#202409-28

[driftward]

Title: FFXIV Write 2024 - 28. Deleterious Characters: Zoissette Vauban, Solita Grey Rating: Teen Summary: The effect that naturalist had been having on the town seer was subtle, but the damage may yet be long lasting Notes: Weird Wild West AU - Desertwalkers

Solita held on tight as her chocobo's feet thundered over the landscape.

She was furious at the situation. She was furious with herself. She felt stupid, and it was only her own fault.

The naturalist!

The effect of that damned naturalist had been subtle, insidious. Solita had kept a close eye on her. She had been careful with the information she had doled out to her, kept an ear open for any rumors that surrounded her, had listened whenever she had come back excited about some discovery or new learning. She had been so convinced that the woman was a risk, that she was hiding something nefarious, that she was going to be a problem, that she completely blinded herself to the truth.

She had become blind to her own self, failing to listen to her own intuitions, ignoring the reality of the woman.

Zoissette Vauban was a well meaning, earnest, curious idiot.

Nothing more. That was it. She was not here for profit, she was not here to try and exploit the land, to try to defraud people, not here to run a long confidence game. She was exactly what she claimed to be.

And now, Solita's passive negligence had put her in danger. She had trusted Solita to provide enough information to guide her through these lands. Solita had been careful to follow the letter of their agreement, but not its spirit, and now it may well be the fell spirits of this land that would lead to the fall of the naturalist.

The real shame of it was that Zoissette was a useful woman. The Scions had learned much from her work, and she was eager to go about it. Solita could have nurtured a very different relationship with the woman, possibly even developed her into a member of the coven. Instead, if Zoissette survived this, she would almost have to drop her as a client.

Perhaps she would be amenable to a new contract. Starting over as though a fresh client, and allow the mistake to be overlooked.

And perhaps Bealsar would turn over his town, Louisoix would make a triumphant return, and Thancred would stop mooning over that school mistress and just ask her out already.

There were other more immediate problems. Solita cast about, clinging tighter to the chocobo saddle while she sunk herself gently into the Weave, feeling it whip by her as she tried to turn her sight outward, further, to catch any sign of the naturalist, while also keeping a wary eye out for any cerul rheums. This area of the ceruleum fields were dangerous, with fiends that were drawn to the energies of the area, scattered open shallows in the ground where the stuff came to the surface, and the occasional fire as one ignited for some reason or another.

A flash drew her sight. A loud bang. A rheum, ballooning and popping, possibly splitting into two. And a flare, cerul catching, casting its light high into the night. She hauled around, and brought the chocobo to bear. As they got closer to where she thought she had seen something, she drew her staff, and readied it, pulling on Weave, waiting to face whatever she saw there.

They were close, now. She thought she could see Zoissette Vauban.

She definitely could see a spirit. A ghostly spectral form with a purple aura, sharp and stark in the folds of the Weave. As they approached, it turned towards them, and she saw its eyes flash into purple orbs it as it brought its hands up. Tendrils of energy flowed off of it and its skirt - it was wearing a dress- flared out.

Solita barreled off the chocobo saddle, and rolled as she hit the ground, bringing her staff and her power to bear.

"Mistress!" the ghost called out, placing itself between Solita and Zoissette. Zoissette spun around, bringing a gun to bear.

"Solita?"

The Weave crackled around them, waxing with power being drawn, already flexing from whatever had happened previously. It was the thickness of the air before a storm, lightning in the wings of the clouds, power eager to be wielded and released.

The ghost's hair and form were wild, but it was not attacking Zoissette. In fact, it had materialized in the real, and small hexagonal shapes were appearing in the air wherever Solita pointed her staff. A shield of some sort. Of Pattern?

Solita looked to Zoissette, and held, looking for an opening against the ghost, but waiting.

Zoissette lowered her gun, and put a hand on the ghost's shoulder. "It is alright, Lavender. I know her. She means us no harm."

The tension held for a moment longer, but then the storm passed. Lavender lowered her hands, and she faded, leaving the material but remaining manifested. Only those sensitive to Weave would be able to see her, now, as her form became more ghostly, see through, but her outline and shape became more defined.

She looked like an elf. One with pale blue-gray skin, wearing a very old fashioned purple dress. The glow left her eyes, and she looked quite normal. Hovering slightly, feet above the firmament, but those eyes were unusual for a ghost. They were quite human.

Lavender inspected Solita warily, but folded her hands in front of her. Solita, her breath still hard, and her heart still pounding, slowly put her staff away, and stood up straight, regarding her in turn. The Weave responded, calming, the feeling of static in the air dying away.

"I saw a flash in the weave," said Solita. "I thought to investigate. Is all well?"

Zoissette nodded, turning away again, and crouching near what looked like thick ceruleum-coloured gel on the ground. "It is now. Here, look what I found. Some kind of rheum, but I do not think I have ever seen the type. It could shift form and mimic shapes, and I think it apparated from the immaterial."

"I assensed its approach and reacted accordingly, notifying the mistress," said Lavender, who was still keeping a sharp eye on Solita. "She was able to use her gun to dispatch it."

Solita walked over, slowly, trying to effect a casualness so as not to offend the ghost further. She peered over Zoissette's shoulder at the remains of the rheum.

"Cerul rheum," she said. "A risk out here after the misadventure of another naturalist. There are warding stones that are meant to keep them at bay, but we've not yet been able to replenish all of them. The particulars of those stones which have the correct properties and whence we might source them is a problem we have yet to determine the solution to."

Zoissette nodded, and pulled out a notebook, taking a few notes. Solita glanced over at Lavender.

"The ghost is with you, then?"

"Ah, how terribly rude of me, I apologize. Give me a moment to finish this here..."

Zoissette finished scribbling her note, then stood, and turned to face the two.

"Lavender, please meet Solita Grey, the seer who has been helping me with my research since we have arrived. Solita Grey, this is Lavender, my friend and constant companion. She is a ghost, one with a long history. She has been with the family for generations."

Lavender gave a curtsey in midair, and Soltia, after a moment, returned the gesture.

Zoissette let out a long sigh, and settled into the ground. "And now, after that little demonstration of hers, I fear I need to sit, rest, recollect myself, and probably eat something. I think I shall return to camp. Will you be joining us?"

Solita looked around, but saw no further threats.

"...I think I had better," she said.

Zoissette nodded, and after a few moments, got herself back up. As a group, they retrieved her chocobo which was some distance away, and over the next bell or so made their way over to where Zoissette had set up a bed roll, a fire pit, and some minor concessions to comfort out under the stars.

Solita was glad that Thancred had the presence of mind to always be prepared, and that she would have a bedroll of her own.

Assuming, of course, that she remained welcome.

Zoissette performed a few minor camp chores before slumping in a seat next to the fire. Lavender hovered nearby, keeping an eye out, but did glance over from time to time.

Solita settled to sit nearby, in the rare situation of being uncertain how to start the conversation she wished to have.

"I must admit, I am surprised to see you out here," said Zoissette. "You have never shown much interest in accompanying me on my field work, and such is certainly not within the scope of our agreements."

"Providing you with the means and information to accomplish your tasks is, however," said Solita. "And in that, I am here to correct a failure."

"Oh?"

Her stomach tightened. She lifted her chin, and squarely met Zoissette's gaze, looking directly at her own reflection in the other woman's glasses.

"I neglected to inform you of the full scope of the threats you would face here," she said. "I knew well that the warding stones had been damaged by a previous excursion, and that the full nature of the cerul rheums was yet unknown. You would have benefitted from that knowledge, and from having a Weave-worker such as myself with you."

Zoissette nodded. "Well, thank you, then, for coming out here."

"Do not thank me," said Solita. "The failure on my part was intentional."

Zoissette tilted her head.

"Why?"

No prevarication, no outburst. Just a simple question, cut to the quick.

It was near how Solita would have handled the matter herself, though with rather more heat.

She did not quail. That was not her way. She would face this, with honesty and truth.

"We have had incidents with so-called naturalists before. Might you recall our first meeting, where I described the actions I suspected you might engage in while you were here? You dismissed it at the time as sensationalist drivel."

Zoissette frowned, but nodded.

"I but told you the tales of those who preceded you. We have had trouble with naturalists before, and though I am not wont to paint with an overly broad stroke, the last one made a particularly poor impression. With particularly disastrous consequences. The consequences which led to the re-emergence and adaptation of the very cerul rheums, one of which you encountered tonight."

"You thought I might be like that."

"I thought you were. You had many of her mannerisms. A severe-seeming politeness, a genteel affectation. Particularity on matters to a fine and sharp point. A keen mind, and sharp eyes."

"I do not not even know what that is meant to mean."

"It means naught, but I allowed it to mean much. I was so certain you were a threat, that I refused to take you at face value for who you are. Even as you demonstrated, again and again, the inherent honesty and truth of your spirit."

Solita was angry. Angry at herself. Angry that she had let the situation get this far. This was idiotic. The actions of a woman half her age, and half again her supposed wisdom.

"I was a fool, and through my negligence, I thought to allow you to tarry forth, thinking you might come to a poor end, and I would at last be rid of you."

She took a deep breath in, and let it out, calming herself. It would not do to have Zoissette think she might be mad at her. "A dear friend had to point out my folly. And once I realized it fully, I traveled after you, to attempt to rectify it. Though it seems, I need not have bothered." She laughed a little. "Always prepared. In your care and in your intelligence, you were more than the match for the wilderness. But nevertheless, I have come here... not only to make up for my severe error in judgment, but to apologize.

"Lady Zoissette Vauban, I apologize for placing you in undue risk through my own negligence and malfeasance. I promise you, I shall not allow such to happen again."

Lavender hovered close to her, frowning at her, and swept around her slowly, menacingly. "We might leave her out here, mistress. She was so keen for you to fend for yourself. We could let her do the same." She stopped in front of Solita, and grinned broadly at her, baring her teeth. Solita just looked back flatly at her. "I do not doubt her chocobo could be encouraged to keep us company instead."

"No. Leave her alone. It is okay, Lavender."

Lavender turned her nose up at Solita, and with a 'hmph!', floated back to hover closely, protectively, near Zoissette.

"I accept your apology. Thank you," said Zoissette. "And thank you for coming after me."

"You would thank me?" said Solita, incredulous. "I have confessed to seeing to your end. Surely you should be upset. Angry."

Zoissette watched the campfire for a bit, before reaching up, and taking her glasses off. She rubbed idly at their lenses with a cloth, before closing them, and just holding them in her hands.

"I should be. Maybe. I do not know. Maybe I should get mad, or yell about it, or follow Lavender's advice and leave you out here without supply, but I do not want to do any of those things. Would it help anything?"

"No. I suppose it would not."

"Then I am inclined to accept your apology and you at face value. There has been no harm done. You have treated honestly with me, save for this singular omission, and made no attempt to harm me directly. You have made a mistake. That was an error. But you did not compound it by ignoring it, or running from it. You faced it. And you tried to correct for it. I find it hard to be angry about that. Tired, maybe. Disappointed? I guess? A little... let down, I suppose."

She should leave that alone. She should accept Zoissette's graciousness, and exit the conversation as gracefully as she could manage, spend the night, and then terminate their agreements and return to Stonewood.

"Let down?"

"We worked well together. I liked that. Other than this one incident, you have always been forthright with me. Blunt, but I like that about you."

"We might still yet."

Zoissette looked over at Solita. Her eyes were studying Solita. Inspecting her.

"Perhaps... we begin again," offered Solita. "This time, I shall leave my preconceptions behind, if you will forgive me my transgressions."

"Okay."

"... okay?"

Zoissette nodded.

"You might ask for guarantees, or for more favorable terms. Though I know I am the one who offered it, I must confess, it was in haste. I did not expect you to accept it so readily."

"That would defeat the purpose of starting over," said Zoissette, now watching the fire. "I am willing to accept your proposal, but only if it is a clean start. For both of us. Deal?"

"...deal."

"Then we have an accord."

Lavender huffed, and rolled her eyes, but after a moment, she bowed her head. "As the mistress commands, I shall follow her lead."

She meant it. She really meant it, Solita realized. Zoissette was willing to sweep past all this, to ignore all that had happened. She was either hopelessly naive, or the strongest woman for malms around.

"You are too good for Stonewood," said Solita.

Zoissette looked up at her, sharply.

"No."

Her voice was deep. Her tone flat. Her words dark.

"I am really not."

The fire continued to crackle into the desert night, as Zoissette unfolded her glasses, and put them back on. Her eyes once more hidden from the world. Solita could see the reflection in the lenses.

"Well," she said, well after the ensuing silence had made its weight felt, "If it is all the same to you, I think I shall turn in. Shall we set up watches?"

"No need. Lavender?"

Lavender bowed, and floated up a little higher, to get a better view of the surrounding area.

"Well," said Solita, feeling unusually awkward. She got up and retrieved her bedroll, setting it up and laying down on top of it. She faced away from the fire, looking out into the night.

"Good night, Miss Vauban."

"Sleep well, Lady Grey."

She wouldn't.

[driftward]

Title: FFXIV Write 2024 - 27. Memory Characters: Zoissette Vauban, Krile Baldesion Rating: Teen Summary: What defines who you are? Notes: WoL|Sette timeline

Zoissette dangled her feet over the battlement of the tower. The gateway between her own world and this one glowed behind her, still active, Y'shtola looking over it just this moment. In front of her, she could look out over Living Memory. In theory, she was here to guard the research party when she herself was not doing research.

In practice, she just rested, helping out with minor tasks when called to. The flora and ambulatory fauna did not come up to this spot, instead staying down in the garden areas, where life yet flourished in an otherwise barren landscape.

This was a world of the dead, now gone, but it was not a dead world. She did not know what the future would bring for it, but for now, life existed. It would be enough. It would have to be enough. She cast her gaze about, considering the people who had once been here.

"Gil for your thoughts?" said a voice. Zoissette looked over, smiling as Krile approached, then looked back out over the landscape.

"Thinking of how much we know, how little we know. We keep learning so much about souls, about memory, about aether and akasa."

Krile nodded, hopping up to sit next to Zoissette. "You're thinking about the people that lived here."

"That did not live here," Zoissette corrected, gently. She looked over at Krile. "They were remembered here, but they did not live here. Not really. Did you feel it, too? How they all seemed to lack some vital spark? Some real true self motive force?"

Krile tilted her head, holding a hand to her chin. "You're quite right, of course. I do remember thinking how odd it was. With a few exceptions, they were mostly just going through the motions. I thought perhaps our plan would meet some opposition if too many of them found out, but they all seemed to accept it with an almost nonchalant sense of ease. As though they did not really care."

"Almost the inverse of what we saw with our friends on the First. Soul and memory, which somehow created form. You know, it is interesting, how form follows soul. The Scions looked on the First much as they did on the Source. And so recently we have seen a so-called feral soul, empowered, used like some kind of engine, and saw how it could change the form of the person who was using it."

"Indeed. It seems as though we have learned so much during our time here. I find I have many of the same questions that you do. Like what role is our soul playing in who we really are? I wonder, what are we?"

Zoissette nodded.

"And how memory is formed and what role it plays as well. The soul seems to be an engine, a spark, which the people here lacked. With a few outliers. Your parents. Cahciua. And those few who persisted after we shut the place down. Those are the really interesting ones. They did not oppose us, but it is interesting, right? Memory that persisted, without soul. Or maybe they sort of developed a soul. Enough will, enough... something to persist, to have that will to continue."

"I've that about it as well. Could also have been a phenomenon of akasa, perhaps." Krile looked thoughtful, then turned to look at Y'shtola, who was inspecting the gate. "Perhaps we should consult our local aetherologist."

Zoissette turned as well, a small smile on her face. "No, leave her be. It is too rare that we can focus on just the work, instead of trying to save the star or rescue a people. I will hear all about her findings later." She winked at Krile. "It is a kind of pillow talk."

Krile tittered cheerfully into a hand. "Why, Zoissette! To think of how far our reserved noble Ishgardian knight has come, to speak so candidly of such things!"

Zoissette chuckled, as she turned back out to face the city scape, before sobering.

"I wondered about the akasa angle myself. After all, it has been described as a force allowing one to exceed mortal limits. A force that response to emotion. What more mortal of a limit is there besides death? They care about something so much, that they continue to exist, even without a soul or system to maintain them. Is that what has happened for me?"

She kicked her feet a little. "There are definitely times I should have died. But I guess, in the moment, I just chose not to. Because there was still something that needed to be done."

"And you are always just the person to do it. Zoissette, I have never known anyone more determined than you. That's what truly makes you the Warrior of Light. Klynt may be stronger, and Nyx more talented, but you have a way of deciding things should be a certain way, and then seeing it through."

Zoissette smiled over at Krile, and Krile stood up, patting her on the shoulder.

"I'd love to talk with you more about this later, if you don't mind? Perhaps over tea, with Y'shtola and the others?"

"You know I will be there."

"Alright. I'm going to go help out, then."

Zoissette nodded, as Krile moved off. She turned back to look out over the city, and closed her eyes.

~*~

Wuk Lamat was fighting for her life, clinging to the outside of where Queen Sphene's human body was still arguing with her, even while its giant robotic body tried to smash the team. This was Wuk Lamat's fight, but Klynt had called in Zoissette, and Zoissette was here now, protecting the team, deflecting giant robot arms, holding the line.

The Endsinger flung its wings out wide, and sung its mournful song, as the ghosts of planets long dead crashed around her, raining debris across the cosmos. Klynt had brought with her Zenos, and enough force to bear the brunt of the final song. But it was Zoissette who would conduct the song's transformation. The Endsinger sung her final aria, but Zoissette raised her shield against it, proof against its sound, to protect all reality.

Each Unsundered that had come to her so far in this realm had ultimately met their end. They had reached out, each in their own way. To parlay. To try to convince her. To try to dissuade her. To try to move her away from blocking their course. But so long as there was life, it was worth defending, however little those men of eld may have thought of it. And so time and time again, her friends at her back, she planted her feet, and the shards and the star remained firm beneath her.

A terrible monster of a man. All he wanted was the fight. All Zoissette wanted was for this to be over. To remove his ability to hurt anyone else. He thirsted for her blood, and was willing to hurt everyone to get to it. She was tired of his game, and his unstoppable force at last proved false against the immovable object of her will.

Klynt may have been the recipient of Hraesvalger's Eye and even now tangled with Nidhogg, but it was Zoissette who stood on the bridge. The fight would be for the very soul of Ishgard, and the end of a war that had already gone on too long. No more blood would be shed this day. And so she held the line.

The man who could crown an emperor, his ambitions blunted against her shield. Dozens of those who would harm others, too many to count, stopped in their tracks as she willed. A keep defended by a noble woman, a dragon's rampage ended, a blackguard of a nobleman stopped.

A child, crying in the street, as she held her bag aloft as shield, its straps looped around her arms. Facing down those who were little more than bullies, she no older than them.

And another, earlier. Who had curled up, arms protecting their head, as verbal jabs became stones, as they ran, and as she herself, cheeks burning, walked away.

~*~

Zoissette opened her eyes.

She was no longer that child.

She no longer carried that shame. She was but a child, with a child's motivations, a child's sense of justice, a child's fears, and a child's perspective. And that was part of the art of growing up, was learning, was defining who you were.

And she would have grown up much the same, anyroad.

But that memory, and the shame of it, had dogged her for so long. Through trials, through tribulations, the burn of that shame, that she had once turned away from someone in need when she could have done otherwise. That she had turned away from injustice.

She knew better, now.

She was still learning herself, a lifetime pursuit. But she now knew what part of her had always known. That she could act in the face of fear. That she could face any trial. That she was a woman who defended those who could not defend themselves. That she would always be a bulwark that would raise her shield in defense of truth and right.

So long as there was life, it was worth defending. And even in the absence of life, in defense of what was right, she would still plant her feet and raise herself as shield. That she would pursue truth to the ends of the reality itself, and beyond. At the end of everything, she was determined to be the last woman standing. To carry truth for another day. To be a spark of hope for the future.

She wondered if it would carry her beyond that moment.

Zoissette looked out over the ghost of Living Memory for a moment longer, before getting up and walking back to join the rest of the team, and perhaps to celebrate life lived for another moment longer.