#anhe

[thegoddamnhawkman]

commission from @henartorinos of rastirah (@seacat-ffxiv) and anhe (@lance-of-fury) doin the princess prom dip from she-ra and the princesses of power because i have a problem

aaaaaaaaahhhhh

[vayduh-blog1]

A night out with the girls!

@seinakurokiba @saintofselfinjury @taedius @melodies-in-moonlight @lail-harper

[shortestbunboy]

(insert gif of a zither here)

[shortestbunboy]

[lance-of-fury]

#FFxivWrite2021 Prompt 1 - Foster

Ever since the orphanage in Rolanberry Fields opened, Anhe had been a frequent visitor to the children there. For those who knew her, it was like she was drawn to aid those in need like a fly was drawn to honey; the moment she learned of the plight of the downtrodden, she was there to offer comfort, solace, and material needs. Ishgard’s orphanage was no exception. The bitter cold never bothered her, yet the suffering of the people of that northern nation was well-known to her.

This day, she came with multiple intentions. Large packages, wrapped in loose paper, floated around her as she walked down the snow-dusted streets of the Firmament. In these were blankets that were sewn by her own hand- thick ones of wool, to protect against the oncoming colder seasons. Weaving was something she put to great- almost gratuitous- use in providing for others, and if there was any group that could use clothing and blankets, it was an orphanage. Her other intention depended greatly on the health of one of those there…

Something she would discover quickly, surely. The door to the orphanage is opened; the bell above the door jangles as she enters, packages settling down on the floor inside.

“Miss Dulain, a pleasure as always.” The words come from the midlander man at the front desk, one of the former Temple Knights who ran the place. A warm smile settles on his rough-hewn features, and a calloused finger points towards the packages. “What’ve you got there?”

“Something for the children, of course,” she says in reply, upper half dipping in a polite half-bow. “The summer’s soon to be done, and you’d know better than I how the winters can be. While I’ve heard that the Ironworks is making strides…”

The man finishes her sentence, though not before giving a helpless shrug. “It’s a long process.” hands flick outwards in a dismissive gesture, and he leans forward on the counter. “Truth me told, if you asked me to look at all those contraptions, I wouldn’t know my arse from my elbow, so blankets and warm clothes are always good. Though, you here for your little apprentice, too?” A brow lifts as this question is posed.

A laugh pours free from Anhe’s lips, and a hand settles on her hip. “I suppose that’s not incorrect, is it…? Yes, if you could. We’re due for a lesson.”

He nods, then pushes back up from the desk. His body turns, and a hand rises to his mouth to cup around the side. A deep breath is drawn in, and he-

-- Is cut off before he can call out. “I’m here.” A timid, feminine voice says this as its owner rounds the corner. A teenaged Elezen, fair of skin, whose bright eyes stood in sharp contrast to her anxious posture. Blonde hair was bound in a loose braid, and a tunic and simple slops kept her warm in the weather. 

“Hello, Jeanne,” Anhe says, her voice quiet. A hand is outstretched for the girl. “Are you ready for your next lesson? We can begin whenever you are.”

It takes a moment for the girl to muster herself; a slow breath is drawn in, gradually released. Her steps carry her forward, and in time, she places her hand in Anhe’s own. “Yes, miss Dulain.”

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“Now, remember what I taught you. Breathe deeply, and focus.”

The two sat on the dusty earth of Thanalan, legs crossed beneath them. Such a place was a boon for the channelling of earthen magic, and Anhe knew that was Jeanne’s speciality. She had seen how the girl had made the stone rise with a focusing of her aether, and cultivating that talent into magic of her own would surely get her far.

“Right…” Jeanne closes her eyes. Her hands settle on her lap, and brows knit. Her breaths come slow and deep, held for a second before rushing out of her nose.

Anhe nods as she sees this. “Good. Block out all but the sound of my voice, and the feeling of the earth beneath you. There is magic in everything. The earth is the source of all- feel it pulse beneath you, and draw on that power.”

The aether in the area shifts. Jeanne settled into a trance- Anhe had seen, and done the same to know the sighs- but the reaction of the aether around them came quicker than she expected. The stones beneath them shift; pebbles rattle and roll; and small stones begin to rise from the ground.

“There you go! Now, hold that. Do you feel the energy around you, now? Keep your focus, and keep them aloft.”

There is no verbal response from her, only the twitching of a brow. The stones lift up a bit higher, as more rise to join them- but the more that come, the harder the girl’s breaths come. The focus was taking a toll on her, and it began to show.

“That’s it! A moment longer…” Anhe leans forward, watching her, watching the rocks, keeping a close eye on their motions and progress. She was a fledgling yet, but there was talent. Getting her to control it…

Once more, Jeanne pulls in a deep breath. Her body trembles, and her hands quaver-

“And- release.”

Her breath rushes from her lungs, and the stones hit the ground hard. Her upper half slumps forward, one hand on her lap and the other wiping sweat from her brow.

Anhe, by contrast, was composed enough to reach a hand over and aid her in standing. “Very good, Jeanne. You’ve come far in a short time- lifting stones from the earth with your magic might not seem like a great feat, but it’s an important first step.

Jeanne accepts the hand, slowly rising up to her feet. “Thank you... “ Her own hands reach down to dust off her tunic, but she looks over at Anhe after a moment. “...Miss Dulain? Can I ask you a question?”

A brow lifts, but she nods to the girl. “Of course. What is it, dear?”

The question does not come immediately. Jeanne’s thin hands are wrung before her, and her attention turns down to the floor. She chews on the inside of her cheek for a time, but eventually gives a sigh. “You’re… very kind to me. Why?”

That brings Anhe to blink once, twice. “Why? Why wouldn’t I be?” One of her hands settles on Jeanne’s shoulder, squeezing in gingerly.

Her response seems to baffle Jeanne as much as the original question did to Anhe. Her head tilts up, bright eyes meeting bright eyes. “Um… well. I never knew my parents, like I’ve told you. No one’s ever been so nice to me like this. You teach me magic, you’ve made me food, you’ve offered to let me come to your academy… I just don’t understand… why.”

Anhe’s expression softens. Slowly, she lowers herself down to a squat, to get on eye-level with the girl. Her other hand settles on her other shoulder, and she speaks softly. “Jeanne. Everybody deserves the chance to live their very best life. You’ve not had that chance to begin with- neither have those who live in the orphanage. In the beginning, I had a rough life too. I was poor, and didn’t have anything.”

Twice does the girl blink. “You? Really? But you don’t seem like it. Erm- no offense…”

“Ha! None taken, dear. I know I don’t. To most, I strike the very image of a successful woman- and for good reason. I worked hard to get where I am, but I wouldn’t have been able to do so if others weren’t there for me. I come to places like the orphanage with gifts and supplies because I firmly believe you all should have the chance for something better… and if I had the capability to take you all in, I would. Unfortunately, I don’t, and I know you have a talent that can be used for the good of everyone. So, I’m offering as much as I can to get you to a place where you can be comfortable and confident.”

Silence strikes Jeanne for a moment. Though she still met Anhe’s eyes, her own expression was wide in surprise. The very concept had never struck her- that one would want to see her succeed, past the necessity of caring for someone who had lost something to them. Stunned silence puts a pause over their conversation for a time… until she finally manages to squeak out a few words. “Can… can I consider you my…” A pause, to gulp hard. “My… foster mother?”

The warmth that floods Anhe is nearly palpable. Long had she borne the appearance of a mother- the soft form, the loving personality, the care shown for others- but it was another thing entirely to actually have someone, in truth, consider her one. Yet, her response does not come with delay. Quite the opposite: she speaks immediately, arms pulling around the elezen to pull her into a warm hug.

“Of course, Jeanne. I’d be honored.”

[lance-of-fury]

FFXIVWRITE2020 PROMPT 22: Argy-Bargy

Featuring @paradymeshift , because I refuse to acknowledge his Britishisms.

“That’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.”

Anhe folds one arm over her chest, brow furrowed. The other was lifted to her right ear, index tapping at a small, light-blue pearl that hangs from a bangle. A linkpearl, those now-common means of long distance communication in Eorzea and beyond. She had many of these, for many reasons; today’s reason? An argument, with an Ul’dahn businessman. One of Anhe’s least favourite kinds.

Unintelligible words come in response. As they come through, Anhe takes to pacing, heels clicking on the marble floors of the kitchen. All too often, she took her business conversations to Aetherbound Institute, the research institute she ran; something about the place helped to straighten her thoughts and put her in a mindset better suited for business. Unfortunately, some were not inclined to listen, and this man was one of them. “No, you don’t get that much of a share. Did you forget what we spoke of the other day?”

More words; more grumbling. Anhe’s eyes roll, and she turns to lean upon a pillar. It is at this moment that another sound fills her ears: the sound of footsteps ascending stairs. Over she glances to the steps nearby, to spy the culprit: what she sees first is a shock of finely-maintained red hair. Enough to tip her off immediately.

It was Paradyme Capellago. One of the other members of the Institute’s Board of Directors, and a fast friend besides. As he finishes climbing the steps, the midlander man lifts a hand in greeting. “‘Lo there, Anhe.”

Her head lifts, hand covering the linkpearl for a moment- just long enough to whisper back to him. “Hello, Paradyme.” Back to the pearl immediately, her annoyance resumed in full force. “And I TOLD you, we’re not having a deal unless there’s at least a portion of proceeds donated to charity. That’s the price you pay for my services!”

One of Paradyme’s brows lift as he reaches over for the tea kettle, a cup plucked up from the other side. Purple eyes watch her, for he hardly needed to pay attention to the process of pouring tea at this point (the benefit of practice).

Words, unintelligible to all but the Headmistress, ring out from the pearl connection. Whatever they were, they did not sit well with Anhe, for her head lolls back, mouth opening as if to groan. No sound is released, but the mimed action is clear enough; her eyes even roll back in annoyance, before she snaps right back to the conversation. “No- no, no, NO. We’ve been over this more than once-” More sounds cut in. Anhe’s foot taps in annoyance.

“Having a little argy-bargy there, Anhe?” Paradyme mutters, cup lifted to his lips to sip.

That stops Anhe in her tracks. Though the other voice keeps on spewing arguments, the Headmistress’s body halts its tapping and agitated motions. Gradually, her head rights its position; bright blue eyes move slowly to look at him, pure confusion writ on her visage.

“...What?” The redhead blinks twice.

A slender hand covers her ear and linkpearl both again. “Paradyme. What have I told you about making up words?” 

[lance-of-fury]

FFXIVWrite2020 Prompt 8: Clamor

These bitches out of order.

Yeet.

--

It was not often that Anhe Dulain had a quiet night. Duties upon duties demanded her attention, to say nothing of the fact that her linkpearls oft buzzed throughout the day. One moment may be a question on a commission, some impatient client wanting their expensive clothing crafted in half the time she stated. Another, a student, asking a question on aetherial theory...or getting themselves into some form of trouble as a result of doing before asking. Sometimes, people just wished to talk (and while she was glad to oblige, even a woman like her could not talk at all times, which was saying something, considering her propensity towards rambling). Indeed, most of her days were filled with noise and controlled chaos, and a semblance of quiet was rare, indeed.

Tonight, she sought to change that, if only for an evening. With a content sigh, the mage slips into her bathtub, warm waters caressing her form. She chose a different form of bath, today: a tea bath. Tea was, of course, one of her favourite drinks, in practically every form, but an acquaintance taught her the rejuvenating benefits of adding green tea to one’s bath water. A muscle relaxant, while she got to rest in a warm tub? That, she knew, was something she needed; the moment she settles in, a content breath leaves her.

Over she reaches to the edge of the bath. A flicker of magic, a swell of controlled air, lifts two objects from the side of the bath. A bottle, full of dark red liquid, condensation dripping from its edges, and a tall glass. Wine! Few things went better with a warm bath than cold wine- another gift of knowledge from an associate. She was not a heavy drinker, but anyone who said she did not deserve a drop or two did not truly know her burdens. Lo and behold: there was no one to argue. Funny how these things worked out.

With a smile and a flick of her finger, the bottle is uncorked, tipped gently to fill the glass. Nice and full (a drop or two falling in the water was not going to kill her, after all), before it floats back to the bathside. The glass lowers into her hand, cradled in slender fingers. Once more, she sighs in relief, and the glass is lifted to her lips-

CRASH!

From a distance, muffled behind walls, a woman’s voice yells. Her wife’s voice. ‘Fuck-shitting son of a whoreson-’

Then, another. A shriek, that of a child disturbed from a pleasant sleep. First, a cry of surprise; then, the prolonged wailing of need for attention, a headache, gods know what else.

A third voice joins the cacophony. More masculine in tone, their third partner. ‘--Another mug?!’

The woman’s voice returns. ‘Listen, it ain’t like m’tryin’ t’break ‘em-’

The crying intensifies, higher in pitch.

And slowly, Anhe’s eyes fall half-lidded. The wine glass is lowered back down to the bath’s edge, and both hands lift to rub at her temples. Gods help her, she loved them all, but sometimes… Up she lifts from the bath’s waters, flicking a towel off its hook. Might as well join the clamor.