It is, in the end, just another scorching day in Eastern Thanalan. Claudien, only barely accustomed to the heat, had pulled on his protective robe and hood that morning while the sun yet only threatened to peek above the distant cliffs, and the chilled night air took residence in the looseness of the pale cloth.
His work upon that scorching day is also like any other. His research, really, because this trip to Eorzea’s shores has truly shown him how Sharlayan’s advances have improved life for its people. Ul’dah’s mammets do not carry the heaviest crates, here, to ward off accumulative damage to spines. Instead, that task is left to people- people who largely cannot read, and cannot say no, unless they wish to forfeit their morning's bread.
Back in Sharlayan, it was hard not to have heard of Louisoix Leveilleur. For entirely different reasons from what any any Eorzean passerby would eagerly gush about, their eyes lighting up. No, back in Sharlayan, his ideology is still a matter of great debate. Great, frequent, fervid... No small few had gotten themselves escorted from the Last Stand- or debate halls, even- over passions growing too hot.
Claudien didn’t have many thoughts on the matter, though. Not more than a stray acknowledgement or two, and a distant awareness of how the growing tide of disapproval had made it so much harder to get official papers for this trip. Such sluggishness from the forum in approving the permits and the escort, despite how time sensitive this research was...!
Deep in thought, Claudien turns from the cliffside, letting his feet carry him back towards the great bridge. Just a little more observation of that one aetheric phenomenon, and then he could finally unravel some more of the aetherial sea’s mysteries...!
He’s interrupted by his thoughts by the jarring impact of what appears to be walking into a brick wall. His momentum carries him abruptly against it, and he finds himself off balance, stumbling backwards. Resigned, he clutches tight his notes, to keep them from blowing loose in the breeze-!
Much to his surprise, someone grabs at his arm, keeping him from tumbling over. Blinking, mouth open, he finally looks at what’s in front of him.
It’s an adventurer. Yet another of that ubiquitous Eorzean persuasion, plentiful on the streets of Ul’dah and wandering in packs, bristling with weaponry and full of scars, always on the look for their next ten-gil job. Seeing this one, though, drags Claudien yet further from his thoughts of aetherial formulas and subterranean aetherways. There something different about this one. Something memorable, perhaps.
For one, something about their face is familiar. The set of their eyes, the colors.... It’s as if seeing them brings to mind glimpses of a forgotten dream from last night. Some place, some turn of events... something of them pulled at the back of his mind.
Second, was that those eyes should be bright, should be burning with drive and inextinguishable life. They should have kindness in them, should be looking at him with fondness and support.
Instead, they’re hollowed. Dim, with grief.
It doesn’t drown out his thoughts about the implications of the aetherways. But it’s the most brainspace that anything other than his research love has taken up in years.
He’s finally found them, he thinks distantly, the blue crystal around his neck burning warm. He doesn’t know why he was looking for them, but they’re finally here, finally in front of him.
They’re…. They’re letting go of his arm, and turning to leave.
No, Claudien thinks, lips parting to call out. No- Don't vanish again, don’t leave him to watch the death and flames burn higher and higher around him-
Archon thoughts fading utterly into blank static from another life, he grabs at their shoulder. “Wait!”
Silently, they turn back towards him, look down at his hand upon them in… confusion, perhaps. Staring at his hand as if it were its own entity, bewildered at how it had gotten to be upon their shoulder.
Not that Claudien notices this. The static behind his eyes has him, and beneath his skin, a trickle of blood is working its way down one nostril.
“I…” He doesn’t know how to make them stay. How to spark what he needs in them, to bring back that life to those shellshocked eyes. “…Water.”
They stay, quiet. And so he lifts up his own waterskin, first foe them to take, and when they do not do more than stare at it, he raises it to their cracked lips.
They sip, when he raises it to spill into their mouth. Unresisting. Looking like another heatsick soul beneath the Thanalan sun, who’d long since gone hollow with resignment to a sorry fate.
“That look doesn’t suit you.” Claudien says, matter of fact. “Lets go get some shade. I’ll watch over you.”
After getting them to take another swig from the waterskin, he takes their wrist, and starts leading them back to camp.
They don’t resist in the slightest.
