FFxivWrite 2021
Prompt #25: Silver Lining
“So, lil Chef…” X’unmei leaned forward, steepling her fingers beneath her chin and peering across the table at the Voidsent looming on the other side, awkwardly seated at a chair much too small for its gangly limbs. “Whadda we do now? We’ve escaped the clutches of a crazy lady who tried to kill my boyfriend an’ I’m pretty sure also wants t’murder Melfice so she can steal his stuff an’ kidnap his new daughter for probably evil reasons. Aaaand I think we might have made her an’ her people mad at us in the process, too. Well, me, at least. I’m not sure if she’s mad at you. D’ya think Liliana’s mad at you?”
The chef offered a wail that neither seemed to confirm nor deny, flailing its arms and clacking its bony hands.
“Hmm, I see, I see. Yeah, it’s hard t’say. She’s pretty crafty, I think. For all the time we were there, I could never really get a read on her an’ figure out what she’s really after… An’ now here we are, stuck in another dimension or something ‘cause if we go home, she’ll be able t’find us again t’enact her vengeance or kidnap us t’lure Melfice out again or whatever she might have in mind… But we can’t stay here forever, right? Well… I guess maybe we could if Mel lets us. But I don’t want t’stay here forever. I’ve got people back in Eorzea, ya know? And, well… running away from a problem doesn’t fix it, does it? Fixing things is the right thing t’do…”
The chef didn’t know. He offered only another croaking scream in answer.
Mei exhaled a sigh. “How long should we stay here? What should we do?” She slumped forward, folding her arms upon the table and resting her head against them, burying her face. “Maybe we should ask Melfice…” she murmured, her voice muffled. Feeling something upon her hair, she lifted her head to find the chef’s hat placed clumsily atop her crown, nearly toppling off as she moved. She raised one hand to steady the hat, offering the creature a weak smile. “Well, we might as well enjoy a little vacation here, shouldn’t we?”
@which-can-eternal-lie
There is nothing that compares to having a best friend.
That one friend among many that you would put your trust in in almost any situation. To keep your secrets safe, to depend on when it counts, and a joy to be around.
For me, that friend is my beloved companion Alicia.
We have been friends and partners since the day I found her. We had been through so much together. Through thick and thin.
I could not have asked for a better friend and all I had to do to appease them is give sweets and ear scritches.
Though, today, it seemed she wanted to give me something. I found a note on my desk that was written and signed by her. To summarize, she had something for me in the kitchen.
I wondered what it was?
When I walked into the kitchen, Kanami was already there. She looked a bit bewildered, as if she were wondering why I was there.
"Ali? U-um, what a-are you do-"
"Surprise!"
SPLAT!
My vision was blotted by something cold and creamy. It slowly slid down my face and fell to the floor into a messy pile.
I removed my cream-coated glasses and saw that it was a pie that I was assaulted with.
Kanami had a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with shock.
I then looked to the true culprit, a snickering, shaking, plum-eyed, Emerald Carbuncle wearing a red collar with a golden tag. The tag read "Alicia".
[Well? You like your surprise?] She asked, her mischievous smile growing wider.
Dusk spread a blanket over the northern city of Ishgard and the stable-cum-workshop at the far edge of the garden behind Alderscorn Manor. Outside the building a gentle mountain wind carried light flakes of snow in swirling eddies and dashed them against frosted windows. Within it was, for a change, relatively quiet, granting importance to ever-present but overlooked sounds: the ticking of a heater tucked into a corner, the hum of lights that hung from the rafters, the soft warbled snores of a chocobo as it slept in its warm stall, panes of glass shuddering in their old, wooden frames.
Raven’s project was reaching a gratifying yet infinitely frustrating phase. He stepped back, as he would periodically, to survey his progress. He stood and studied, one arm wrapped around his chest and sipping coffee with the other. His mind swirled with equal parts pride and the countless daunting details that remained.
Before him, supported by chains that looped over the thick ceiling beams, threaded through box and tackle, the antique magitek armor slumped like a marionette without a puppeteer. It was largely bare of its outer armor, which was laid out on the stone floor like a rusty paper doll. The hanging support frame was a patchwork of original steel, pocked heavily by time and exposure to the elements, and fresh metal welded in place. The pistons and joints sagged under their own weight and leaked grease. Dim lights marked the armor’s control nodes, now interconnected with new electronics or improvised circuits of criss-crossed wires.
Raven snorted and raised his cup for another sip of strong, black coffee. “I know how you feel,” he said, stretching sideways and producing a series of pops from his spine.
He was refilling his mug from a steaming carafe when he heard the furtive knocking at the door. “It’s open, Jean,” he called.
One of the double doors opened and a red-cheeked face poked through and surveyed before disappearing again. Raven grabbed the door as it closed and swung open it’s mate, securing them.
Jean pushed in the cart, covered with a thick canvas and dusted with a fresh coat of powdered white snow.
With a final grunt and puff of air, the boy took off his cap and wiped his wet brow with the back of his forearm. “Got everything you asked for, m’lord,” he said, with weary pride.
Raven stole an excited peek beneath the canvas, “even the couplings? Impossible!”
Jean helped himself to a cup of coffee and poked around the antique set of armor, “Aye. Or, well...Lord Stephanivien said these ones will do after a bit of, erm...Mod...modicashun.”
“Modification,” Raven corrected. He sighed. “That seems to be the case more often than not.”
“Then why bovver?” he asked plainly.
“Why bother??” Raven stood next to the armor and waved a hand to it as if it was all the explanation he required.
“Aye, why bovver?” He approached the great, hulking machine and poked at its oily innards and flaked off bits of rust from the frame. “I mean, the war’s over innit? Which means, one, there are loads of newer ones scattered about and wif your connection to the manufactory and piles of gil you could just buy one. For two, what’s the point of it?”
Raven stood, his brow furrowed, hands poised defensively on his hips for a incredulous moment. “Firstly, the challenge is the bloody point, ‘innit’,” he mocked. “For another, just because something is old doesn’t mean it’s useless.” He turned and regarded the machine, “this was cutting edge, Jean. Built for a singular purpose, that which it carried out with magnificent efficiency.. Can’t you imagine it as it once was? This was a fearsome thing to face.”
Something in his own argument began to form a shape in his mind, one that he had perhaps been to close to perceive. The machine, a side-project with which to occupy his time, had taken on a significance lately but he hadn’t paused to give it thought or creedance.
Unmoved, Jean simply shrugged. “Nah, just some old rubbish. Er, meanin no offense ‘course. M’lord. Good to have a hobby,” he said, remembering that Raven always paid well for his services. “Me grandpa collects stamps.”
“Get out,” Raven said.
“Right,” agreed Jean, swiftly making for the door.
“Jean,” Raven called and the boy poked his head back into the room. “Have you eaten?” Jean shook his head. “They’ll be cooking dinner about now. Use the back door, tell the cooks I said it was alright.” He flicked the boy a pouch of coins, which he caught deftly.
“Thank you, m’lord,” he said quickly and he disappeared into the dim garden.
He turned back to the machine and crossed his arms. The shop was quiet again and, despite the underlying implications unearthed by Jean and his folly of youth, Raven grinned. ‘Old’ was not synonymous with useless, he knew. True wisdom comes only with experience and both he and the relic before him had plenty. “Get off my lawn,” he said with smirk.
FFxivWrite 2020
Prompt #25: Wish
Masterpost
The excitement of Happy Hour had finally died down, and as ever, the proprietress was the last one out the door, closing down the teahouse. As she stepped outside, she was greeted with the comfortable crisp of the autumn night air and that quiet not quite silence of insects chirping and the wind rustling through the Black Shroud’s trees, though muffled by the faint ringing in her ears from the volume of the night’s performances. It was dark, save for the twinkling of the stars above and the glow of the lamps on the lawn and what little light shone out the windows of the teahouse.
After spending all night inside the busy tavern bustling with people, music, and light, the world outside was bizarrely quiet and empty. It was a refreshing reprieve, a moment of peace, a chance to breathe the fresh air and relax now that her job entertaining had ended for the night. However, it also brought a strange loneliness, to go so quickly from being so very surrounded by others to being so utterly alone, from so much talk and laughter and melodies to only the songs of crickets and cicadas.
No other souls still lingered about, as the stillness only emphasized. Val had long since gone home to rest, he said for work from Berrod in the morning. Always work, always training. That’s all it had been, especially since his return from the Empire’s territory. He might as well have stayed there she felt sometimes, for all the difference bringing him home had made. That contract they’d made so long ago didn’t seem to matter to him now. As far as he seemed to be concerned, she was safe, and her life was boring, and thus she had little need of him now. She’d not tell him otherwise, of course. He’d have to figure that one out on his own.
With no reason to hurry home, boots shuffling over the dew-dampened grass, Faye wandered across the lawn to the small garden nestled in the corner, passing through the archway that marked its threshold. She’d built a better home for the memorial pyre that Raisan made, a proper place for it, shielded from the elements by brick walls and surrounded by flowers, with a small fountain wrapping around it and benches at either side. She settled down upon one of the benches, watching the ever-burning flames dance atop the pyre in a constant vigil to those lost.
The Rising had come and now gone. The Calamity wasn’t where she’d lost him, but all the talk of brave heroes lost always reminded her of him all the same. After all, was it not the fall of Dalamud that had set their lives on their courses, sealed their fates to tear down the entire life around her and see them reunited in an inevitable collision that would ultimately be his demise? What had befallen them was an entirely different calamity.
She shivered as a small breeze brought a chill against her skin, drawing her arms around her frame to fight off the sudden cold. When all the hustle and bustle passed, it always felt like something was missing. One of the songs from the evening stuck within her mind.
Wish you were here.
@its-the-val-pal
FFxivWrite2019
Prompt #25: Trust
Trust was not an easy feat to earn from the succubus, feral and suspicious a creature as she was. Perhaps it had not always been this way, but many times burned left her more times shy. There were those few who held a sliver of her faith, of course, but even her beloved husband who she trusted above all else did not have her complete confidence. She had her reasons. In the end, she couldn’t even trust herself, really.
Trust was an expensive thing for one who could afford no more pain.
@shadiyah-ffxiv
@of-darkness-and-dreams
FFXIV 30 Day Writing Challenge
Prompt #25: Obsolete
Potential triggers: Violence (against an animal), blood, light gore
He trudged through the snowy terrain, leaving a trail of imperfect, asymmetrical footprints in his wake. He walked with a slight limp, one leg seeming to come down harder and lack some of the mobility of the other. Certainly, his mobility was not improved by the combination of armor and warm furs and fabrics he wore, nor the heavy battle-axe resting across his shoulders. He squinted to see through the powdery downfall of snow with his one good, blue eye, the other hidden behind a wrapping of bandages that covered nearly a quarter of his pale, ragged face.
At last, he caught sight of something... something far bigger and more ferocious than he hoped to find, but he would make it work. Unfortunately, the bear had caught sight of him, too, and seemed just as interested in eating him as he did in eating it. It charged at him, barreling straight toward him on all fours with its mouth open wide, pointed teeth and crushing jaw poised to tear into any part of him that it could bite into. He lifted his axe, swinging it straight for the bear’s face, the blade catching it in its open maw and splitting its muzzle wide open, a spray of crimson blood splattering across Aelius’s face.
The bear roared in pain, rearing back onto its hind legs and towering over the man. It swiped its massive paws forward in a blind rage, razor sharp claws flying toward him. It was injured, which was good news, but the bad news was now it was angry and desperate. He stumbled back, narrowly avoiding being shredded, but the bear kept pressing onward. Firing a gunshot would be risky, should anyone near enough hear and come to investigate, but he was starting to think he had bitten off too much to chew to dispose of the creature the old-fashioned way in his current state.
He continued retreating for several steps before he paused and lifted his axe, not to swing it, but to point the end of it at the bear, straight at its furry chest. His finger found purchase on a trigger along the axe’s shaft, pulling it. With a deafening, echoing boom, a bullet shot from a barrel hidden within the axe’s head, burying itself deep into the bear’s heart. The bear staggered for a moment, still intent on catching its prey, but it didn’t make it far before it fell forward onto the ground, blood staining the snow and creating small tufts of steam as it breathed its last breaths.
Aelius exhaled a relieved sigh, his breath forming a visible cloud in the cold air. Once the bear had stopped moving and he was certain its breathing had ceased, he stepped forward. He probably should have considered how he was going to get it home. He grabbed one of its legs, setting forth to the small cabin he called his home, leaving a large, bloody trail as he dragged the bear’s lifeless body, making painfully slow progress--at some points, considering the aches of his body, literally painful progress. He cursed himself under his breath all the while. His body had become so useless. He would never regain the strength he once had. He would never even come close. Gone was the stalwart Garlean soldier, prodigal son of a Legatus. Every dream he ever had, dashed.
At last, he would reach his “home,” pausing outside the front door to rest and regain his breath before he lifted a hand, fingers balling into a fist to rap upon the wooden door with his knuckles. A young woman with a head of fiery red hair answered the door, glancing quizzically between Aelius and the bear’s corpse at his feet several times.
“What is that?” she asked flatly.
“Dinner,” he grunted.
i had a dream in which i woke up very early and was just kinda laying there in severe pain. and the slab of soggy bacon i keep in my skull decided my relationship with gladion[headmate] is somehow incestuous. i don't remember what the reasoning for that was other than it was not exactly logical. so basically, i am a bad person who should die. but ☝️ worry not, i could undo the bad stuff with this one simple trick: sewing an effigy of gladion and an effigy of me out of scraps, in that order, making sure there's at least three feet of distance between them at all times starting from when put the first stitch in the second one. they were about as well made and about as good looking as you'd expect from little ragdolls made out of scraps by someone who's in a dark room, exhausted, and in a lot of pain, and who is not good at sewing even when they're well.
if they can't uninvent OCD they should at least invent OCD that only causes symptoms in the waking world
