Shared blog for Saerno Glista, Alfonse de Peltier, Beau Myvatorr, and their mun's one brain cell. Includes both IC and OOC content, occasional NSFW will be tagged. Interested in RP? Check out their respective Carrds: Saerno Glista | Luo Qiang Data Center: Balmung
"Ivarr knows his lot in this life and he's gladdened by it; a life in service of the Wood is one well spent. But It's just... I look at him and wonder if it's wrong to yearn, to wish for something more. What good is this tradition of ours if it stifles the very thing it is supposed to protect?"
The alleyways of Kugane are so unfamiliar for so many reasons - a strange land to be certain, one containing even stranger men and bizarre customs, but it’s reminiscent of Radz-at-Han, in a way, or so he thinks. Even tucked away from plain sight, everything and everyone is here for one thing: a profit. Unlike those of Thavnair, however, Beau finds that he cannot attribute much to them in the way of honors. As strict as this ‘Secky-Say-Goomy’ may seem, they too find their pockets lined with ill-begotten coin, or perhaps payments that lead their eyes elsewhere. This, Beau finds, is a sign of inadequacy. How is one supposed to feel secure in their home when their protectors are so preoccupied with their own greed? How is it that these men find the ease of mind to slumber at dusk knowing that their station means nothing? That man-cat had told him not to paint with such wide strokes, but Beau finds that to be too tall an order. Is it not the duty of those still adhering to their laws to bring others to justice, even their own? Or is it that they cower at the repercussions for their justified actions? Whatever it may be, the Rava knows deep down that, at the end of the day, there’s one thing that keeps Kugane running as it does.
Fear.
Fear of losing one’s wealth, fear of those above coming down upon you, fear of being truly and utterly alone… It is these hang-ups that fuel the essence of Kugane, and it is its most exploitable weakness. Not that Beau will complain, if anything, it makes his jobs that much easier. Honestly, that Glista fellow should really reconsider his payments for such menial tasks. But now is not the time for contemplation; if he stalls any longer, his quarry is sure to flee in full.
With a single breath, the Rava ends his reverie, calloused hands releasing a bent neck, the man’s body dropping to the stone with a sickening thud. That sound, Beau finds, is what truly solidifies one’s fear, this unmistakable death knell. After all, all fears root in a sense of death, no? These urchins are no different, so quick to spit in his direction and threaten him with their speak of ijins and violence, yet so eager to flee once his threat is made known. It’s almost pitiful seeing them hold onto their safety at all costs, scurrying like hares before a wolf. If only they knew that Beau was no beast, but instead the brambles in which they’re ultimately entangled in.
The man-cat said to make sure that these thieves could no longer hamper shipments into his building, and tasked him alone with such a thing; something about not wanting that red one to see the ‘nitty gritty’ of it all. Were it Beau who was to lead, he would make certain the red one beheld his work here, better to show what the future holds instead of hiding it behind the brush. But as there are no others around to see, he ought to quicken his pace. Three remaining, one already dealt with - slay one more, leave one crippled and the last scarred. To kill all would incite retribution, to leave one alive would accomplish nothing, but leaving two? They’d form a shared trauma, the scarred trying desperately to keep the crippled alive so as to cling to one last person who knew what they went through. They’d tell tales of this night, of him, of his handiwork, and the nuisance would sort itself from there.
The blood pools ‘neath his sandal, now, a telltale sign of just how long he’s stalled. Even as he begins pursuit once more, its viscous form clings to his soles, every footfall staining the stone slick from a night’s rain. They yell at each other in a language he can’t quite understand, but he can see the way their forms heave, their necks whip to and fro - they’re afraid, terribly so, and they’re quickly approaching their limits. But fear cares not for the weariness of the body, a fact Beau’s learned many times over.
And one that’s only been reinforced in this moment.
He could feel the man tremble moments before his neck was shattered, he can see the other crying, tears mixing in with snot and crimson as his face is pummeled, caved into a pulpy mess, another pleads in the common tongue to let her go; she has family, she’s sorry, she’ll never do anything like this again - her face contorts and her lungs scream in agony as her legs bend in ways they shouldn’t. And the last? Beau does nothing but stare, and they too return it. His jaw is slack, lip quivering, had he thought to say something, Beau knows the boy is too paralyzed to utter even a whimper. Instead, the Rava deigns to fill the silence for the both of them.
“Run.”
And that he does with the woman in tow.
| - - - - |
It only takes a day since the job for that Glista to call him into his office once more - he does not seem pleased.
“You know, Beau, when I say ‘oh, could you make sure they don’t hamper shipments anymore’, I mean strongarm them, perhaps embarrass them so that they won’t attempt shite like this again, not fucking this.”
The man-cat throws down a paper between the two, the men from the night before appear to be pictured upon it.
“These reports say that these are two of the most ‘gruesome and deliberate murders that Kugane has witnessed in the last summer’, with ‘nary a thought given to even hide one’s handiwork.’. You caved in this man’s face, made him literally unidentifiable outside of the identification he had on his person! His mother refused to believe that her boy could even be turned into such a thing, and only came around once she saw the charm she gave him when he was a child.”
Beau simply stares, his face entirely placid. “You said to make sure they couldn’t hamper shipments, and so I did. Those two are dead and therefore cannot do anything more, the woman is crippled and likely to be homebound for the foreseeable future, and the boy is too afraid to act upon anything. If you have issues with my operations, then perhaps you should’ve sent the red one instead of me.”
“I-” The Keeper’s words die upon his lips as he lowers his head, a sigh wrenching its way out of his lungs. “You know that isn’t possible.”
“I know, which is why I am confused as to why you are upset. I performed your job, you know what I do, deal with it.”
“This is killing you would reserve for something inhuman, Beau, I-”
“They were the spineless sort, ones barely deserving of their claim to life.”
“BEAU.”
The Miqo’te’s voice peaks, and so does the ambient aether within the room; Beau’s ears pin back on instinct as the bile begins to rise in his stomach. The look he’s levied is not that of exasperation, or confusion, but of anger, an anger that is clearly communicated through both his gaze and the vice grip he has upon the paper before him.
“If you need me to spell things out of you, then I will - I admit that, by logical reasoning, you have performed my task by the parameters I have detailed, but going forward, unless it is absolutely necessary, you are NOT to slaughter people as you see fit. I am your boss, and I will tell you when such a thing is accepted and sanctioned.”
“Do you think me some ignorant child, man-cat?”
“No, but you are exhibiting the callousness of one. You are dismissed, expect your payment next week.”
The Rava can only close his eyes in response, before turning round and grabbing the handle of the door. As smart as that Glista may be, it’s obvious where his logic lies. It’s only a matter of time before another issue arises, and Beau’s curious if it’ll fall to him once more to handle it.
He wakes, not with a start, but with an abounding silence.
His skin is pruned, he can feel it, and perhaps he could see it too if he weren’t staring directly at the light above. He blinks, slowly, his body finally catching up with his thoughts, and begins to rise from his recline. Disorienting as the situation may seem, it’s something of Saerno’s most enjoyable moments on the day-to-day, this unreality between the world of the waking and that of your dreams. It’s in these waking minutes that you seemingly forget everything and everyone around you, even yourself - you’re pure, here, simply a living, breathing organism with nary a true purpose in mind. But for as blissful as these fleeting moments may be, it’s always followed by the things Saerno dreads most: the coming realizations.
He fell asleep in the tub, again, of course he did. Lucio caught him once before after he hadn’t shown up to a meeting two hours prior; thankfully the Viera simply woke him to say that the matter was handled, but he could see it in the man’s gaze no matter how much he assured him it was fine, that telltale tinge of concern, of pity. But now, there is no such thing, it’s just he and himself pruning in the water as a blinding light illuminates his form and reflects off the half-drank wine lying still within a nearby glass. He can only sigh at this, his body hunching over as he stalls within the now lukewarm water.
Just look at him, look at all of this.
A fine lodging to call one’s home, a bath sculpted from Sharlayan-imported marble, wine costing anywhere between three goats and a servant’s weekly salary… And he himself. Saerno won’t claim to be the ideal man in any way, but he’s heard it plenty from those in passing, comments on his chiseled form, his piercing eyes, his being capable in both mind and body; if anything, he has what most in Eorzea wish they could, and more to top it all off. And what does he do? What does a man afforded so much do? He delights in the moments where he can’t even remember any of this.
Everything’s come at a price, every piece of gil he lines his coffers with has a story all its own, but what does that matter to those looking in. People wish to fill the blanks to fit their own story, not his. They want to speak of Saerno L. Glista, famed researcher and acclaimed aetherologist, not Saerno, the man who just… Who wants to just exist.
He swears he can see his rippling reflection laugh at his torment.
When did it all get to this point? He used to be a boy with stars in his eyes and hopes pumping through his veins as if it replaced his very blood. He used to be a man who loved not only his work, but the smiles of those he could find along the way; some more than others. But now, he can barely remember when the stars retained their luster and love did not beget loss. Funny, if not bordering upon hilarity, really, that in trying to achieve so much, to make his being valid in the eyes of those around him, that he’s ended up dozing off his hours in some fucking tub, some degenerate with too much power resorting to finding peace in the moments where he doesn’t have to acknowledge anything.
But that was all to change! Once he steps out of the tub and wraps a towel around his waist and steps out into the warmth of his home once more he finds… A body? One that’s as cold as he is? What in the hells just happened last night; was he a murderer? There’s no blood, no stab wounds it’s-
A good joke, right? Even degenerates can have a decent sense of humor.
In truth, there’s nothing that meets his gaze once he steps out of the water and into his bedroom once more, just more of the same - papers to the left, tomes to the right, and last night’s trousers thrown to the wayside. He would say that the monotony of it all gets to him, but isn’t this what everyone wants, a sense of security, of safety and assurance in one’s self? He sure as hell thought he did when he was younger, he fought so hard to be safe, to have his own story book ‘happily ever after’. He’s reached the end of his tale: he accepted who he is, he laid low his enemies, he attained everything he could wish for, so what’s left? The ‘ever after’? Were it a sequel, he would have to find new issues, new enemies, new things to strive for, but… He just doesn’t want to, he doesn’t know if he could handle such things. He wants to have a simple ‘ever after’, but at the same time, is this really it? Is it falling asleep in lukewarm tubs half-drunk after crying over Twelve knows what just sprung into your mind? Is it regretting every decision you’ve imparted upon others, yet also resolving yourself in the knowledge that such things can never be reversed? Is it this deafening static that seems to fill your mind once it thinks overlong about anything and everything in between? Why couldn’t he have had his fucking prince whisk him away on a majestic steed and settle in a land so separate from the issues that literally killed him? Hells, what does this idea of ‘happily’ even mean?
It’s tiring. He wants to sleep again, but his body won’t let him.
Every day is the same as now, the blissful minutes followed by the painful hour and then the deafening static that fills the blanks between. Everything evens out eventually, he’s found, just like that equilibrium She so loves to go on tangents about. Emotions spike, and memories come flooding back, but those are just moments, really. Maybe in time the peaks will turn to hills, the valleys to basins, his existence becoming one long stretch of static. The more he thinks about it, the more it doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. To be blank, a fresh slate through and through, no Saerno L. Glista, no Vihya’li, no nothing, just him in its most basic form, maybe then he could get a second try at this whole ending thing.
He wakes, not with a start, but with an abounding silence.
His skin is pruned, he can feel it, and perhaps he could see it too if he weren’t staring directly at the light above. He blinks, slowly, his body finally catching up with his thoughts, and begins to rise from his recline. Disorienting as the situation may seem, it’s something of Saerno’s most enjoyable moments on the day-to-day, this unreality between the world of the waking and that of your dreams. It’s in these waking minutes that you seemingly forget everything and everyone around you, even yourself - you’re pure, here, simply a living, breathing organism with nary a true purpose in mind. But for as blissful as these fleeting moments may be, it’s always followed by the things Saerno dreads most: the coming realizations.
He fell asleep in the tub, again, of course he did. Lucio caught him once before after he hadn’t shown up to a meeting two hours prior; thankfully the Viera simply woke him to say that the matter was handled, but he could see it in the man’s gaze no matter how much he assured him it was fine, that telltale tinge of concern, of pity. But now, there is no such thing, it’s just he and himself pruning in the water as a blinding light illuminates his form and reflects off the half-drank wine lying still within a nearby glass. He can only sigh at this, his body hunching over as he stalls within the now lukewarm water.
Just look at him, look at all of this.
A fine lodging to call one’s home, a bath sculpted from Sharlayan-imported marble, wine costing anywhere between three goats and a servant’s weekly salary… And he himself. Saerno won’t claim to be the ideal man in any way, but he’s heard it plenty from those in passing, comments on his chiseled form, his piercing eyes, his being capable in both mind and body; if anything, he has what most in Eorzea wish they could, and more to top it all off. And what does he do? What does a man afforded so much do? He delights in the moments where he can’t even remember any of this.
Everything’s come at a price, every piece of gil he lines his coffers with has a story all its own, but what does that matter to those looking in. People wish to fill the blanks to fit their own story, not his. They want to speak of Saerno L. Glista, famed researcher and acclaimed aetherologist, not Saerno, the man who just… Who wants to just exist.
He swears he can see his rippling reflection laugh at his torment.
When did it all get to this point? He used to be a boy with stars in his eyes and hopes pumping through his veins as if it replaced his very blood. He used to be a man who loved not only his work, but the smiles of those he could find along the way; some more than others. But now, he can barely remember when the stars retained their luster and love did not beget loss. Funny, if not bordering upon hilarity, really, that in trying to achieve so much, to make his being valid in the eyes of those around him, that he’s ended up dozing off his hours in some fucking tub, some degenerate with too much power resorting to finding peace in the moments where he doesn’t have to acknowledge anything.
But that was all to change! Once he steps out of the tub and wraps a towel around his waist and steps out into the warmth of his home once more he finds… A body? One that’s as cold as he is? What in the hells just happened last night; was he a murderer? There’s no blood, no stab wounds it’s-
A good joke, right? Even degenerates can have a decent sense of humor.
In truth, there’s nothing that meets his gaze once he steps out of the water and into his bedroom once more, just more of the same - papers to the left, tomes to the right, and last night’s trousers thrown to the wayside. He would say that the monotony of it all gets to him, but isn’t this what everyone wants, a sense of security, of safety and assurance in one’s self? He sure as hell thought he did when he was younger, he fought so hard to be safe, to have his own story book ‘happily ever after’. He’s reached the end of his tale: he accepted who he is, he laid low his enemies, he attained everything he could wish for, so what’s left? The ‘ever after’? Were it a sequel, he would have to find new issues, new enemies, new things to strive for, but… He just doesn’t want to, he doesn’t know if he could handle such things. He wants to have a simple ‘ever after’, but at the same time, is this really it? Is it falling asleep in lukewarm tubs half-drunk after crying over Twelve knows what just sprung into your mind? Is it regretting every decision you’ve imparted upon others, yet also resolving yourself in the knowledge that such things can never be reversed? Is it this deafening static that seems to fill your mind once it thinks overlong about anything and everything in between? Why couldn’t he have had his fucking prince whisk him away on a majestic steed and settle in a land so separate from the issues that literally killed him? Hells, what does this idea of ‘happily’ even mean?
It’s tiring. He wants to sleep again, but his body won’t let him.
Every day is the same as now, the blissful minutes followed by the painful hour and then the deafening static that fills the blanks between. Everything evens out eventually, he’s found, just like that equilibrium She so loves to go on tangents about. Emotions spike, and memories come flooding back, but those are just moments, really. Maybe in time the peaks will turn to hills, the valleys to basins, his existence becoming one long stretch of static. The more he thinks about it, the more it doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. To be blank, a fresh slate through and through, no Saerno L. Glista, no Vihya’li, no nothing, just him in its most basic form, maybe then he could get a second try at this whole ending thing.
The Summer’s heat wanes as day gives way to dusk, a hazy moonlight cast upon all who still found themselves wandering the streets of Shirogane. Some would take this as a sign to head inside, to rest and relax after a long day’s work, but for others, their day has just started. Ironically, Keeper he may be, Saerno wishes he could belong to the latter, just without that whole long day’s work thing. Who knew that a tipsy suggestion for Lucio to simply ‘make his own fucking library’ would actually pan out… And who knew that he’d get roped into being something of a co-owner too? It’s even Sharlayan-affiliated to boot - Saerno despises that place (allegedly), and yet here he is. Crazy how life works, huh? Though, for as much as he bitches and moans, for as much as he says he wishes he could be anywhere but here in this moment, deep down, maybe he did actually find himself filling the role quite nicely. ‘Loremaster’ does have a nice ring to it, does it not? No matter how long he's been on the non-existent, totally fabricated for the sake of being contrarian, fence about this whole thing, there was exactly one thing he despised deeply: investor meetings.
Lucio? Yeah, Saerno supposes he just adores the dude, lets him have a few slices of the cheesecake (that he totally didn’t make the viera bake for him), but he uhh… Great heart, not the best business acumen. Were he to be the sole-runner of this place, Saerno’s almost positive they’d be bankrupt, but hey, they’d have a snazzy fountain and some priceless ornamental koi at least. But fish don’t exactly pay the bills, or get you out of debt for that matter, hence why the Keeper’s taken it upon himself to handle a good chunk of these matters. Yes it may be voluntary, yes it might be in the best interest of everyone affiliated with Archeia Symvolis, but by the swiving Twelve, he’s sure to snap at some point. And tonight? Tonight just might be that point. But there’s more at stake here than just his sanity; he’s part of a legitimate organization with employees and mercenaries that actually answer to his authority. Were things to go belly-up just because he couldn’t suck down every swear in the book before it was loosed from his lips… He’d probably want to die all over again.
“Now, Okuyama-san,” The Miqo’te speaks softly as he rounds the lip of his desk, his words as gentle as the grasp around the two glasses he’s holding, “ I assure you, those reports of ‘exploding beaches’ were quite exaggerated. As you can see, we’re an institution that specializes in the containment and study of exceedingly rare items, both aetherial or mundane in nature.” Seeing his companion’s brow unwind slightly, the Keeper takes the small victory and pushes his advantage, offering a smile alongside a freshly poured spot of wine, “Would it not make sense that we’d have to perform controlled tests every once in a while? Our neighbors may have been wary of our actions, but speaking from experience, if it were truly out of hand, wouldn’t it make sense to keep such a thing out of the public eye?”
“Yes, it would, though… Even with such information, it does little to assuage my concerns. The ‘priceless collection of goods and information’ that Kubo-san had detailed to me is hardly shown to me now outside of some menial paperwork, a few expeditions, and a controlled explosion on Hingan soil.”
Doubts were to be expected, but if Saerno hadn’t planned for such a scenario, then he’d be a second-rate negotiator. Taking a furtive sip from his glass, he reclines against the unlit hearth. “Well that’s because most of the truly ‘priceless’ information we contain is confidential, much like how our affiliates in Sharlayan like to handle operations. Though, if you must see at least one tangible piece to put your doubts to rest, then I suppose I can fetch something from our restricted section. It will only take me a moment, but-”
Saerno’s words are cut off as a chill runs down his spine, his ears perking nearly instantaneously. He wasn’t doing anything, and Okuyama-san made no such efforts on his part, so why, then, did he feel that telltale thinning of aether, the kind that comes right before-
SNAP.
…A cast, and a lightning-aspected one to boot, the thunderclap of which has also roused Saerno’s guest out of his recline. He didn’t account for this, he didn’t- Ah, wait, he can taste it upon the very air, that lingering aetherial register.
“Does lightning always strike so close to your abode, Glista-san?”
With another forced smile, the summoner can only shake his head. “No, no it doesn’t, but I suppose our star has a habit of making itself none every once in awhile, huh?” It’s a poor joke, in his own opinion, but Okuyama seems to think otherwise.
“That it does, that it does. Now, you were speaking of this forbidden section, yes? If you need some time to fetch something for me, I can wait here - I know you bookish types are not wont to making others privy to your entire collection.”
“Yes, yes I was,” An easy out, Saerno will definitely take it, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll only be a few minutes or so.”
Flashing his fangs, the Miqo’te dips into a bow before opening the door and closing it behind him - it doesn’t take long for the smile to fade, nor for him to hone in on the aetherial source from before. He swears, can anything in this damned place operate smoothly for once? If it’s not the building itself, it’s the officials, if it’s not the officials, it’s the students, if it’s not the students, then it’s the people that ‘work’ here, and Saerno, in this moment, most definitely knows who is to blame in the moment - there’s only one other Keeper in this damned place that’s stupid enough to fire off lightning in the middle of a fucking glorified library.
“But you’re the one who hired her.”
Yes, but-
“You’ve had multiple opportunities to let her go, have had countless showings as to how ineffective she is.”
Okay, but on the other hand-
“You’re tiring yourself, looking after a child in a woman’s body. It’s miserable to see.”
Enough.
With a shake of his head, the Keeper picks up his pace, bolting down the hallway, through the main hall doors, and eventually stumbling upon the scene he could all but imagine on his way here. Something’s burnt, terribly so; his other hire, Beau, is frazzled, presumably due to the spike in ambient aether. Last but not least is her, Altria, the Miqo’te’s ears pinning back near instantaneously once ‘Boss’ arrives on the scene, her eyes almost as wide as her mouth as it hangs slackjaw. It doesn’t take long for her to notice that last bit, her mouth now flopping up and down like the carp she so enjoyed inside the pond.
“I-I-… Uhh… H-Hey Mista Glista! How are you tonight? Great weath- I mean it’s like REALLY weird outside, like, you should check it out. Heat lightning and all that struck real darn close, right, Beau?”
Said Viera simply shakes his head. “No, it’s clear outside, and it’s not good to lie to our ‘Boss’, especially not after the last time.”
“O-okay, well that was a special case, you see, like… It’s not everyday that you see a goobue doing that, you know?”
Saerno can only heave a sigh as he picks up the ashes covering the floor, sweeping them into his hand and disposing of them in a nearby bin. He knows how much she hates hearing him sigh, feeling the waves of disappointment emanate off of him like a foul stench, but what else could he do besides this? She's infuriating sometimes, so much to handle with how little energy he has in comparison and yet... And yet he hasn't done anything about it. He still pays her, he still tutors her, he still, well, he still puts up with her despite everything. He supposes he has a weakness for stuff like this; his mom always said he had a knack for teaching. And well...
With another sigh, and a single pat on her head, Saerno leans in close. "The damages and replacement are coming out of your check. Also I can't believe I have to say this, but Altria, for the love of Menphina, don't-... Why- Lightning? Really? I don't know what possessed you to do as such, but if you do something similar again, I'm going to have Beau become the expeditionary leader from here on out."
...He supposes he can see a bit of himself in her; Vihya'li that is, not Saerno, not Glista-san, or Mista Glista. And at the end of the day, with ashes staining marble, and investors still waiting for a mythical item from the restricted section to be retrieved, that's a fact that's likely to stand the test of time... And bite him in the ass continuously, of course. He just hopes he won't be struck by a bolt out of the blue, courtesy of her, in the coming future.
- - -
Inspired by another friend's piece of IC writing! Decided to do a brief follow-up for this year's challenge!
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