The night sky was beautiful on the outer fringes of the Thanalans. Far from the city, without the bright lights pouring from every window and lantern of the jewel of the desert, there seemed to be more stars in the sky than grains of sand in the desert. A vast sea of them. Moving like an ebb and flow of a tide… no, that wasn't quite right. Stars weren't supposed to shift like that. That may have been the liquor talking. Nonetheless even the disconcerting shifting of the spins was a delight when one was stargazing. Even when the field of view was reduced to a narrow rectangle. Walls of hard-packed dirt served as each side of the 'frame' yet above there was nothing but night sky.
He could have laid like that all night. He probably would have to lay like that all night. No one would know he was out there at this time and the devout of the nearby church wouldn't be crawling around for lauds until dawn. That was fine. He was comfortable. He had the stars. He had a little more left in the bottle. A hand stretched outwards, dark-nailed fingers feeling along freshly turned dirt in search of that bottle. First he found dampness, then a jagged edge of glass that bit into pale skin to add a few drops of fresh crimson to the wet soil. It would seem the bottle had not survived the fall. Perhaps the situation was more dire than he thought. Just when he was wondering if perhaps he would die there after all within the next few bells, wallowing in his woeful self-pity, a shadow leaned over the edge of the hole in the ground.
"Jyhun?" It asked hesitantly, slowly swimming into focus as a cowl-wearing devout of the local church rather than a lichyard phantom. Their face shadowed by the roughspun fabric.
Jyhun was very still and quiet, sure that his tendency for dark clothes made him near-invisible at the bottom of the pit. Weighing admitting it was indeed him and being rescued versus the shame of admitting it had happened again. He could simply die of embarrassment right there, he was already in the grave after all.
"I saw ya out in the headstones, then ya were gone. Did'ya fall in? Are ya hurt?"
"Ohh, er, yes… An ill-omen, indeed. Something…. terrible… surely will follow…" Came the solemn promise drifting up from somewhere between the lowered brim of an overly large hat and the hem of a tall collar. Long fingers ending in dark nails moved over the table performing a strange ritual. "Portentous… of a dire fate…" Jyhun continued to intone as the items he was moving around clattered and clanked.
The Xaela that wasn't covered head-to-toe in heavy black fabric sat across the table with arms folded simply stared flatly, entirely unimpressed with what was going on in front of him. The 'altar' was just an Ul'dahn cafe's street-side table and the 'ritual' tools were simply the dishes and cups that had been involved in the midday meal they had eaten while waiting for Jyhun's alleged contact to arrive. Nayan had knocked over a small dish of salt when he had slammed his fist against the table in irritation at the other's lack of urgency throughout the meal moments prior… and now the thaumaturge insisted they were going to have a terrible tragedy visited on them if he didn't perform his convoluted ritual. Which seemed to be stacking up every item on the table into a precarious tower.
"You are stalling." The Hingan hit-man warned, the words growled low on his breath. "There is no contact. You were hungry. What have I told you about wasting my time…"
Jyhun was silent, lifting his eyes only when the tower was tall enough that he had no other choice. It was missing one vital piece. One key ingredient. It arrived in the form of a pair of cups of coffee. Richly dark and enticingly aromatic served in small cups. The mage lifted his cup up and placed it at the very top of the tower. There. The final piece. "I'm… almost done…" He promised the impatient au ra, heavy fabric rustling as he gave a small nod. He took his hands away, waiting to see if it would fall. The tower stood, swaying dangerously yet upright.
That was the moment Nayan's patience ran out. He started to stand but the moment he rested his hands on the table to push his seat back, Jyhun's own hand darted out. He yanked on a fork that served as a lynchpin and with that small item removed the entire tower came toppling down towards the fist-fighter. Leading with a cup of very hot coffee that splashed onto him from the chest down. The enforcer leapt to his feat with a hiss, looking down as the burning-hot liquid soaked into his shirt and trousers.
Amidst the shattering of plates and the growling of one very annoyed xaela, there was jingling of charms and a clatter of bootheels. Jyhun had bolted to his feet as well and taken off down the street, clutching his hat to his head as he tried to flee the Enforcer with the fork still clutched in the other hand. Wheezing quietly with the effort of making his escape after fulfilling his own prophecy.
Nayan's fingers curled angrily into the fabric of his shirt as he held it away from his skin, ensuring it wouldn't burn him as it cooled. Yet still the beginnings of what may have been a smirking smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The game was on. He counted out the seconds. Knowing precisely by now how much of a head-start he could give the Thaumaturge without allowing him enough time to slip away into a convenient flow of aether and escape. Three. Two. One. Time to re-introduce Jyhun's face to the cobblestones and remind him just what he had told him about wasting his time.
"There are…. things… to feed… I will manage." Were the last words Jyhun spoke before disappearing out into the blizzard, despite the protests and well-intentioned offers of a place to stay for the night. Things that waited. Things that needed tending to all the way across Eorzea where snows never fell without the intensive interventions of an entire guild of Alchemists. A few steps away from the doorway of that small tavern in the Brume the mage disappeared into the swirling umbral aether of the raging storm.
Desert nights were cold, yet compared to Coerthas it was downright balmy as the thaumaturge dropped lightly back out of the flowing streams of aether that had whisked him away. The very same stuff that flowed through his veins, subtly shifting from fiery aether to chilly umbral to adjust to the ambient temperature. Things to feed. Things to tend to. Things that waited. He reminded himself as he entered the silent building. Down serpentine staircases that sometimes wended the wrong direction to a door that sometimes decided it wanted to be elsewhere. Through that door to another door beyond, the lock springing open at his touch and swinging open to reveal the dark rooms beyond illuminated by sickly bioluminescent glows. The first Thing waited just beyond the door, swimming slow circles in a massive tank of cloudy water. A nearby pot was upturned into the tank, several fish with silvery scales splashing into the tank. Darting quick trails and blissfully unaware of what their newfound freedom truly meant.
Next to a wooden crate, the lid carefully lifted with one hand as the other drew a book from his overcoat. A novella at best flimsily bound in cheap red material marked it for something salacious bought for little more than a few gil at one of the many used-book vendors down on the Avenues. He hadn't even looked at it until then, turning it over to check the title in the dim light from the nearby tank. '1000 Nights with the Bandit Prince'. Oh. So that was why the vendor had flashed him such a knowing smile. The novel was pinched between fingers as he held it out over the crate, dropping it down into its depths. There was a thump and the sound of paper tearing viciously as the lid was slammed shut again, held firmly down as he waited for the worst of it to pass. Another Thing tended to.
One last Thing that waited. The au ra skulked down a narrow passageway, fingers extending to brush against a row of staves lovingly displayed along the wall as he passed. A few steps further into a dark room and he lifted his hand to light the lone candelabra. A step further and something squelched unpleasantly. He stopped short, slowly lifting a heeled boot as he lowered his head to stare down at the oozing puddle. Thick and viscous as it spread along dark tiles in the darkness. He had waited too long. Jyhun crouched and ran fingers through the mess, turning over his hands to check the color of it. Black was common, as well as shades of violet or red. Winter moon eyes widened as the fluid proved clear, showing the lines of pale fingers underneath with only a mild distortion. Oh. No, no. That couldn't be right.
The hand was quickly wiped off on his robes with little concern for the material and his hands went to a drawer that should have been set flush in the wall. Yet it was jutting out askew from the rest. One of many along its expanse, all unmarked. He pulled hard, slowly rolling out the drawer the rest of the way to reveal another tank, large enough to for even the tall au ra to recline comfortably in. It wasn't overflowing but rather the opposite… it was nearly empty. A large crack running down the side revealing the cause of the leak. Clear fluid dropping slowly onto the floor as it bled from the damaged wall. More concerning than the crack was the fact that the tank was… empty. Oh. Oh, no.
Jyhun was not enjoying the fair. Not in the least. Wait, that wasn't quite right. They didn't call it a 'fair' here. It was a 'festival'.
Despite the pedantic difference in word choice the effect was very much the same. The narrow street was packed with stalls, each laden with brightly colored trinkets for purchase or prizes to win with games of skill and chance or treats to eat ranging from strong-smelling meats to sickly-sweet candies. Each one manned with vendors hawking their wares as they tried to out-shout the din of the crowd as well as their neighboring competition. The crowd was just as loud, bright, strong-smelling and noisy as the stalls themselves… and they were packed so close he couldn't even move. Jostling him from every direction as he stood stone-still in the center of it. An immovable boulder the incessant flow of a river of spoken. An island of black fabric in the midst of the tide.
He couldn't move. He couldn't reach his staff. The one who had dragged him here had disappeared somewhere into that rushing river of fabric and bodies. He could barely lift his arms to grasp the brim of his large hat, pulling it down over his face and horns to try and drown out some of the chaos. It was too loud, but still he could hear his pulse pounding in his horns. It was too bright, even with his hat lowered he had to shut his eyes against the bleeding watercolors of aether auras spilling into one another. It was too warm. The summer evening was cool and a pleasant breeze passed through the streets but still the au ra was sweating. Not because of the layers upon layers of ill-chosen clothing but because of the aether that burned astral through his veins in his rising panic. The temperature around him rising far enough that those who bumped into him quickly pulled away again. He was sweating, his skin was flushed a sickly violet where hat and robes didn't cover him, dark lips parted to pant quietly.
The realization only panicked him further alongside the dawning realization that he was going to immolate right then and there in the midst of the festival. How much damage would that cause… how many brightly colored fans and pinwheels incinerated in flash. How many revelers injured if he couldn't regain control of the liquid fire that felt as if it flowed through him instead of blood at the moment. Oh great, now even his eyes were sweating. No, that wasn't quite it. Stinging tears gathered, leaving trails of smudged paint in miserable gray trails down his pale cheeks.
"There you are! Lucky thing your hat is so big! I could see it from a malm away!" Chirped a cheerful voice, a round face framed with black horns and decorated across the nose with freckles declared as it appeared under the shadow of his hat. Peering up at the mage's face with mismatched eyes. "You can't just stop walking like that! You're gonna get trampled…" She chastised before noticing the streaked paint and the trembling of a dark lip. "You're crying! Who hit you?" She demanded, looking around as though expecting to find a culprit nearby awaiting her divine judgment.
Jyhun shook his head firmly to indicate he hadn't been struck. "No… one…" He assured her, his voice barely a whisper to ensure it wouldn't crack when he spoke. His hands lowered from the brim of his hat to slip his arms around her, leaning down to draw the freckled xaela close. She was tall for a female au ra yet still Jyhun folded over her to envelop her in the shroud of his shadow. Clinging tightly to the woman half his height. "I looked away and you were… gone… I can't… trace you…"
The shorter xaela's arms wrapped around him, holding tightly for a few moments before she slipped away. Trailing her hand along Jyhun's arm until she pressed her palm into his. The brush of skin against skin immediately diffusing the excess of astral aether. Draining it away into nothingness with a strangely pleasant tingle along his skin that sent a shiver up his spine. "If you hold onto me you won't have to. Let's go, I found what you're going to buy me for dinner!"
The thaumaturge didn't protest as he was led along, darknailed fingers curling tightly around her slender hand. Watching with unabashed admiration as she split the crowd in front of them with ease… and a liberally applied elbow. The corners of his grim-set lips twitched slightly in an attempt to smile. Maybe he hadn't been entirely fair to festivals…
🌸 “Eight is quick witted and a surprisingly good creative problem-solver...propably to balance out the creative problem creating. “ Perrin just scratches his chin gently in thought at that, “It’s that quick wit that I appreciate on a work based view, it makes me fear less that he accidentally gets crashed or caught up in something when I ask him to look something up. Hopefully he never had to use that quick wit to actually get himself /out/ of trouble during missions...”
🌸 [ Surprisingly kind. ] Marvik was simply going off on the first impression he had of Jhyun, not having interacted that much with the giant xaela. [ He could have easily ratted out Atlan back then but didn’t, instead he had covered him by interfering with Luxs aetheric sense by being a large presence and also back then saving me from dropping into a room that I’m a padjal to overlay it. ] He clearly appreciated the unprompted kindness of the man, maybe he should thank him later if all goes well.
🌸 “An immaculate sense of style and making white clothes work on him without making his pale complexion make him light up like a signal flare of an aid call.” [ Unfortunaly. I’d rather st-] Perrin just shushes Marvik by gently but firmly placing a hand on his mouth. “It’s something we both agree on about Lebeaux.”
🌸 Lux looks like she’s merely staring off into space, perhaps weighing the contents of some imagined treasure vault. Any attempt to get her attention is finally acknowledged when one of her ears slowly swivels forward. “Oh. Do I have to pick just one thing I like about Eight... I like —“ Gloved fingers are splayed over the lower half of her face, as if to keep her muffled words in confidence, “—The way his jacket fits me.”
🌸 “Jyhun lacks the ego that ordinarily characterizes the Order’s clergy. It’s a good thing - the humility means he learns wickedly fast, and though he rarely shows it, he does have the spine necessary to reject poor teachings or bad interpretations of the Order’s precepts. Before the Voyage, I had worried about his career and whether someone quiet could truly go far in our line of work, but — ah. I’m not as worried, anymore. He’ll be fine, as he’s always been.”
🌸 “...Few criticize the Gods as openly as he does. He’s infuriating in the ways we’re discussing who is to take responsibility for what, still, but I’ve never met anyone from Ishgard willing to discuss the notion that the Twelve are not as omniscient or all-powerful as the Halonic doctrine indicates the Fury might be.” For a moment, she sounds as if she’s about to use the topic as an excuse to deliver a hellfire & brimstone sermon about the evils of humanity, but she exhales out the rest of her breath in a solemn hum. “I do like talking to him. Though I suspect the strain of playing nice on Rashk’s behalf means neither of us are being genuine with each other - at least we can talk honestly about religion.”
"What a strange creature you are ... menacing at first glance, gangly and awkward on second. Guessing there's buried issues, no one is that heavy a drinker without ghosts there haunting them. Even steals drinks ...
... Can forgive a lot of sins for the pockets filled with snacks, though."
These professionals, filling the void of romantic fortune-telling left by this year’s Valentione’s celebrations, answered very important questions with very legitimate divination techniques (some of which involved throwing the entire deck in the air and snatching at a card) such as:
Will I ever find love? (cards said: no.)
Will I ever grow old with someone who loves me? (cards said: no.)
How can I move on from what’s holding me back? (cards said: adopt a chocobo.)
kianamaiart
turnnoffyourmind
annaxmalina
titsay
