pushing from the couch, she took the pouch in hand from the table, the parchment along with it, before crossing the short distance toward him. Arm outstretched to offer the gil to him as well as what would seem like a contract of sorts. An agreement of silence. “I presumed this was where we were heading, considering our last conversation. I took it upon myself to see ends tied, your last payment a little extra for your…inconveniences. Consider yourself absolved, Ricard, life well intact - sans new puncture wounds.” Her eyes fell briefly to his abdomen with the finality of her words, awaiting for him to take up her offerings.

Ricard licked his lips quickly, his brow furrowing as worked to process through what was just said. “You want me…to stop.” He reached up, running a hand through his hair. “I…alright look, I thought we might be able to adjust, have some of the men report to Baines or find a way to filter out things that have to do with anyone related to the Cress family but…are you sure? You have what you need? I don’t leave jobs half finished, Cordelia - and I’m willing to deal with the wrath of Vahalia Cress. We just might need to get creative in how we’re handling things.”

This wasn't a sudden concern for his well-being…so what was it? “And what if I refuse to sign this and refuse the gil and choose to continue to job - what then?”

A sigh escaped her lips as her arm fell to her side, items in hand. Just slightly, a hip cocked out to the side with her gaze holding steadfast down onto him. “Are you willing to deal with Vahalia’s wrath? From where I stand it seems as if you have been struggling to deal with it for a while now.” Pursing her lips, she clicked her tongue just slightly. Cordelia was hardly someone that enjoyed beating around the bush on things, she much rather simply get to the point of it all and move forward. The back and forth with Ricard was already becoming a bit frustrating for her.

“I haven’t been dealing with it as I haven’t been interacting with her. Probably didn’t make things any better when I went in to discuss things with her, come to think about it.”

“You condemn me for not paying you, now you’re threatening to deny my coin?” She chided, snorting out a huff quietly before tossing the pouch to his lap but kept the paper in hand.

He set the pouch aside without so much as a noise, running his free hand over his face in a tired manner.

“Tell me why, exactly, would you choose to do such a thing? Continuing the work, aside from preserving your pride. Considering the difficulty it was to get you to take the job in the first place, Ricard, I’m finding it difficult to see what about this job is benefiting you enough to risk your life, as you stated. You aren’t in dire need of my gil, it’s not a particularly rewarding task, and surely my company does not make up for the cons here.”

“You underestimate the pleasure of your company, Cordelia.” Cheeky - but his tone didn’t match the words, he was far too tired too…frustrated? He tilted his head from side to side for a moment before meeting her gaze. “The previous job was a completed job. The man was removed, the will secured, your assets freed. This-“ his jaw clenched as he stood from the chair approaching her, “-this is not complete. I have information coming in that there are whispers of Damien seeking transportation and a guide for the far east. What the fuck he’s doing out there, no clue, but there are trails just dangling to be followed that have nothing, as far as I can tell, to do with the Cress name.”

Cordelia had scoffed a bit at his sly retort, giving a bit of a childish rolling of her eyes before they once again settled on him. “To be fair you aren’t backing out, I am by offering you the option to walk away.” Her features twisted slightly as he continued, offering further information on the target they both had come to watch like prey, eyes following him as he approached.

“Same damn thing in my book. I’m not much of a broker without a decent reputation - stopping a job because of a threat, no matter how valid the threat doesn’t inspire confidence that I’m going to get the job done. As I said - I think there are ways around Vahalia’s demand that don’t end with me on a pike, and I have a team ready to head east…far away from Ishgard, Valeria and Vahalia. My team here would monitor his assets, business workings and report to Delwyn - who would then report to you, anything mentioning Cress gets scrapped. I didn’t come here to bail, I came here to find a compromise.”

Holding her stance stern for the initial moment, she released a slow and steady breath, the inner workings of her thoughts loud in her mind as it began to become apparent that Damien was turning into even more of a sly man than she anticipated. “Fine, I will hear what else you have to say.” Turning at the waist, however, she gestured to the accessible amount of liquors and wine, glasses for each option to accompany. “Have a drink, though. You really do look rather dreadful.”

“Lack of sleep - and not for any pleasurable or fun reasons - will do that to a man.” He moved over in the indicated direction, grabbing a glass and a bottle of bourbon, pouring more than a typical amount, not bothering with ice. He took a generous sip before capping the bottle and turning back towards Cordelia. “If I walk away that means you’re left trying to find another broker, and trying to find another broker who is going to do half as good a job as my men will is a tall order in and of itself. That’s not me being a braggart, that’s simply a statement of fact. And as I said, I don’t leave jobs half finished Cordelia.”

Once he found his drink of choice, she bridged the gap between them. Purposefully, she reached around him dangerously close to take up the already indulged glass of wine. “Yes, you have made a point of that.” Bringing the glass to her lips, she kept her gaze on him, her head turned just slightly to the side. Once removed, she repeated the motions to return the glass to the cart. “Then again, if I didn’t have you I would not likely look for another broker, Ricard. As I stated when I came to you, I am capable of handling this on my own, I was simply looking to…delegate.” Settling back in a stance before him, she waved a hand with a nod. “Nevertheless, you have intrigued and convinced me to hear out your further plans. No need to continue defending yourself.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her proximity, waiting for her to move away before speaking. “I have questions - but we’ll come to those later.” Another long sip was taken from his glass. “I’m waiting to hear from the team I have stationed around Ishgard, but my intent is to shift my focus to whatever is happening in the far east. One doesn’t suddenly start asking about transportation and guides for mere pleasure cruises. Once I have a few more details from them then I’ll have an idea of where to focus efforts, where to place people. I will, of course, have to maintain a presence here due to the family business - but we could still be receiving information regarding his movements - what he’s up to, where he’s going.”

Eyes narrowed onto him with his first words, head canting to the side a bit. With him continuing, however, she also brushed off the curiosity and listened further. “Now that I think about it…he has been rather quiet since-” Blinking, she shook her head and removed the thought. “Since he removed himself from the estate. I had assumed he was simply sulking after having been put in his place.” Shrugging, she hummed in a pensive state. “I suppose having your men as opposed to my own does make it easier.”

There was a pause as he took another sip of his drink before offering a nod. “Aye - my people aren’t known entities. They get in, they get out, you get the information you want and you’re not forced to…what was the phrase you used the night you pitched the job to me? ‘Dirty your hands’?”

A soft “tch” came at him when he repeated the words she had used on him prior. Lifting a hand, she turned it over and closed it as she took note of the sharp claw-like ends to her perfectly manicured fingers. “Mm, I would surely hate to have to break a nail if I don’t have to. Don’t get it wrong, though, I will break every single one if I have to.”

He licked his lips for a moment, downing half of what remained in his glass before setting the container down and taking a small step forward towards her. “But I am curious - you mentioned then, and you’ve mentioned again tonight that you’re more than capable of handling this task yourself, so why approach me with it at all, Cordelia?"

When he stepped closer, Cordelia returned her steel hues to his own, a brow raising as she seemed to challenge the man. “I recall you asking me that very question the night I originally came to you. I believe I answered it.”

“You told me you wanted eyes on him, sure. But as you said, you didn’t need a broker in the first place. And yet you choose to seek out one that has a tie to the woman that Damien is actively involved with. Don’t twist things - I’m just looking to understand your motivations and the larger game at play. There are plenty of brokers within the city walls who could have followed him and never had an issue crossing the Cress family. So again, why approach me?” One could almost see the wheels turning in his head as his gaze met hers, not backing away from her gaze in the slightest.

“And you said it, yourself, Ricard. You did the last job for me so well, why wouldn’t I come back for more?” The question was asked with a bit of a smirk, breaking their connected gaze as she fidgeted with the fabrics of her skirts, smoothing it out with the palms of her hands. “Is the reason why really all that important? You are getting your gil and something pretty to look at while being here.” Hands came out to her sides just enough to motion to herself in jest.

Perhaps it was the lack of sleep. Perhaps it was the conversation from days before. Perhaps it was the mention of him ‘just getting his gil’ or just ‘looking at something pretty’ in the process. Or perhaps it was the combination of all of those factors.

“Yes, Cordelia. It is. Despite what some may think, gil and having something pretty to look at aren’t the only motivating factors for my behavior.”

The woman sighed heavily, lids closing for a breath before opening them to look back to Ricard with the pursing of her lips. She always knew to be careful with what she offered in terms of her thoughts and silent plans. “I can trust that you get the job done the way I need it to be done, Ricard. Why would I seek out someone new when I already had a, albeit brief, rapport with you?” A ghostlike touch would come to his chest, fleeting and perhaps barely felt if he were unable to see the gesture. “Plus, it gives us both something nice to look at in the process.”

His gaze followed her hand, before shifting back to meet her eyes, unconvinced.

After a moment, she huffed and dropped her hand, pressing her lips together in one final concise decision. “I wanted to test the waters, so to speak. See the lengths and boundaries that were surrounding the Cress house. Not because I wish to involve myself in their matters or business outside of the business in which I conduct with them, but for the purpose of knowing what Damien tends to be getting himself into. If he causes an issue, I want to know the extent in which I have to expect blow back from Vahalia. All of the prior mentioned reasons are still reasons, but you were also a line to push those curiosities. Thus, I offered to be the one to report to Vahalia of her sister’s whereabouts.”

A heavy silence filled the room as he reached for his glass, downing what remained within the container before slowly, deliberately, setting it down on the nearest surface as he gathered his thoughts. “That’s why you were perfectly content to end the contract this evening - because you did have the information you wanted. You knew how Vahalia was going to respond. You used me as fucking bait. You had me and my men push the boundaries, knowing damn well that the Cress family was going to be involved sooner rather than later and knowingly, knowingly let the shit just happen.”

Ricard slowly turned his back towards her, blue eyes burning in barely contained fury, his jaw clenched tightly. “This never had to do with you brother in law at all - this was always about Vahalia fucking Cress and her house.”

She raised her chin in defiance, even after he had turned away from her, the rising irritation slowly growing in her chest. “This had everything to do with Damien.” She began, arms lifting now to cross over one another before her. “I offered you a way out at every turn, Ricard. Do not play like some helpless victim. I know you do you job well, despite Vahalia’s spiteful jaded opinions. The basis of this entire job was him, not House Cress, it was simply an added bonus. I told you from the beginning that I wanted nothing to do with details going on in the Cress Estate and that you or your men had no need to step foot there. I suggested I be the one to bring the details to Vahalia about her sister and you denied me. And tonight? Tonight I give you a way out of it all yet again and you throw it back in my face.”

One hand reached out in an attempt to turn him around to face her, though the test of her strength really was shown in that moment. She was strong willed but brawn was not in her repertoire. “Think what you will, Ricard, but I hardly used you as bait.”

He allowed the hand to turn him, fighting back an irritated snarl. “No - then what would you call the individual you use to ‘push curiosities’, Cordelia? I would call that person bait. I was being used to push boundaries that you didn’t want to push, to test limits that you didn’t want to test. And now you have your information and so what - I’ve served my purpose?” He pointed over towards the paper she had offered earlier in the discussion and the pouch of gil. “So I can sign that document, take the gil and whatever happens after that is no longer your concern, right? You have what you paid for.”

“Oh, by the Twelve, would you get it together?” Cordelia spat out, the tone more of a frustrated huff rather than overwhelming anger. “It’s like you aren’t listening to a single word I’m saying and simply choosing to throw a temper tantrum like I’ve gone and hurt your feelings.” Arms now outstretched at her sides as if showing she were empty, nothing else to offer. “I got what I wanted with Vahalia, yes, the information on Damien was informative, yes. That?” A finger directed to the paper with a sharp movement. “Was to cover both of our asses. Not just for me to leave you high and dry. What you chose to do, was just that, your choice and what you chose to do following tonight was the same. You are a stubborn man, Ricard Blythe, and I think you like the fire far too much for your own good but also a bit blind because of the many times you’ve been burned.”

“No, I’m listening just fine, Cordelia Gray.” He took a small step forward, closing what little gap there was between the two of them. Frustration and irritation rolled off of him in waves, and perhaps it was that, or perhaps it was the exhaustion that was finally beginning to impact his judgment - regardless he pressed on. “I’ve never denied being stubborn, but what is it that you’re claiming that I’m blind to in this instance?”

The muscles in her body tensed, teeth grinding together as he stepped even closer to her. While fear was not the word Cordelia would use to describe her emotions in the moment, she was acutely aware of the last time a hot headed man approached her. “I’m not trying to screw you over, Ricard Blythe, nor am I out to see you dead or in any way trying to get at you. I withheld details, I tried to manipulate the situation to my liking but also to help you and you ignored it. Now-” A pause allowed her to take a short breath and swallow hard, chin lifting even higher as she refused to make herself smaller before him. “- you can continue this pity party and prove Vahalia right in her opinions, or we can move on. Both options that were offered at the beginning of the night are still available. Take the gil, sign the contract, be free of this job and the threat on your life, or continue working with me and finish it out the way you originally wished.”

“How conveniently worded. You manipulated me.” Noting the posture and her overall tension, he took a small step back, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing in her direction. “Let’s call a spade a spade, shall we?” The comment about Vahalia was completely ignored as he adjusted his coat, seemingly preparing to leave. “By your leave, I’d like to give the matter some thought. Assuming I’m still alive in the next day or so, I should have an answer for you.”

Again she scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. “You said the job or your life, doing work that involves them or your life. If you are keeping your distance I don’t see what the fuss is still about. I think you can drop the dramatics.” Watching him move to take his coat, she steadily inhaled before releasing the breath with control. “Do as you wish. But Ricard, I’m not out to get you.” She turned toward him, attempting to soften her otherwise harsh features in the slightest reassurance. “I don’t expect anything from you, at that.”

“If you think it’s dramatics, then you don’t know Vahalia Cress half as well as you think you do.” He adjusted his coat as he moved towards the door. “I’ll have an answer for you by tomorrow evening at the latest. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Cordelia.”

[Collab with @ricard-blythe-ffxiv]

Mentions : @vahalia-cress-ffxiv @spirit-speaking @damien-gray-ffxiv

@sanguinecourt-ffxiv

#moth lady #delia things #crystal data center #ffxiv rp #balmung rp #ffxiv #the perceptive smartass #collab writing

12 notes · View notes

damien-gray-ffxiv · 5 months

Text

Fate in Shades [Pt. 2]

As Damien had followed Bruce, he had spent the entirety of the walk to the library analyzing him. He was tall, broad and clearly quite strong. Stronger than the average Hyur and certainly stronger than any worldly strength that Damien possessed. He had not seen many Roe up close and it was clear that this one’s allegiance was strictly to Vahalia. Damien had made a mental note to not further his place on Vahalia's bad side just at the sight of the stoic male. When Bruce come to a stop and turned to gesture towards the library, Damien simply nodded at him. “Thank you, uh…Bruce.” He’d offer coupled with a pursed-lipped smile which was received well enough and even Bruce had mirrored the gesture back before Damien stepped into the library.

It had not taken much time for the amber-haired man to find her. She had been seated with her back to where he now stood and his hands moved to clasp themselves behind his back as he cleared his throat in a means to gather her attention, it was enough to startle her slightly.

“Sorry!” Valeria called out before having seen the arrival of the guest. She moved from her position on the chair and put the book down she had been –clearly – engrossed in, as was ever the case with her, “Damien?” She blinked upon seeing him standing near the door. It was surprising to see he had come so far from when she had last known him to be, even more, that he was…standing in the Cress estate and unscathed; a pure testament of her sister’s patience.

Damien's had slowed as she had placed the book down and turned to face him. He hadn’t seen her since they had met in Tailfeather and despite their continued correspondence via letter, it had taken him a moment to drink in the raven haired woman's features. His gaze fixated on her bicolored eyes as his softened. He had done his best to whisk away the tiredness that had been clearly evident on his features with Vahalia and he offered her an uneven grin.

“How – I mean I suppose that’s a bit of a question, isn’t it? How have you been?” She stood and adjusted her skirts out of the way to make her way past the large table that sat in the center of the room. Like much of the estate, this room was well-lit as well and cozy thanks to the ever-burning fireplace. There was a different ambiance that hung in the air here – it was relaxing and inviting almost intimate and quiet with very few windows to make the space feel exposed.

“I had a request of your sister,” he offered in response to her loaded question. He didn’t seem inclined to keep a good majority of things from Valeria should she ask him though he spared her the details of his request for now. “I have certainly been better,” Damien replied as he approached her from his position by the door. It had only taken him several strides to close most of the distance between the two of them. “I had considered sending Alain as promised, but I thought my presence would be enjoyed more than he.”

“Indeed! Well, of course, Alain would have been welcome as well. But with you here I wouldn’t have to pick his brain to get more than a few words. Do you plan on coming back to Ishgard any time soon or are….you and Cordelia still on the outs?” She knew he spoke of altercations and that tensions had been high previously via his letter but…

“Cordelia and I have not spoken since since I had left Ishgard,” he admitted as his gaze dropped from her. Mead colored hues would fixate on the ground beneath him for a lingering period. “I have acquired some business within Valnain,” the way in which he spoke was calm and collected. He had chosen his words wisely to soften the blow. “Alain and Laurant have been securing the necessary prerequisites before we depart.”

“So… you’re leaving and setting off on the other side of the world? That's a long way away.”

“I am,” he replied as he brought his eyes back up to her bicolored ones. “I would hope that it would not be for too long but I cannot bring myself to leave without telling you.” His lips would flatten into a tight line as his jaw clenched. There was a moment where he had brought his hand up as if to extend it towards her before Damien has hesitated and dropped it back at his side.

“That’s kind of you. I suppose it’s better that you tell me face to face rather than through a letter. I think I would do the same if I were in your position. Why are you heading out that way if you don’t mind me asking?” Valeria smiled gently as she knew full well she had signed herself up to tasks Vahalia had for her – a tinge of jealousy within that Damien seemingly got to travel and explore.

“I’ve come into a rather significant parcel of land southwest of the Skatay Range,” his reply was quick and he moved to tuck his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “It was purchased sight unseen so I am unsure of the status of the land. If there are any buildings that are livable and what needs to be constructed to get the settlement up and running.”

Her bright eyes blinked several times, “Land? Did you get an inheritance of some sort?” her expression shifted and she looked rather jubilant at the prospect, “Oh! I’ll have to come and visit some day then once you get things sorted, that’s so exciting! What do you plan on doing first when you get there? Have you been there before? Do you think the weather is nice there? I mean it should be right with how warm the location is known to be. Have you seen Valnain before? I haven’t but Vahalia has told me stories of when she was there recently. Of course, my family is from that area but I never really knew much outside of that.” She paused, finally, after her onslaught of questions and statements.

He couldn’t couldn’t help but laugh quietly at her continuous questions. If anything, Damien found her flurry of words endearing. “Valeria,” he spoke quietly as he had finally found the confidence to raise his hand up so that it would lightly cup her cheek if she had allowed him to do so. “Come with me. Leave this behind and experience these things for yourself.”

The idea was nice, the gesture even nicer and sweet. The sensation itself would have caused a warmth in her belly or a touch of heat to her cheeks but it was overshadowed easily by the unsettling feeling that sank into the back of her throat, “I….can’t.” she nearly whispered, “I promised Vahalia I would attend lessons and make sure to play a more active role in the House. I want to learn, I really want to learn all these things because I know it will assist me later in life especially if I even have to take the reigns.”

Reaching up, her fingers found the edges of Damien’s hooking to hold what part of him she could. It was strange, having this freedom she was given back but the only one holding her back was currently herself, “Perhaps we should both work hard at bettering ourselves so we can be more prepared later to be able to explore more?”

The rejection probably would have been hard in any circumstance, but in this instance it had been a little bit harder to stomach. If her hand had not moved up to take hold of his fingers, he likely would have pulled his hand away. “I think you would do well at Vahalia’s side,” he reassured as he offered her a forced smile. It was different than his usual, easy smile and his lips pulled into a tight, thin line.

Valeria smiled lightly, “I would very much like to visit after I get some lessons under my belt, perhaps when you are better suited to have company?”

He recollected himself by hardly swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat and blinking several times as she had quickly carried on with the topic. “That’s also true. I couldn’t have you sleeping on a bedroll in the dirt in good conscious,” he teased briefly in an attempt to break the tension of their previous comments. “I suppose I will have to have a home constructed on the property before I can invite a noblewoman there.”

The idea of a bedroll wasn’t something she could see herself finding relief in, how anyone slept on those things were a mystery to her. Part of her felt awful, thinking that Damien himself would likely find himself within one at the end of each day but she also knew of his hobbies and how he favored the outdoors and hunting. He seemingly had a knack for survival. “I suppose better you than me.” She finally admitted. As openminded as she was, Valeria knew her health wasn’t something she could take lightly, even if it was as simple as sleeping in a bedroll on the ground. Harmless to some.

She had hardly noticed she had still been holding his hand and for the briefest of moments she contemplated drawing away, remaining modest – who was to say he might have returned at all, perhaps he’d find happiness in the land far away. It wasn’t the first time a man didn’t want to wait for her. Would it be too much to ask? Did she even have that right? Why did it even matter?

Valeria was, well, Valeria. And while she knew Damien didn’t mean any harm or was selfish to consistently reach for more than he was allowed, there was no reason why she couldn’t. “Try not to forget me while you’re there? I know things happen and people come and go in our lives but at least remember me if your feet take you further and further from here…” From her, she wanted to say but perhaps it was too bold. Far too bold to simply put into words or a question or simple hopes.

He was leaving to see to some business abroad, why did she get the sinking feeling she might not have ever seen him again? All that mattered was she wanted some peace from that deepening thought and without permission she felt her body against his when she stepped closer, as close as they had ever been in the sense that one had overstepped – she had crossed that line and a hand shifted to the front of his chest, “Please take care of yourself.” At the lack of space between them, it was easy to see she wore a new necklace, it was long and gold in color that hung low and past her sternum, nestled against the material of her bodice – Damien’s ring well kept at the swoop of the end.

His reply to her initial question had been halted by the movement of her inching closer to him. His chest had shifted from a normal pattern of breathing to a shallow rise and fall. The only evidence that he was still breathing was the pattern of his shoulders just barely moving. His frame leaned into the feeling of her hand as the only thing that had separated the two of them was the fabric of his tunic. With his eyes peering down at her, it was hard to ignore the golden chain that she now wore and what resided at the middling of it. The familiar ring that had graced Damien’s finger until recently had weighed down the necklace and he would move a hand to gently scoop the ring up into his palm so that he could examine it briefly. He carefully dropped the ring with a slight smile etched on his lips as his hand moved to pull on the leather that hung around his neck so that it now lay outside of his tunic. The necklace that she had previously given him had been slightly modified to fit him more as a necklace than a choker but still contained the original leather that she had worn for years.

“I still very much wish that you would come with me,” he murmured as his hand returned to gently cup her cheek and his thumb softly caressed the porcelain skin. “I admit that I fear your duty to your house will betroth you to another and the woman who I’m leaving here will not remain when I return.”

The second touch – his words – all of it so charming and sweet. A veil found its way over her senses, hazy, almost punch-drunk. She had a whole speech of things she wanted to say and could have said at the moment. Promises wouldn’t have been enough, she knew this. There was a blossom and swell that raged within her core, fearing he might have felt just how hard her heart had been beating – beating for him. A language only another could only fathom.

Valeria had done the unthinkable when all sense had left her body and with feather-light tenderness, her mouth sought his, daring a small chaste gesture, one in which she had to hike herself to toe tips to be able to seek.

The place where his hand had resided had only remained there for a moment longer as it shifted to delicately rest along the side of her neck. His shoulders hunched in an effort to bring himself down closer to her. The embrace of their lips was brief and when they had pulled themselves away, Damien had kept himself still hunched slightly to savor the closeness of their embrace.

“Does that mean I shouldn’t worry?” He whispered in a husky exhale.

At his question, her eyes fluttered and the realization of what she had done began to sink in, “I – sorry….I probably shouldn’t have done that.” Valeria’s hand fell to grasp at the necklace between her and Damien that had been around her neck and she took a step back – a little flustered. “I suppose in some roundabout way, yes. I’m not to be married off nor do I think I would change much in your absence as I would hope you wouldn’t either but I think it gives me something nice to look forward to. To…work hard here at the things I need to task myself with and devotion to my health so that I can visit sooner.”

Her apology was unwelcome and Damien’s face was a clear indication that had rejected the notion that she should have even thought to apologize. He had heard her words, but they had not registered as they normally would as Damien sought to close the gap between them once more. Both of his hands moved to hold along her jawline and in a swift motion he leaned forward to press his lips to hers with more fervor than their last embrace. It was clear that Damien was confident in this regard and perhaps almost as self-assured as he was when it came to his prized creatures. However, it was clear to him that every interaction he’d had before this was different with the way that his stomach settled uneasily but not in the same fashion that would make one ill.

Words clipped, attention swiftly sought as he demanded it, and instantly without hesitation or resistance, the woman simply melted into his touch – the kiss. Easily disappearing into the moment while her head swam and the one and only thing she had done aside from returning the kiss fervently, her hands had reached to grasp tenderly at the front of his vest; much without her noticing she had been, or she simply didn’t care.

Dizzying, serene, and in the moment she truly tasted him – a heady flight cut short by the sharp rap of knuckles on the door behind Damien which startled her, “Miss Valeria, is everything alright in there?” Bruce’s voice came from the other side of the wood.

It was clear that the both of them had become lost in the moment. The only care he had was for the subtle dance of their lips and the way that the skin of her neck felt under his callused hands. He wasn’t entirely surprised that he had missed the knocking on the door by Bruce's sturdy hand, but the voice is what had caught Damien’s attention. He had pulled away from her far enough to remove his hands from her neck but not her hand from his vest. There was a quick and somewhat anxious clearing of his throat as Damien half expected the large Roe to be standing there as he turned but the door had still be closed and their privacy still in tact.

“I suppose it would be best for you to answer him,” he suggested with an unsure shrug. “I get the feeling he doesn’t like me much but maybe just doesn’t like anyone who isn’t you or your sister.”

Gathering herself, Valeria pulled away from Damien and stepped towards the door as she opened it, “Ah Bruce, apologies we were engrossed in conversation. All is well.”

“Glad to hear it milady, Annette says she’s made somethings for your guest before his leave.” The tall Hellsguard lofted a brow as he peered in the room, “A request of your sister to ensure Lord Gray makes it back well enough and with good fortune.” The large hand of Bruce pressed to the face of the door pushing it open and her shot a gaze to Damien, “You should make some haste boy or else Annette will box your ears.”

Damien had remained at the spot where they both had previously stood as his hands found themselves clasped behind his back. A means of distracting his idleness. A brow lofted as Bruce had mentioned that things had been prepared for Damien’s departure. He supposed it was their way of making sure that he went on his way sooner rather than later. Damien’s hands had fallen from behind his back as he made his way towards the door and stopped behind Valeria so that she was in between Bruce and himself. “Would you like to see me out?” He asked her and offered an uneven smile should she turn around enough to notice it.

Which she had and Valeria offered a small nod, “Of course! I’ve spent enough time in this library this evening as it stands.” She motioned her hand towards the corridor as she offered Damien a small look and then up to Bruce with a reassuring smile.

Damien had given a glance up towards the face of the male Roe and offered him a slightly uneasy nod. Damien was far from small and was incredibly capable of handling himself but the much larger male had placed him on edge. It was obvious as to why, but Damien managed to squeeze past the male while maintaining eye contact. He’d release a steady exhale of relief after he had made it through the doorway and caught up to Valeria’s side. When they were momentarily out of sight of the Roe, his fingers crept down to brush against hers. “Should you need anything for Clotho, Castile will remain here to tend to my personal birds. He will be more than happy to help.”

“I can contact him any time at the address you are now?” She asked, trying not to giggle at the little display in passing as it caught her off guard.

“Yes, that is the manor that Ambrose purchased for me shortly after he married Cordelia,” he replied rather flatly. “Castile, his son, Renae the caretaker, and the stablemaster will all remain while Alain, Laurant and I are away. I will make sure that they are aware of you and you will have access to the entire manor should you need it.”

“That’s very sweet of you. I think I would like to bring them some goodies while you’re away if that is alright? I’ve been taught it’s in good manners to bring something when you visit people, especially for the first time.”

“You’re more than welcome to bring them anything you’d like,” he offered with a cordial nod. “I will advise them to treat you just as they treat me.” It was a large gesture but one that Damien was more than willing to accommodate for her. He was more than happy that someone would be willing to spend time with his birds in his absence and perhaps the socialization for Clotho would be beneficial. Castile would also prove a helpful tool in Valeria’s training with the raptors.

Valeria smiled and stopped as they came out into the foyer, by now it looked as if though Vahalia had already taken her time and business elsewhere and was out of the office. A lovely aroma pulled through the main floor of the house, an inviting and tantalizing scent. “Are you traveling via the Aetherytes this evening or chocobo? It’s quite cold this evening, have you everything you need?”

“You should know me better than that by now to assume I wouldn’t travel by chocobo if I had the option to.” He chided rather playfully as he stopped alongside her in the foyer. “May I ask you something?”

She chuckled, “Yes, I like to think I know you quite well.” Her eyes veered a moment seeing Annette from the corner of her eyes seemingly placing the travel goods and a heavy fur-lined cloak on one of the ottomans by the door. The elderly lady could see quite well that they had been in the thick of a conversation and opted out from interrupting. A small, thankful smile was afforded by Valeria as she looked back to Damien when spoke, “Of course.”

His body had shifted so that he could face her now instead of simply standing beside her. It was likely the last time he was going to see her before he had left and the timeline of when he’d return was unclear. “Should this venture work out and I return relatively unscathed, I would like for you to consider allowing me to court you.” It was a question rather than a statement. He wanted her to know that she had a choice rather than an arrangement being made for her. “I am unsure if my status would be sufficient for your house and your sister, but I would like to make my intent known regardless. If you’d have me that is.”

A series of blinks came from Valeria as she stared at Damien, dumbfounded. She had considered a myriad of questions but not the one he had posed. She was caught off guard but it only seemed to cause her to chuckle nervously, “ I – yes! I mean, of course, but….you will come back for me, yes? You’re not just going to forget about me? What if you meet someone? I suppose I would appreciate it if you were to at least send word if you change your mind.”

Her question had caused his brow to rise slightly as he gave her a puzzled look. Perhaps his actions in the library were not enough to enforce where he stood. In another attempt to outwardly prove where he stood, his hand reached for one of her own. “If there is one reason to come back to this frozen place, it’s for you,” he spoke quietly. In that moment he hadn’t entirely cared whether Vahalia herself had observed them. He was leaving and there was even uncertainty within himself on if he’d be successful. The Viera in the area were highly territory and multiple sources had warned him of this. His hand guided her hand up to rest on the leather necklace that he wore that was still outside of his tunic so that her palm could rest over the silver disc. “I will return here for you and no one else until you no longer wish for me to be here.”

Pools of spring green and gold darted over the various parts of his face, burning little blemishes and marks, curves and freckles into memory. Scars, tone, texture – anything that she knew to be him and the face she had stared into dozens of times, “Okay.” she finally stated in agreement, “I believe you when you say that, not that I feel I could never believe you.” she felt the horoscope disc under her palm, warm to her flesh, “Try not to lose it, okay?”

“If it’s lost then so am I,” his reply was earnest and his hand pressed itself over her own for a moment before he had pulled away. Damien had moved to where the items had been carefully placed by Annette and he reached for the fur-lined cloak. The weight of it in his grasp was hefty and he knew that the layers would keep in warm in the cold air of the night. His motions were quick and he brought the cloak around his shoulders and clasped it at the base of his neck as he reached for the bag that the items had been placed in. “Vahalia’s training will be good for you,” he mused with an audible hum. “And you’ll be an asset to the house in more ways than just burying yourself in books.” Golden orbs would give her one final look as he turned towards the large door to the estate.

“Be good.” Valeria’s voice called out before Damien had left entirely, her hand finding some comfort in the ring that hung around her neck, nestled tightly in her grasp.

Collab with @spirit-speaking

Mentions: @vahalia-cress-ffxiv

#stories #collab writing #an equally long read #ship name in progress

8 notes · View notes

spirit-speaking · 6 months

Text

Moirai

The throbbing sensation in her hand continued, even after Marion had brought her a pail of ice to tend to it. It was likely that Valeria had injured herself more than Vahalia had been but when she sat down to think on it, she merely reacted through her emotions and hadn’t put more thought into it before lashing out.

This was her reward.

Valeria watched the snow shift outside, falling in blue and blurred fractals outside of her window, a few ice cubes in a cloth pressed at her skin to alleviate the hot thrum she was feeling. Never once had the pair been physical with one another where it came to throwing blows; not even as children. It was a miracle she hand’t hurt her hand further with the impact and her current state.

She had never heard the end of it, everything she did was laced with caution for her to be more mindful of her health; and she was! Boy, was Valeria ever mindful. Anxiety gripped her near constantly and simply being outside, even to wander the market, was a task in and of itself for her to bring herself to doing. Ilm by ilm she had plucked herself out of the house here and there, broadening her confidence where she she could with each little stint outside the Cress estate and now she was to be shut in.

Yet again, a smothering reminder of how Vahalia had gone about protecting those close to her. There was no in-between or easy solution in the eyes of Lady Cress; here, her word was practically law and she knew that Marion, Annette, and Bruce would never go against Vahalia’s word. Perhaps Osric would have her see some leniency of even his man Wyland could assist her.

Not that…seeing her friend was dire but still she had much she wanted to say or do. It was hard to be shoved back into solace again and wandering the halls alone while all those within had found their purpose.

Carefully Valeria tucked her feet in towards her and rested her cheek at her knees being mindful of the cradle she had on her hand within her lap. Bicolored eyes scanned her room briefly and saw the newly bought tome sitting not too far off on the ottoman, she fondly recalled the night Damien had come to call and he had brought a few gifts, even one for Vahalia.

It had been snowing slightly harder in Ishgard the last several days which left several ilms of snow on the stone walkways. The rider was draped in a large, black cloak with a large hood and thick gray furs along the shoulders and upper back to keep himself warmed from the cold, but plum-colored chocobo he rode upon seemed to mind little. The snow would hit the practical barding and melt shortly before dripping down onto the snow below. There was a purpose in the direction of the bird as it approached the estate and slowed to a halt. Seconds later, Damien ushered himself down off of the large bird and loosely held the reigns within his grasp as his mead hues remained fixated on the distance. It wasn’t long until the visage of a small cart pulled by a singular chocobo came into view. The driver of this cart was not the familiar Laurant or Alain, the typical attendants to the Lord, but an older and more hardened Elezen male with a graying beard. Damien nodded to the Elezen as the cart stopped before he turned on his heels to approach the large door. A leather-covered hand grabbed the large door knocker to rap several times against the wood as he awaited a response.

The familiar attendant from his previous visit had opened the door only slightly and Damien pushed his darkened hood down to reveal his facial features and offer the woman a slight smile. “M’lady,” he’d greet with a slight bow of his head. “Could you tell Lady Valeria Cress that Lord Gray is here to see her should she feel well enough for visitors.” He spoke, recalling her comments of ailments from the ball they had attended. “I’d like for her to meet us outside. I am more than happy to wait for her to be ready but would appreciate that someone temporarily stables my bird if the staff here is available.” He’d step back from the door slightly to reveal the chocobo behind him that he’d ridden on. While the creature was hearty and was used to the conditions of Ishgard, Damien preferred to give him shelter and the chance to rest for as long as he was here.

“O-of course my Lord, right away!" Taken slightly aback Marion looked over Damien to ensure all was well. It was rare to get visitors for Valeria who hadn’t been a physician by any make. Normally Marion would have asked to take their jacket and offer a spot of tea, but the gentleman seemed determined to handle whatever business awaited him.

Hurrying away, Marion had stopped to instruct Bruce who had, conveniently enough, been left behind by Vahalia to oversee the manor – likely much to Osric’s dismay and confusion. The large Hellsguard had merely fetched his jacket without pause and made for the door while Marion went about her business trying to locate Valeria.

The furs of Bruce’s jacket had been pulled closer over his chin as he stopped long enough to look out over the snowfall. Ishgard. It wasn’t a surprise but sometimes the perpetual winter was taxing, though it was a part of everyday life for the folk who made their way through the falling flakes near on the daily.

With nothing to say and a quiet demeanor, Bruce had so carefully assisted Damien in his request, escorting the chocobo towards the stone stable that wasn’t too far from the main plot of the manor itself. In the distance, a small light flickered within the stable itself where warmth, food, water and company of the other mounts there would have served as acceptable service for as long as Damien required it.

It paid to have friends, even within reach of the city limits and beyond. One House to another, it was always customary to accommodate any way which one could.

“I haven’t done anything, I swear.” Valeria huffed as she stalked towards the front door, Marion close at her heels as the attendant helped her with a high set of comfortable, warm boots and fetching the heavy cloak to drape over Valeria and ensuring she wasn’t about to catch her death outside.

With a genial smile and mildly nervous, Marion laughed, “Don’t tell Annette, you might not hear an end of it. Your sister will hear of it most certainly.”

“I don’t intend to venture far. Besides, Lord Gray and the company of Lady Gray are always welcomed here. See to it that he has whatever he might require with his staff. Vahalia would have my head if she knew we haven’t been treating guests like she would do on to them.”

Valeria turned to Marion and as quickly as Marion swept the woman’s braid from her shoulder, she offered her a parasol and then opened the door, “Stay warm now. Don’t do anything brash.” Marion warned and there was a small curtsey from the staff as Valeria stepped out.

With any luck he had come across a wonderous find that had belonged to Ambrose – certainly nothing that would constitute for an emergency – she wasn’t as equipped as Vahalia to handle the stress of unexpected issues. And with Osric engaged elsewhere to handle old Slater affairs and assets, the greeting was left to Valeria.

Adjusting the parasol from her view and stepping out into the bite of flurries of snow, she sought out the familiar figure, “Lord Gray – an unexpected surprise. Is all well and good?”

Damien had busied himself with tending to the cart after Bruce had been tasked with his chocobo. The doors along the backside of the cart were opened so that he and the Elezen could work alongside. Upon closer inspection, it was clear that he and Damien were not dressed for formal meetings or business. They wore thick leather designed for warmth and protection and it was perhaps more obvious that the pair had just returned from hunting. Within the cart hung the carcasses of several animals to be processed.

However, the more obvious and apparent things within the cart were the cages. Several lined the length of the cart, accessible from the back and a door on the side. The cage at the back held two birds. Small, clearly young but old enough to have been parted from their nest and the care of their mothers. “Lady Cress,” he greeted with a wide smile and nod of his head. “This is Castile,” he introduced as he gestured towards the older male. “He assists me with the training of my falcons and when I hunt.”

At first Valeria had a look of surprise, half expecting to find the cart possibly damaged or something amiss and maybe they had stopped in their travels seeking aid from one of the few Houses they might have received assistance and lodgings with. But the closer she had come, the more that it was apparent. With a bright smile, Valeria swooped into a curtsey before the gentleman, “Well met Castile. A pleasure.”

After introducing the man, the Elezen had stepped away from the back of the cart so Damien could gesture Valeria closer. He pointed towards the cage that held both birds, “Your sister requested a test one day of my birds. I had some young ones and figured I would make good on the promise.” He explained as he moved to open the cage. “This one is for your sister. Her name is Atropos,” Damien added as he pointed towards the bird that was brown in color. He then proceeded to carefully retrieve the falcon that was white and gray in color and perch it on his wrist outside of the cage. “And this is a gift for you,” Damien offered as he gently pet the bird’s chest. “Her name is Clotho.”

Valeria had moved closer when she was beckoned, adjusting the parasol to ensure she hadn’t been whacking anyone with any part of it, having made the awful accident one day as a child to open it inside the house that nearly took out a staff member's eye. She had never heard the end of it from her Father.

There was a gentle smile and for a moment she looked to open her mouth and say something akin to Vahalia being out at the current time but she caught herself with full understanding, “Oh I see! It’s quite typical of her and very generous and kind of you! She will be thrilled I’m sure.”

Hesitant to even touch the animals she bent slightly at the waist to get a closer look at them before being caught off guard yet again as he introduced the falcon. A beautiful and magnificent bird – the first time she had seen one so close, “For….me?” her green and yellow eyes ticked up to find Damien’s face and she couldn’t help but smile. The gesture itself was kind, sweet even, it had been the first time she received a gift from….well….anyone that hadn’t been blood-related to some degree.

The first time anyone had thought of her beyond the shadow of all those who she walked behind. It was flattering and there was a small chuckle that erupted from her, “You’ll have to teach me of falcon keeping, then. I haven’t the faintest idea!” She looked to the falcon and dared to lift her free hand, curled finger gently flexing towards the side of the bird to give the feathers a quick but gentle stroke. Oblivious to possibly losing a finger in the process, “Clotho.” she parroted the name and once more her attention had round back up to Damien, “Do the names have a meaning?”

“I don’t mind in the least helping you on caring for the bird. I hope it brings you great joy,” he replied with a genuine smile as he watched her gently stroke the bird’s feathers. “They do,” he replied with a nod of his head. “The other night you had called me Eros to Ser Hyaka and I thought names within the same vein be fitting for the birds.” He began to explain as his mead-colored hues eyed her cautiously. “The names are from the three fates, or the Moirai. Clotho is the creator of fates and a representation of fate and Atropos determines the manner of someone’s death. I felt the names were fitting. That fate would bring you and I together and entertwine our threads as the tarot cards pointed out. And for your sister, she spoke to me of darkness and hidden secrets. There is more to her than meets the natural eye.”

Soft.

Gentle.

The feathers touched at her bare knuckles and while the nip in the air was enough to make someone recoil, Valeria was keen on showing some measure of affection to the falcon along Damien’s wrist. Falcon? No, this was Clotho, “Quite interesting and very well throughout if you ask me. And you say you’re not a very well-read gentleman, Lord Gray. I believe you are far more read in this situation than myself but I’m glad to have learned something new.”

Her gaze lingered a moment, even in the evening light she could see the glint he held in his eyes and the expression he wore. There was something kind about him, honest but kind and he was quite hands – hmm! A warmth found her cheeks and Valeria gave an awkward laugh, “You’re very kind, Lord Gray, your gifts are very appreciated and graciously accepted, thank you.”

Ah yes, her sister and the almost unnatural presence that seemed to follow her around like an unseen, dark cloud. It was hard to put a finger on it, “Oh…heh yes, she certainly seems to have her mysteries.”

Damien chuckled quietly, perhaps even a little nervously in response to her. “I am not well-read, though I did so my research here. You should’ve seen the books I surrounded myself with,” he admitted sheepishly and dropped his gaze down to the snow below them. His throat cleared somewhat quietly as she thanked him for his gift and he offered her a nod. “Castile will tend to Vahalia’s raptor until she returns home if that is acceptable to you, Vahalia and the new Lord Cress. When she returns, I would like to teach her on the handle the birds. They can be quite fickle,” Damien explained as he gestured with his gloved hand to the leather cap that covered most of the bird’s head to keep him from being able to see. “While Castile is more than capable, I would prefer to teach you how to care for Clotho if you are agreeable to that.” His voice was smooth, charming even. He’d smile at her as his eyes softened and he slightly extended his arm towards her that held the bird. “Would you care to hold her?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed almost too excitedly in a bit of a whisper. Stepping in her arm lifted under the heavy cloak she wore. An odd gaze was afforded to the little hood-like thing the falcon wore, “Is there a reason why she has that?” with a tilted of her head, Valeria examined the little accessory. Of course, all talk of Vahalia and Osric or Castile left her entirely, far more enthralled with being able to hold the bird – not that she knew how. She’d never had to until now but being eager to learn was one of her qualities.

Her excitement was enough to warrant a bit of a reaction in his stomach. The feeling of butterflies and a quick flushing to his cheeks. Damien would clear his throat and click his tongue against the roof of his mouth quickly as she extended her arm to make way for the bird. Damien carefully moved Clotho from her spot on his forearm up onto his hand so that he could easily transfer her to Valeria’s arm without risking harm to either of them. “It keeps her calm,” he replied in regards to the hood that Valeria asked about. After the bird had been transferred, Damien shifted to stand at Valeria’s side and adjusted the angle of her elbow slightly. “These creatures can see much better than you or I. They can see something far in the distance and react. The hoods prevent flight without preparation and a prey response when we’re not prepared for it.”

She adjusted her arm and her posture as Damien silently guided her, “Oh. It’s far too cute to be a bit of a killer, don’t you think?” there was a goofy little smile, “Joking. I know that they have to hunt to survive but aside from that I know very little of falcons.”

Balancing her arm a little more Valeria watched the feathery-friend, “And she’s not cold? Where would someone like myself keep her?”

“Cute things can be killers,” he remarked with a hint of amusement. “These birds imprint. At this age, they haven’t imprinted yet and so yours will imprint on you and Vahalia’s on her. They’ll be fiercely loyal to you both. Even, perhaps, attack should they feel you to be threatened while in their presence.” Damien’s hand remained on her elbow for longer than it should have but when he had removed it, he pulled his heavy cloak tighter around his frame. “No,” he laughed. “Her feathers keep her warm. They insulate her. She should be fine to remain in a large cage in your quarters for now. When she grows larger, we can address it then.”

Valeria listened intently for all that Damien offered information about Clotho, “I never knew that.” she admitted and her attention shifted back to the falcon on her arm, “I think I would like a roommate for a bit, it does get rather quiet on my end of the manor.” lowering the parasol down into the snow, she then crooked a finger to stroke at the falcon’s feathers again.

“I imagine that your sister has been busy with all of her affairs, hm?” He asked as he remained by her side with his arms folded across his chest to keep the cloak tugged shut. He could relate in some ways to her. He was the youngest of the Gray children and with such an age difference between he and Ambrose, it left a good deal of time to Damien to entertain himself. “Should you like some company, I would be more than happy to send for you or visit here.” He admitted, his tone lowered slightly, partially in nervous hope she hadn’t heard.

“She usually is.” Valeria looked up with a ghost of a soft smile, “Of course!” she answered – the wind wasn’t quite that strong to carry his words away, “We could always use more visitors here. After I came back, the House seemed a little dull. For a time it hadn’t been used, everything was boarded up and covered in my absence and my sister had been living in Limsa for some time while she was working for Mr. Isenhart.” lifting her arm to her opposite shoulder, she waited to see if Clotho would take a step over to find a new perch with her person.

“She sold my father’s old company around that time and eventually tried to sell the house. No one would come close to buying it, humors spoke of it being haunted. And maybe it is, now. I haven’t seen anything when we were growing up. My grandmother’s family used to own this parcel of land and the manor itself was passed down to her and my grandfather Baron when they and my parents relocated here from Valnain.” her smile widened and she looked back to Damien, “When I returned, it was then that my sister and I decided what we wanted to do going forward. We don’t want our family to remain dust as a legacy. Those who had come before us worked far too hard so that we can build on to what they’d already accomplished. That is what my sister strives for every day and I can tell that her hard work pays off. I don’t know how she gets the energy to keep focused, I suspect it’s somewhere pitted between stubbornness and sheer vindictiveness if only to make my father irate in the afterlife.”

A sheepish chuckle left her and her head bowed as she looked to the snow underfoot, “Apologies, I said too much. Unnecessary chatter but….to the finish of what I was trying to say – it’s nice to have visitors. I think Vahalia is far more open to the idea now.”

There was a quiet laugh that left Damien’s lips as Valeria apologized for the unnecessary chatter. He had shifted in the snow to move and stand before her as his arms unfolded just long enough for him to gently stroke the back of his hand along the feathers on Clotho’s chest. The bird seemed to be settling already, though he knew that there would be some initial growing pains with a bird. They could be temperamental creatures in their own rights.

“You are from a proud family, there’s nothing to apologize for. I admire your sister’s grit,” he responded as his golden orbs shifted from Clotho to Valeria’s bi-colored eyes. “And I admire your perseverance as well. Not many have gone through what you have, you know.” His voice trailed off as his lips pursed momentarily and then he smiled at her. A soft smile, perhaps a kinder smile than was normal for him.

“Perhaps you might feel well enough to join me for dinner one night. I’ve heard good things about several locations nearby. Your sister doesn’t have to worry about me not returning you home,” he finished the request with a jest to ease the tension.

An uneasy chuckle chimed out from the Cress woman, “I try to remind myself that there are people out there that have it far more worse off. I cannot complain, I want for nothing here.”

She returned the smile, a nod following through, “Dinner sounds nice, I can’t say that I have done dinner outside of the estate before – or rather the last time that I did. Not here since I was a child. I’m not quite sure what are the best places around here but it adds to the adventure of finding out, don’t you think?”

“What do you have a preference for? Red meat, seafood, poultry?” He asked as he moved to cautiously remove Clotho from her shoulder so that he could place the bird back within the cage he had brought her in. “That would help with narrowing down the selections we have to choose from,” Damien added with a slight nod. “Would you like to bring her inside as we discuss more?” He gestured towards the cage where he had just placed Clotho.

For a time, Valeria gave careful attention to her shoulder where Clotho had been perched, allowing Damien to work with the animal and see to her, “I don’t have a preference as I like all of it.”

Watching the cage and the rest of the items in the cart she realized they had been standing out in the snow, “Oh, yes, please. Everyone is welcome to come in and find some warmth and a cozy meal if they wish. Plenty of room of course.”

When Valeria agreed to head inside, Damien had moved to grab the large metal handle atop the bird’s cage so that he could lift it out of the cart and Valeria picked up her parasol, leading the pair of them into the manor itself. For all those who had followed in that evening, they were graciously greeted with warm drinks and a belly full of stew before any journey had been made out and about through the bite of the cold.

The soft jostle of Clotho in her cage had brought Valeria out of her haze and she eventually slipped from the windowsill over to the cage Clotho had rested in. Damien had taught her a great many things about falcons and had even insisted on keeping Clotho close as it would help to strengthen the bonds with the avian friend as she grew.

The latch of the cage released and slowly Valeria dipped her hand inside, allowing the curve of her knuckle to gently touch at the breast feathers of the falcon within, snowy, soft feathers giving comfort to her flesh as Valeria continued to stroke the companion with some measure of appreciation.

At least being inside, she still had Clotho and her books and with any luck Vahalia could, in time, change her mind. The gift she had to give would have to wait a little while longer.

Just a little.

#Blurbs #Stories #collab writing

9 notes · View notes

rhapsodyred-writes · 7 months

Text

Across Enemy Lines - Chapter 2

Things come to a head.

Check the tags please. This chapter contains bullying and other unpleasant behaviour aimed at reader.

#undertale multiverse #utmv #cross sans #cross x reader #undertale reader insert #reader insert #undertale fanfiction #cross!sans #undertale au #red announces #across enemy lines #red writes fanfic #collab writing

53 notes · View notes

crowcrowcrowthing · 3 months

Text

Here, friends. Have another snippet from the inadvertent piss kink diary Tom fic 💛

Primal Fluids by @cindle-writes and crowthing

“Something’s still not right.” Tom furrowed his brow with a frustrated look on his face. “The ritual is not working nearly as well as my calculations have predicted. I think we may need to change a few things, and I need to witness the process from start to finish, including how you draw the runes.”

Harry’s stomach dropped. “The process?”

“Yes.” Tom prowled close enough that Harry could feel the cold radiating off his body. “I want to see precisely what you are doing.”

“You mean… you want me to… right here?”

Tom came even closer and he smoothed his hand over Harry’s cheek. “Yes. Wouldn’t you enjoy that, Harry? I’d venture to guess you’ve thought about doing this with me before.”

Harry most certainly had not, but Tom seemed so pleased by the sentiment, and Harry really didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Since Harry had just relieved himself, he didn’t need to go anymore, but he’d slugged down so much tea at lunch that it wouldn’t take too long. Still, he hoped this was a joke, that Tom would shake his head, laugh, and offer some other, more brilliant solution.

Silence lingered until Harry realized Tom was dead serious. “Like, on your leg, you mean?”

“Is that what you’ve been envisioning?” Tom’s voice dropped to something low and silky as though he was pleased by the question.

💛💛💛 comedy of errors beloved

#PISS KINK PISS KINK #soggy fic #collab writing #cindle writes #eleven eaves #snippet #collab with cindle

23 notes · View notes

vahalia-cress-ffxiv · 5 months

Text

Let the Games Begin

There had been a time, not all that long ago, when having a conversation with Vahalia Cress had been as common a part of his week as having a drink at the company bar. Some nights they’d tease, some nights maybe they’d flirt, some conversations were serious and business-related, and some were light and occasionally nonsensical if they were feeling playful - some even going late into the evening - when they were the only two left in the bar.

But that felt like a lifetime ago and standing before the grand doors of the Cress manor, those conversations felt like they’d happened between two very different people, and maybe they had.

Two people who didn’t have the history that Ricard Blythe and Vahalia Cress did, before the events of the last two years had changed them as they had - not that it mattered now, not for what Ricard stood poised to deliver.

And now a conversation seemed as likely as the snow on the highland was to melt - in that it was not very likely to occur at all.

But this - this was only business, and he could only hope that she would see it as that as well, and at the very least would be open to hearing what he had to say.

Ricard tucked the file he held closely against his chest a little tighter against his torso as he reached to brush some of the lightly falling snow from his hair before knocking firmly at the door, his jaw set as he waited for one of the staff to answer - prepared for Bruce and surprised by one of the ladies. “Good afternoon. I’m Ricard Blythe, here to speak with Lady Cress - I sent a missive several days ago about some information that I’ve received that may be of interest to her. I promise I will be brief.”

Promptly Ricard had been let in and led through the foyer of the estate. It wasn’t the office he had been brought to or the study, it wasn’t the dining hall or any room, in particular, he might have imagined but instead the small study on the main floor that held a variety of encyclopedias and books typically used for research. Additionally, it was the space in which much of the ledgers had been kept within the estate.

Marion bowed as she often did and introduced the visitor to the Lady of the house.

A name she hadn’t heard in quite some time and even now it being nearly 8 months later it was still far too soon, seeing his name on a missive was far beyond a place of comfort for her, even if it meant she had to receive him if only to play true to her nature of a calculating and careful matriarch of her House, “Blythe.” she spoke his name. Sour to the taste, hot like venom, and a pointed glance came over her shoulder in Ricard’s direction.

Here was a man who had dug into her family and personal life against her asking him not to and he had gone against her wishes and done it anyway. The very same man who used her own sister against her like a piece on a chessboard as a potential ‘win’ in the grand scheme of things against Vahalia – putting her sister’s virtue into question. The very same who had worked under the same man and with the same network that had tried to have Valeria killed – by relation no less to the puppetmaster who pulled the strings.

Vahalia appraised him with silent judgment; a tall stance with her hands at either side of her, “There better be a good reason why you’re in my home and why I shouldn’t mount you on the irons outside. Our contract was dropped months ago, what do you want Blythe?”

The chilly reception did not go unnoticed and was not unexpected - Ricard was not a complete fool. Guard up, gaze neutral, he held up the file in his grasp and met her gaze. “I wouldn’t be here without reason, Lady Cress. I’ve been tasked in recent weeks with tailing Damien Gray. That alone isn’t likely of interest to you. What is - and the reason I’m here - is because I received a report that Damien Gray was spotted with your sister in Tailfeather.”

“A fool you are to think I wouldn't ask why.” She quipped swiftly, “Why you are tailing someone who is a friend to my sister most certainly is an interest to me. Come now, Blythe, you have to be smarter than that, or are you losing your touch at reading people?”

He set the file down on the nearest table for her to review if she chose. “I made a point of trying to steer clear of your business since our arrangement ended. When I took this job I made it known that my men were to go nowhere near this estate and I wanted nothing to do with Cress's business.” He motioned towards the file - “I’m only interested in what Damien is up to, but thought you should be aware. I don’t know or need or want to know what’s going on within your house. I’m just here to provide you with the information and leave. What you do with it, is your own.”

Furrowed brow and spite at the back of her throat, Vahalia glared at the file. Such an odd thing, if the information was as minimal as he just offered, then why the hell was there a file?

It didn't take an overtly intelligent person to put two and two together, not since Cordelia's awkward and randomly placed interest since the two last met. Vahalia was quite cunning “Did Cordelia hire you or did you throw yourself into her necessity because she's ‘interesting’?”

“Lady Gray did hire me, yes.” His jaw clenched for a moment, the only indication of the effect of her words, but he didn’t otherwise take the bait, didn’t respond to the jab. He was only present to deliver the report and he knew what things were likely to devolve to if he said the things that were nagging at the back of his mind. Nothing productive came from that.

His response was met with an arrogant ‘hmph’ and a relatively amused expression found her after noting the tense of his jaw, Vahalia simply shook her head, his lack of response was the additional confirmation she needed. She knew the man well enough and how his overindulgences often caused him to lack foresight.

“The entirety of what was seen at Tailfeather is within the file. If you have any questions or further concerns, you know how to reach me. I will be continuing to watch Lord Gray, as I have been contracted to do, and - as I informed Lady Gray when I took the contract - anything involving your family remains off-limit to my people.”

A snap from fingers sounded out and Vahalia demanded the attention to where she pointed, the file on the small table that sat between them, “And this is your way of showing that my family is off limits? When you come into my home with information about my sister as if to expose her? You do realize how this, in and of it’s nature, is going against what you are claiming. This is not off limits, having information on Valeria such as this isn’t ‘off limits’, this is impeding on her personal life and now I’m involved by default.”

His narrowed gaze shifted from the file up to meet hers. “Expose her? Expose her? I am bringing the information to you, her sister, not to some tabloid, or gossip rag. I wasn’t out there trying to impede on her personal life. I was keeping an eye on the man I was paid to watch. The fact that she was there when she was supposed to be keeping her distance from him is out of my control, Lady Cress. You give me far more power than I actually have.”

Long, heavy skirts shifted when Vahalia took several slow strides towards Ricard, “If you insist on continuing with this then I will be forced to respond Blythe. I’ll say this once and only once, drop the hire and find the means elsewhere to make some gil instead of trying to gain favor with a widow because she’s paranoid by some haughty brother-in-law. It’s not something you will find is worth your life. Make your choice before you leave here today so that we are to understand each other well enough that there is no room for speculation.” she finalized with a casual warning.

“So now you threaten my life because your sister won’t do as you’ve asked her to do? Or is there something you don’t want me to find?” He shrugged easily. “Doesn’t matter. I did what I was paid to do, the information is in your hands now, do with it what you will. I’ll discuss my contract with Lady Gray - I want no part in your family squabbles, whatever they happen to be.”

"As you claim you have no interest in Cress business, you have a folder on my sister. You should have backed out the moment you saw her knowing she’s not a part of your little job. Furthermore, since when do you have information about her having strict rules not to be out and about, even for what you claim? For a man who says he has no interest to be in our business it sure as hell sounds like that nose of yours is buried deep into it. This shit?" She snatched up the file and snapped it in Ricard’s direction, "-- has exposure all over it. Had you not been here right now with this, no one would have been the wiser. Not even me." Vahalia hissed, arm lashing out as the file made contact with the burning logs and flames within the fireplace adjacent to her.

“Would you have preferred to not know? To find out via surprise? Because that is a direct contradiction to what you told me previously.” He pointed to the fireplace, “A folder, that had you bothered to look inside instead of making assumptions and accusations, contained a single sheet of paper. One report on what was seen at Tailfeather. And yet you hear what you want to hear, see what you want to see. You want to see a file brimming to the rim with weeks of reports, then so be it. It was one report of one incident, Vahalia. No more, no less.”

Of course, he didn't answer her question, Vahalia snerked lightly. Once more he wanted to tell her what she was seeing and never had he looked at anything within the scope of how it was all perceived. It was his words that led one to believe there had been more. How ‘everything she needed to know’ was within the file itself. Some how words were not as efficient to save them both time. She would be better off having to ask Valeria herself when time permitted. An incident, he wanted to call it, yet Valeria looked very well and very whole.

“I likely would have found out one way or another. Your delivery, as usual, is lacking. I'm not quite sure what deal you think you've cooked up in your head, after the contract was over we were done. If it was a single sheet of paper, then hand me a singlesheetofpaper instead of a file. A simple discussion would have been sufficient. So no, you are the one standing in contradiction." She warned, "My words are a stern suggestion at best, Blythe. I have nothing to hide as you know me well enough by now that I don't go into anything in halves. For someone who is keen on trying to take lives, it’s only frowned upon when yours is on equal field. Play a game all you wish about how 'uninvolved' you are but you certainly sound very involved with how much information you seem to know whether it’s in a file or not. You are entirely missing the point I am making. As a broker, you're terrible at negotiating for your life especially when you are faced with a dangerous gamble, hopefully for your sake, the payout is worth it.”

“I came here only to deliver this information to you as a courtesy - I didn’t have to do it at all. Threaten my life if you like. I've never threatened yours or the lives of those close to you. I’ve certainly never left them bleeding in the front of the company hall, despite what you think. And I’ve no interest in seeing your sister harmed. I’ve no interest in whatever conflict is ongoing. I’ll see to my contract, you see to your business- it’s none of mine. Good day, Lady Cress.”

She smirked, ah, so now he was making it personal. The expression she wore said it all and her words came calmly with no infliction, “A smart man would have turned it down, a gentleman would have left well enough alone the moment he noticed his ex-betrothed was involved. Clearly you don't care even about her so let's not pretend to bring it up as if you do, you would have bothered to visit her when she was bedridden but you hadn't, not even a bouquet of flowers for her bedside. I cannot tell if it was the hefty gil calling your name or the throbbing in your loins that caused you to say yes to this but there is one thing I do know, you've done more than enough. I can't imagine how Valeria might feel to hear of this and thankfully she won't have to.”

Lifting her hand Vahalia waved him off, having just about enough of the prattle that had been going on. Business mixed with his personal feelings – how very Ricard of him despite trying to pride himself on being otherwise; she hadn't the patience to contend with semantics. He said he wasn't in their business, she conveyed otherwise – there was little left to discuss.

Once again, it was only the smallest clench of his jaw that indicated any impact or response to her words, as he fought back the desire to roll his eyes. She had her view of him, nothing he was going to say here, no matter his intent, was going to change that. No bow or nod was offered as he turned on his heel and exited - he’d breathe easier the further he was away from this place.

Collab w/ @ricard-blythe-ffxiv Mention(s): @promethea-silk - @damien-gray-ffxiv - @spirit-speaking

#Stories #Blurbs #Collab writing

11 notes · View notes

ricard-blythe-ffxiv · 5 months

Text

An Exercise in Curiosity

There were certain aspects of Ricard Blythe’s personality that had, throughout his life, been easily attributable to his parents. His easy affinity for numbers and the way he’d taken to the financial advisor position? Attributed to his father - the man was well established within the field and had an affinity for numbers himself. His hard-headedness and often single minded nature were also attributed to his father, who once focused on something was rarely deviated to anything else.

But Ricard’s curiosity? His attention to detail?

That came from his mother - and Catherine Blythe was not one to let things go, particularly once her curiosity was piqued. And unfortunately for her ‘grown ass’ son, her curiosity was piqued.

It was also unfortunate for her son that his staff used to be her staff, and so she knew exactly how to get the information she wanted to from them, in this case, the last name of the woman who Ricard had so unceremoniously disclosed he’d spent an evening with.

From there, discovering the woman’s home address had taken just a little legwork which Catherine was more than happy to do.

Ricard should have known better than to play this game with her.

Catherine looked up at the estate, giving it a critical once over before approaching - adjusting her cloak to ward off the afternoon chill, and gave the door a firm knock, seemingly unbothered by the fact that she was arriving to a stranger’s house unannounced. When the door was cracked open she offered the staff member a charming smile - ever polite, “Good afternoon. I’m Lady Catherine Blythe, I was hoping to speak with Lady Cordelia Gray, if she’s available. I’m quite curious to meet her.”

The small statured midlander who had opened the door to the looming unfamiliar woman gazed up at Catherine with big doe eyes and curiosity. “Is Lady Gray expecting you, Lady Blythe?” She asked, tilting her head just enough to notice the movement.

Before an answer was allowed, a voice called out from within the house nearby which preluded the arrival of the pale skinned, dark haired woman of the estate. “It’s quite alright, Tilly, please allow Lady Blythe in.” Cordelia stood a few feet beyond the doorway, gloved hands clasped together at her abdomen, bundled up in an elegant warm coat. “You caught me just in time, I was just about to leave for the day. Cordelia Gray, a pleasure.”

Steel gray eyes leveled onto the older woman, a brow quirked just so. “So, aside from your… curiosity to meet me, what can I do for you?”

“Oh, just a chat would be lovely if you’ve the time. We could walk and talk if that’s preferable. I’d hate to keep you from your business this afternoon.”

Catherine’s appraising gaze shifted over the woman quickly, her dark blue eyes very much like her son’s, curious - though there was an extra something behind hers that Ricard’s did not have. “You see, Lady Gray, your name happened to be mentioned at a family breakfast not terribly long ago, and since my son - the terribly secretive boy that he is - rarely discusses business acquaintances I found myself inclined to find out a bit more about you.”

She tilted her head with a small, easy smile, “And who better to learn from than from the individual themselves, hm? You are, of course, his business acquaintance - yes?” If she knew more than what she relayed, it was difficult to tell from her body language and tone of voice, as the woman appeared to be nothing if not genuinely curious about the younger woman before her.

Lids lowered in a curious stare as Cordelia began tugging one by one at the tips of the fur lined leather gloves. “It’s no interruption at all, please come in out of the cold.” She gestured for Catherine to come in and would walk out of the foyer to guide her to a nice seating room to the side. A fireplace nearly in every room, a staple in many Ishgardian homes, and this one was no different.

“Yes, I am your son’s business acquaintance.” Cordelia finally quipped, walking toward the multiple options of seating. The young woman who had opened the door prior followed behind them at a slower pace, awaiting in requests they might have as well as offering to take Lady Blythe’s coat. “Could I interest you in a drink to help warm you? Tea, wine?”

She nodded to the housemaid, a quiet request for her usual cup of tea she often had when accepting company. “Mm, you mentioned my name coming up at a family dinner is what spiked your curiosity? Consider mine piqued as well.”

Carefully removing and handing off both her gloves and cloak to the handmaiden, Catherine hummed thoughtfully for a moment, “Tea would be lovely, dear. Thank you.”

With both requests given and Catherine’s coat taken, Tilly scurried off to fulfill her duties.

A quiet note of her surroundings was made as she followed Cordelia, eventually finding her way to one of the available seats and easing down, “It was mentioned that a woman was seen leaving his estate. A rarity in the last several months - since the end of his betrothal, really.”

Her hands settled in her lap as she watched the younger woman carefully. “Rarely does he conduct business from the estate, to my knowledge, at least, and so to hear of a woman leaving the estate outside of business hours, well I was curious as to whole this woman could be and needed to make sure that my son was not getting himself or anyone else into trouble, as he does have a tendency to do.”

Cordelia had settled in a large cushioned chair, gesturing for Catherine to take her choice of seating at her leisure. The woman had a poker face of grand proportions but often did little hide her intentions or thoughts. She was rather straightforward and in this, Cordelia simply smiled at the remark regarding a woman having visited Ricard. “Ah, yes, I had heard about the dissolution of the betrothal. Very unfortunate.”

By now, Tilly had returned with a cart carrying a warmed teapot, cups, and the necessary additives one might use in the beverage. As Cordelia went about making her tea, pouring the steaming water over the bag and adding a single sugar cube, she continued. “As for trouble, I can assure you Ricard is not causing any for myself. Though, I imagine it’s not truly my wellbeing you’re concerned with, hm?” Another faint smile flashed to Catherine as she nodded to the tea. “Do enjoy.”

Attentive blue eyes watched the younger woman’s movements and her facial expressions, waiting for Cordelia to finish before moving to prepare her own cup. “Well, dear, you can’t fault a mother for being concerned about her son’s wellbeing and a bit curious as to who he is spending his time with. No matter how old the boy gets, he is still my child. Despite this, and despite your understandable doubt, there is some concern for your wellbeing present as well.”

Sitting up straight, she did not appear to be the least bit uncomfortable in a stranger’s home. “The dissolution of the betrothal was quite unfortunate, and while I have been pushing Ricard to consider other arrangements he has outright refused, indicating that he - at this point in time - has no interest. But the people of this city love to talk, and word reached me then that likely means that others have heard as well.” Never mind that she was better informed than a majority of individuals, but that wasn’t something that needed to be discussed. “And so when I speak of my son getting others into trouble, I do hope that being involved with him truly isn’t leading to trouble, Lady Gray.”

She tilted her head for a moment, now in pure curiosity. “On a different note - I was quite certain I knew of most of the houses within the city, and yet the Grays were an unknown entity. How is it that you came to know my son, exactly?”

Slow and steady, Cordelia stirred the tea in hand, delicate fingers holding the saucer as the spoon mixed the tea and sugar together. She listened, offering slight microexpressions as Catherine continued. “Surely Ricard will come around the idea of a new arrangement at his own pace. Of course, I understand the politics of it all and how it cannot always be so alluring when making those choices. We do what we must at the end of the day, however.”

The teacup was brought to her darkened lips, allowing a brief moment of silence as she enjoyed the warmth. Once it was lowered, Cordelia continued. “Mm, the Grays seemed to mostly prefer a bit of the quieter side of life. My late husband and his brother slipped beneath the radar to carry out their business, but I have taken more to being in the public eye a bit more with inheriting the name. It has worked in my favor…” Her head tilted so very slightly as she lifted a single brow at Catherine. “...so far. As for how I know your son, as you said, Ishgard speaks and those who listen find what they seek. I was in need of some help with tying up a bit of paperwork and he received good praise.”

Late husband, a widow then. “He does pride himself on his work. There are other matters he could be putting as much work into and would do him quite a bit of good, but I digress.” Catherine licked her lips quickly as she adjusted her hold on her cup between her hands. “But enough of him for the time being, as he’s not present at the moment, hm? Tell me a bit about yourself, dear - your late husband may have preferred the quieter side of life, but what of the woman who remains?”

“I would say putting effort into your work is admirable, especially if it was what your name relies on.” Cordelia replied, taking another sip of her tea before deciding to set it back down to the cart that rested between the women. “Myself? Well, I do enjoy the quiet that my name has afforded me, though branching out has also opened doors to further my own lines of business. The shadows are comforting, but stepping out of them can be refreshing from time to time.”

Cordelia was curious and weary of the elder Blythe, though she kept those concerns practically to herself for the time being. She had no need to be rude, yet.

Catherine offered another thoughtful hum as she took a sip from her cup, lowering it slowly as she considered the younger woman. “I imagine so. Change, as a whole, is said to be quite invigorating from time to time. When necessary, of course. What lines of business have you moved to open, if you don’t mind me asking.”

She looked up with an easy smile, non-threatening, relaxed, it was - after all - casual conversation. “And what about before your marriage to the late lord Gray. Have you always lived within the city? Pardon the twenty questions. Perpetual curiosity, a family failing I’m afraid.”

“Mm, not so much as new lines of business as I have just begun to expand where the business takes us. My family as well as my marital family have both always been in Ishgard, the Grays see to the procurement of materials where the Corvins see to the manufacturing of goods. Jewelry, cut gems, textiles of various sorts.” As she spoke, Cordelia waved a hand absently through the air before allowing it to fall back to it’s partner in her lap. Another brief smile graced her lips, her eyes narrowed just as quickly. “It is quite alright, though I find myself curious if this is regulatory for all of Ricard’s business aspects?”

The older woman didn’t miss a beat, “Me finding myself within their homes having a conversation with them and wanting to know more about them? No, not at all. And to be quite frank, Lady Gray, had you been of the demographic that typically reaches out to Ricard for assistance in various matters there would be no reason for my interest to be piqued in the first place. And yet you are not, so here I am.”

She took a small sip of her tea before gently setting her cup down, blue eyes glancing across to the younger woman. “As brief as this conversation has been, it doesn’t need to have been extensive for one to recognize that you have thoughts regarding your future, Lady Gray. Well - my thoughts concern my son, and while I don’t generally concern myself with his business, I do have concerns for what will become of him and of my house in the years to come. And as I said when I arrived - I found myself curious about the woman that Ricard saw fit to entertain. Now, may I have been overzealous in my approach, perhaps. And if all there is to it is a business arrangement and nothing more, then I will consider my curiosity sated and leave you to your afternoon with a thank you for the tea and an apology for taking up your time.”

Cordelia’s features twisted into further curiosity, eyes blinking with the tilt of her head. Her lips pressed together, tongue just barely running over the bottom before she pursed them. How was she any different from Ricard’s usual clientele and why did that matter? However as Catherine continued on, the younger woman couldn’t help but chuckle softly as her demeanor now turned surprised mixed with amusement. “Oh…I see. Lady Blythe, I currently have no alternative intentions with you son, we’ve only just began speaking further than simple correspondence for my original work. In fact, there were months between when I initially reached out to him and to now. Are you expecting something specific from this conversation?”

“Not at all - as I said I was simply curious and now that curiosity has been sated.” There was a hint of something behind her dark blue eyes, as though the older woman wanted to say something more, but she stopped herself, instead brushing off some imaginary something from the front of her dress and offering Cordelia a small smile. “Well, since I have invaded your home uninvited, I believe that I should extend the same courtesy to you - also so that you be allowed to see a home that is not the bachelor’s living that Ricard calls home. Should you wish to visit the Blythe estate at any time, you would be welcome to do so. While my husband is away at work most days, I am present a majority of the time and would be happy to welcome you.”

Lowering her head, Cordelia offered a simple nod. “Lady Blythe, you have been no intrusion, I assure you, though your offer is appreciated.” She took a slow breath in before pushing to standing. The woman was more than often rather cold but she gave off somewhat of a kinder interaction despite her intrigue in the woman’s true intentions. “I could only imagine how your son might disapprove of my further appearances currently, though perhaps that could make it all the more enjoyable, hm?” A hand lifted to wave in Tilly from the doorway to fetch Catherine’s coat and return it to her.

Catherine gave a small laugh as she stood. “Many of my actions are met with my son’s disapproval, Lady Gray. I imagine that if he knew I was here the melodramatic meltdown that might follow.” Her smile took on an impish edge. “That alone would have made it worth the trip. But, I would agree that seeing Ricard squirm a bit would make things a bit more enjoyable - the estate has been far too quiet in recent months. Perhaps you’d be interested in stopping by during the Starlight Festivities? It could be quite entertaining.”

A soft hum came in response as Cordelia found herself gazing off into the fireplace. “Ah, I cannot quite recall the last time I truly celebrated Starlight in any capacity… perhaps I will take you up on that offer. As you said, if only to see Ricard in a bit of unease.” She smirked as she looked back to Catherine, Tilly now arriving with the woman’s coat. “Until then, I wish you and yours well nonetheless. I will see you out?” She opened her arms, one gesturing to the doorway. “Oh and Catherine… give Ricard my best, hm?”

There was another low hum as Catherine went about easing back into her coat. “Oh I don’t know that I could present the message quite as well as you could, dear, but I shall pass it along regardless. I’m sure it will be well received.” The cheeky grin she held indicated otherwise. “Until next time, Cordelia…take care, dear.” She offered a small nod before turning towards the door and making her way out preparing for the interrogation she was sure was awaiting her at home.

Collab with @promethea-silk

#stories #collab writing #the perceptive smartass #the moth lady #momma blythe strikes again #what's the worst that could possibly happen?

5 notes · View notes

osric-giroux-ffxiv · 6 months

Text

Tense Conversations

Quiet - a rarity, after spending weeks at what had been the Slater estate among the hammering and the sawing, dealing with corralling the workers and the architect and trying to keep everyone on track so that perhaps, perhaps, the barracks would be completed in a timely manner and things could move forward. Every day had been spent among the dust and debris and the evenings spent trying to recover what energy he could and prepare for more of the same the next day,

Until today - the rare reprieve - trusting that Wyland would oversee the construction effort in his place, he’d sent a missive out to one Lord Damien Gray instead.

An effort to perhaps get to know the man possibly doing business with his family, the man previously spending time with his wife’s sister, a man with information that could potentially be useful to their new endeavors with their recently purchased chocobos…or perhaps simply an opportunity to speak with a like minded soul.

Osric checked his timepiece for a moment - dark hair pulled back away from his face, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as they often were when he was home - before tucking it away into his vest and moving over to the piano nestled within the corner of the sitting room, taking a seat on the bench - fingers moving across ivory keys. An easy way to pass the minutes until his company arrived.

Recently Damien felt as if he were at the beck and call of not only Cordelia Gray, but the whole of House Cress as well. Though there was little mind given to his time spent with Valeria, he was rather shocked that the Southern Cress requested his presence recently, and Vahalia had been silent since the alleged distancing from the drama of House Gray. The missive sent today by Vahalia’s newlywed husband, Osric, would have Damien feeling surprised and curious at the same time. His experiences in life so far had taught Damien the importance of playing his cards close to his chest. While he didn’t seem incredibly motivated to offer services or assistance to House Cress at the present moment, satisfying the curiosity of why they sent for him would have been enough.

He traveled alone to the requested meeting point as Laurant and Alain were busy tending to other matters. The usual attire that Damien wore of finely crafted tunics, jackets and trousers were traded for a heavy leather coat that was lined well to keep him insulated in the harsh Ishgardian climate. He wore a thick wool vest and thick leather boots that stopped just below his knee. Clearly he had been engaged in other endeavors than lounging around the estate waiting for such missives.

The large bird he rode came to an abrupt halt as he approached the large door to the estate and Damien tied the chocobo on the dedicated post before he approached the door. The introductions were made and Damien was led to the room where Osric was present. “A Lord Gray is here to see you,” the attendant spoke up before Damien cleared his throat and offered a curt nod to the man across the room from him.

Fingers paused and Osric offered a nod towards the attendant as he stood up from the piano, adjusting his vest for a moment. “Thank you.” He turned his attention to his guest, with a small bow and a nod. “Lord Gray - thank you for coming. I’d meant to call on you sooner, as after the dinner there’d been some mention of perhaps shared interests, but things have been quite hectic and you look to be quite the busy man yourself.”

Osric motioned towards two large chairs situated in front of a well stoked fire, one glass already present on the table set between the two chairs with a small amount of amber liquid lining the bottom, a trolley with various drinks and glasses settled nearby. “Please, you’ve traveled all this way - make yourself comfortable. The weather certainly leaves something to be desired this afternoon. Something to drink?”

“Quite busy,” he replied rather cooly as his mead colored hues followed Osric’s gesture. His jaw clenched for a moment as he took another step further into the room. He had paused for another second before he had made his way over to one of the chairs by the fireplace. “I make it a habit to drink among business partners, friends or at parties and I suppose I’m rather curious as to why I’ve been summoned by Lord Cress.”

His brow lofted slightly as he took a seat in the chair. His posture was relaxed though his tone seemed to be the opposite. In truth, he was curious as to why Osric had wanted to speak with him. It had been some time since the dinner and while he would’ve given grace to the hectic schedules, it did seem rather odd given the information he had been provided by Valeria. “If this is some attempt to discuss Lady Cress’ sister man to man, I can assure you it is unnecessary and would save us both our time. As you noted, our schedules have been quite hectic and my time is better devoted to my endeavors than a lecture on who I keep within my company.”

“I hadn’t given any thought to your relationship to Valeria, to be quite frank. I was simply looking for an opportunity to have a discussion and get to know you a bit better as the dinner itself was not much of an opportunity due to the amount of cross-talk.” Osric’s eyes narrowed for a brief moment as he watched the other man take his seat. It was one thing to be tense, or perhaps to feel a bit anxious, but to be this terse, this curt…it didn’t bode well for the rest of the afternoon.

He moved around to take the empty seat, reaching for his glass before leaning back into his chair, dark eyes scanning over the other man, “But as you are an individual that my family is to be doing business with I thought it would be wise to get to know you as an individual. But if you feel that it’s a waste of your time to do so, then you’ve no obligation to remain.” A choice - he lifted his glass and took a small sip, gaze shifting to the amber liquid for just a moment before moving back to his guest once again - Damien could stay or go, ultimately it was up to him, and whatever his choice, it would tell Osric something about the other man either way.

There was a hint of amusement that had shown on the edges of Damien’s features at Osric’s words. “Yes, well, Lady Gray and I don’t seem to be on the best of terms these days.” He’d respond idly as his tongue ran over his lips. He rolled his shoulders as he relaxed back against the chair and moved to fold his arms loosely over his chest. The leather of his jacket creaked with the movement and his fingertips would drum along the broken in material.

“I wasn’t aware that I had been doing business with your family,” the amber haired man chided. “I was under the impression that Vahalia was away on business and I had personally delivered two well bred falcons to the estate. One for her and one for her sister. I hadn’t received any correspondence further and I was under the impression that the gift was not well received by Vahalia.”

“May potentially be doing business with, if all aligns, which I understand may or may not work out. It was a bold assumption.” Osric reached out, gently placing his glass back down on the table. “You are correct - my wife is away on business at the moment, though I’m curious as to what makes you think that your gift was not well received. When Vahalia spoke to me of the falcon she was quite impressed with it. She also mentioned that you’ve some passion for chocobos - primarily those of the racing variety.”

He settled his arms against the armrests of the chair. “Indeed, the-,” he paused, brow furrowing for a moment as he searched for the correct word, “- tensions between yourself and Lady Gray were rather apparent at the dinner, that’s true. And whatever situation is ongoing between the two of you is for the two of you to sort out. But certainly you had a life prior to any interactions with Cordelia Gray.”

“The news of your wife being impressed with the raptor is news to me. Only Lady Valeria has expressed her gratitude for the gift.” He’d shrug slightly as his lips pursed and his honey hues regarded the man in the chair next to him. Osric was difficult to read. He didn’t seem as calculating as Vahalia did upon first meeting, but his demeanor and tone was enough for Damien to know that the man knew his capabilities and knew far more than he let on. Vahalia had remarked that there might’ve been some similarities between Damien and Osric during their first meeting, but the auburn haired man was genuinely curious if there was any truth to that statement.

“I’m sure if you were very interested in my life before Cordelia Gray then you could’ve easily asked around for that information, Lord Cress.” Damien commented as a brow lofted slightly. “Though I suppose you’d rather hear it from my lips than the gossip of another.” His brow would resume its normal position as he exhaled slowly. “My brother, Ambrose, was the eldest of the Gray children. He worked under my father to learn the business. My father preferred textiles and Ambrose preferred his gems. There was a rather large gap between myself and Ambrose and so there was little interest in educating me as he had with Ambrose.” There was a shrug as Damien paused to gauge Osric’s demeanor. “That left me with the capability to make my own destiny, I suppose. I took to the stables as a boy where I learned to work with chocobo and horses alike. From there, the interest grew into avians and raptors. Ambrose largely left me up to my own devices if I’m entirely honest. Until he married Cordelia, I lived within the family estate. After he had wed her, Cordelia had requested the estate be for them only and Ambrose had secured me a modest lodging with a small staff.” His throat would clear as he drew in a breath to glance at the crackling fire. “Outside of that, my interests are largely occupied by dueling, jousting and the occasional ball or two.”

“And my sister-in-law.” Osric lifted a hand, resting his chin against his fist as he regarded the other man, his face neutral as he listened to Damien’s history. “But as has already been stated, we’re not here to discuss Valeria.”

There was a brief pause as Osric reached forward to collect his glass, taking a sip of his drink and gently setting the glass back down, “So - I’m curious, why chocobos, avians, and raptors - of all of the animals available, those three make for an interesting combination…” He settled back against his chair, eyes locked on the other man, watching him curiously, attentively, fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair.

Despite the fact that Osric had chimed in that they were not here to talk about Valeria, Damien had still paused for a moment before he spoke. “Your sister in law has my interest, yes, but not for the reasons you or Lady Cress assume, I’m sure. There are not many who understand the plight of the…spare and Valeria does.”

“You assume a great deal of two individuals who you’ve had limited contact with - and one of whom this is your first conversation. Your knowledge of myself is limited and what I think, or what my wife thinks are your reasons for pursuing Valeria are our own. Your assumptions are yours, and yours alone, Lord Gray. I would also point out that both Lady Cress and myself have had our own hardships and that had things played out differently Vahalia would have been the spare, rather than Valeria - as Valeria is the older twin.”

“Well the avians and the raptors fall within the same category. They’re just different breeds, of course,” he’d speak casually as he shrugged and then moved to cross his arms across his broad chest. “My father kept several chocobos within the stables at our estate when I was younger and the stablemaster had a son my age. We were friendly and by nature, I had been exposed to chocobos. They have their uses. War, racing and travel. I had taken up the interest in avians and raptors for other interests. I rather enjoyed hunting and the they prove to be skilled hunters if trained correctly.”

Osric gaze followed the other man’s movements, features neutral. He noted the closed body posture, but chose not to bring it up. “Had you ever trained any yourself? Chocobos? Or the avians or raptors? Is that something that you are still actively engaged in? I had a conversation recently with Valeria in which she mentioned that one of the birds - the one you gifted her, Clotho - I believe was the bird’s name - was trained by you and that you had offered her some suggestions for how to continue to train the bird, correct?”

Damien had given Osric a bit of a puzzled look as his head canted ever so slightly to the side. He knew that the man was gauging where Damien stood on these endeavors but still, it was hard not to find the line of questioning amusing. “Of course, Osric.” His tone was matter of fact as if the answer was obvious. “My father’s status and wealth was helpful, of course, but there was no handholding in this endeavors. It’s not as if the Gray’s are known for their work with wildlife.” He paused for a lingering moment to eye Osric’s drink. “When I broke ground, it started with the chocobos. We scouted and sourced them from the forests near Tailfeather. Then came the training. I did meet with and work with individuals who race chocobos for a living, but the training was exclusively between a trio of us. As for the avians and raptors, I trained under a man named Castile. He now works for me and we train the creatures together. I would consider him a mentor of sorts.” Damien paused to draw in a steady breath. “Can I trouble you for that drink now, hm?”

“If you like - what’s your preference?” The dark-haired man stood, gathering his own glass as he did and moving over towards the trolley. He quickly refilled his glass, setting it aside before turning his attention back towards his guest, waiting for the man’s response. “Had you ever trained any birds that were utilized for battle, rather than for racing? Or have you any knowledge of those who specialize in such training?”

“Gin,” he replied as his arms unfolded and he leaned forward in the chair slightly to watch Osric’s actions. “I’ve trained avians and raptors for hunting and for combat assistance but not chocobos. I have had personal chocobos that have been trained to be familiar with the atmosphere of jousts so there are some basics there for war. Of course things that can be improved upon.” He’d pause for a moment as he pursed his lips. “I’m sure I could ask around within my contacts for someone who has a more specialized knowledge of war training. Though I’m unsure why you are asking me and not exploring your options at Tailfeather.”

“Neat, or with ice? Do you prefer tonic?” Osric quirked an eyebrow as he reached for the appropriate bottle containing the clear liquid - Vahalia favored the beverage, so there was no shortage of it within the estate. “I’ve intentions of asking about trainers who specialize in such areas in Foundation and in and around Tailfeather, however I thought it might be best to inquire with one who has knowledge of the field first. Even if it’s in a different area, such as racing, I simply thought that you might have heard if there were particular individuals who might be better well known for their work with birds suited for battle.”

He removed the lid from the bottle, once again, awaiting the response from the other man. “You mentioned combat assistance for the avians and raptors - could you elaborate further on that? I’ve never seen such a thing in practice.”

“With ice and tonic, please,” he’d reply as he settled back against the chair. Damien would draw in a steady breath as his gaze shifted from Osric to the fireplace. “I know a good deal of people within Tailfeather so I am quite sure that someone has the knowledge you seek, I’ve just never needed to ask.” He would pause with Osric’s next question before he’d nod. Not that the dark haired man could see it. “More so the raptors than the avians themselves. Their wing span makes them fairly formidable and their talons are deadly. I think it can be particularly useful by a mounted user. It does require someone trained with the raptor however.”

It only took a moment for Osric to finish preparing the drink as requested, replacing the lid on the bottle and the tonic, setting both aside before offering the glass - filled with clear liquid and ice - to the amber-haired man before moving to his own seat, his refilled glass in his hand. “And the being trained with a raptor - is such training extensive? You mentioned your mentor is currently working for you, as I hadn’t heard of such a thing before, it doesn’t sound like many offer such a service.” He hummed thoughtfully. “You raise the birds yourself, yes?”

Damien had taken the offered glass without a second thought and quickly brought it to his lips to take a lingering drink. The initial coolness of the liquid felt good in his mouth which was promptly followed by the burn of the alcohol down his throat. “It can be,” Damien replied as his tongue ran over his lips to whisk away any liquid that might’ve remained. “There are a multitude of variables. How old is the raptor when learning, how confident is the trainer, are they being primarily trained by someone else or the individual who is handling them, are they wild caught or bred in captivity.” The list went on but Damien stopped himself with another sip of the drink. “There are some that are raised from hatching by myself, Castile or others that work for us but there are still a good amount of species that we don’t breed and must catch them instead.”

“Complicated, indeed. And is there an extensive market for such birds? It sounds as though you have quite the monopoly on training services for them at present.” He lifted his glass to his lips, taking a small sip with a low hum. “Forgive my curiosity - the training to become a dragoon is, well was - I don’t know what it’s like now, but when I was going through it, it tended to isolate those engaged in the training. Learning about other methods of combat, whether that involved how to train chocobos, or utilizing raptors was simply unheard of. The understanding was most of us were not going to survive long enough for it to matter, so I find this all to be quite informative.”

“The market seems limited to those that can mostly afford the birds. The cost to breed, incubate, hatch and then care for can be quite high. The cost to wild catch can be physically dangerous, can sometimes require lengthy trips and then there’s the necessary training on top. Your basic commoner isn’t sourcing me for assistance.” The amber haired man would pause fo savor the taste of the drink again. “I’ve mostly sold my stock to nobles of enthusiasts I’ve met in Isghard or through racing. While they’ve not spoken about using them for war, the birds are sold on the premise of being hunting companions or messengers.” His lips would purse as he moved to rest the glass on the arm of the chair. “I had wanted to be a dragoon when I was young. Curious how paths change.”

“So it is, in fact, something of a monopoly, then.” Osric exhaled slowly, one finger tapping the side of his glass for a moment. “To be quite fair - there were quite a few who wanted to be dragoons when the war was still ongoing. There was a certain appeal to the title, the station - it carried with it a certain amount of weight. What it required of you, that is what was never discussed.” He shrugged one shoulder easily, lifting his glass to his lips once again. “But neither here nor there. It’s a different time, and I’m told the order has taken a different direction. I set aside the armor several years ago.”

Damien took another drink of the gin and tonic. He was painfully aware of how the drink had been getting closer and closer to empty but he’d draw in a breath as his tongue rolled over his lips. “I suppose it would be a monopoly then.” Damien replied somewhat absently. He’d never thought of it as more than a passion that he had approached head on. Castile chose to work for Damien and Damien paid him well and perhaps that brought on the loyalty. There was a subtle nod as Osric spoke about his time as a dragoon. “You’ve set the armor aside and now you’re a lord in the Cress family,” there was a coy smirk on the edge of Damien’s lips. “It seems you’ve moved up quite a bit in your station and so I’m still curious about what the Lord Cress wants with me aside from picking my brain about various hobbies.”

“And I was the heir apparent and then the Lord of the Slater family prior to being the Lord of the Cress family - but once again, that is neither here nor there.” Osric reached out, setting his glass on the small table between the chairs. “Various hobbies were a topic of conversation that seemed to be safe as you seemed less than interested in a conversation when you arrived. As I noted earlier, my goal was simply to try and get to know you as an individual. No more, no less. There is no hidden agenda here, Lord Gray. At least not from my perspective.”

“So it would be a fair assumption to say that you’re not simply out here asking me about chocobos and warbirds because Lady Cress has recently become the owner of several chocobos?” His brow lofted as the words left his lips and he finished the remainder of his glass and placed it down on the the table in between the two of them. “Because if we’re discussing business, then I would hope you know that it is transactional. My knowledge is not free.”

“I would not assume that it would be. There are very few things in this life that are not transactional. I’m curious as to how you came to know about the recently acquired chocobos, but to answer your question, even had Lady Cress not acquired said birds, I would still be asking out of genuine curiosity.” His head tilted slightly to the side as he leaned back against his chair. “But should you like to make this a business transaction rather than a simple conversation, then so be it.”

“I certainly have my way of knowing about things,” he’d admit with a slight shrug of his shoulders as he leaned back into the chair. His fingertips drummed slightly along the arm of the chair as his gaze lingered on Osric for a little too long. “If it is a simple conversation with nothing expected at the end from either of us, then sure this can absolutely continue as a simple conversation to satiate your genuine curiosities. Should there be a request made of services I offer or am capable of providing, I would request that we not beat around the bush.”

Osric leaned forward slowly, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands lacing together as he looked across at the amber haired man. “In favor of not beating around the bush, let me be quite clear in this. I’ve an…inkling how you came to hear about the chocobos. Valeria did mention that she had been utilizing her bird to exchange letters. However, I will also note that should more than an exchange of letters be occurring it would cause quite an issue for my wife, as I believe she was quite clear in her expectations for her sister. And those who would want to interact with her sister should understand that my wife is the individual with the final say. Surely I make myself clear, yes?”

Damien hummed as he leaned forward in his chair. His hands had moved away from the arms of the chair so that they could instead rest along his thighs. “Osric, I’ve not seen Valeria since I personally delivered both falcons to the Cress Estate,” His tone was firm and cold. Perhaps Osric had struck a nerve or maybe Damien had assumed that the man was acting accusatory in nature. “Though it seems that you’ve an issue with Valeria exchanging letters and so I would expect that both birds are promptly packed within their cages and delivered back to the Gray estate.”

“Should you choose to do so, I imagine Valeria would be most upset. She seemed to be very attached to Clotho. And this isn’t an accusation, Damien, simply a suggestion. You may either choose to heed it or not. I’ve no issue with Valeria exchanging letters with whomever she chooses to. I want nothing but the best for her, she deserves some happiness in her life. She mentioned the companionship of the bird to be most comforting, and if that’s something that you wish to take from her, then I would leave that on your conscience.” He shifted back, his elbows lifting up off of his thighs. “If you say that you have not seen my sister-in-law, then so be it. I will take you at your word until you give me a reason not to.” Though the man’s shift in demeanor alone was enough to make Osric question his answer.

“As I said, should you or your wife take issue with the fact that Valeria has been corresponding with letters, then I ask the birds be returned. If there’s no issue, then the birds may remain.” His eyes narrowed slightly so that he could observe Osric’s demeanor. Despite the fact that Damien was in a place where he felt unfamiliar, he didn’t feel threatened. Words were simply words. “I’ve no desire to harm Valeria. I’ve made that clear to her. Your wife’s…punishment is unwarranted based on rumors spread by a potential business partner. If I had really wished her harm or planned on using her as a pawn, I wouldn’t be wasting my own gil on it. Those birds could’ve brought in plenty.”

Osric fought back a sigh as his gaze remained on the other man. “It’s not a punishment. As previously discussed, the tension between yourself and Lady Gray was made apparent during the dinner. Vahalia has to look out for the safety of House Cress, first and foremost, as do I…Valeria is part of House Cress. Surely you can understand that. We are not looking to punish Valeria, nor is there any attempt to punish anyone else. But as it seems that things are very much ‘up in the air’ there is a need to make sure that all are taken care of within House Cress. Surely, if you care for Valeria the way you claim to do so, you can see the wisdom in that.”

“I would also note, Damien, that it’s not ‘wasted gil’ when spending it on those we care for. Or it hasn’t been in my experience.” Osric reached for his glass, downing what remained before setting the empty container down once again.

His gaze averted momentarily to the fire as he chewed absently on the inside of his cheek. “Ah, yes, the ever present need to look out for House Cress while aligning yourself with Cordelia. The woman not only had a hand to play in my brother’s untimely death but has promptly stolen all control of my family’s assets overnight.” He’d draw in a heavy breath as he pushed himself to his feet. “I believe this meeting is concluded, Lord Cress. You and your wife have made your allegiances known to my sister-in-law and it is clear that neither of you have any regard for the means at which you acquire business for your house.”

“Once again, you make bold assumptions, Lord Gray.” Osric stood, adjusting his vest as his eyes narrowed in the direction of the other man. “I will put the needs of my house above my own, and I will - indeed - always look out for House Cress and its members. But the assumption that I aligned with anyone knowingly who had a hand in the death of your brother is a bold accusation indeed. Perhaps you’d like to lay such an accusation at the feet of my wife as well, or Valeria? As she is part of this house as well. The well-being of the members under our banner is my primary concern. There is unrest within your house, that is clear and we only seek to protect those in our house who may not be able to protect themselves. If you consider it a punishment that we do so, then so be it, you are welcome to your perspective. But do not assume to know my mind or what drives me or my wife, Lord Gray. I trust you can see yourself out. Good day, sir.”

“Valeria is aware of the accusation and doesn’t agree with her sister’s business practices. Perhaps you should look into that when you see what your house aligns with.” His comment was swift and he had offered Osric one final narrowed gaze before he turned on his heel to exit the room where they had sat.

Collab with @damien-gray-ffxiv

#stories #collab writing #of lances and lament #osric #damien

11 notes · View notes