FFXIV Write Day 4- Clinch
Heilyn stood in front of a run down building in The Brume with a smile on his face. Gods… it wasn’t much yet, but it was his. His soon to be beautiful workshop. He just needed to pull together the funds for all the inner workings and such now that he’d at least purchased the building. Though he wouldn’t ask for his father’s money to help this one. No, Heilyn planned to either fundraise or find a patron. No Fortemps connected to this endeavor. No heretical nonsense would be allowed in that house. Not again. No way no how. That was why he was Heilyn Hraesar yet still, and never Alphonse de Fortemps ever again. Any missteps, any mistakes, they were his and his alone. Living in the manor or not.
Though, as luck would have it, lady luck would figuratively come knocking on his door. In the form of a light and welcoming voice behind him. “Heilyn Hraesar, are you? The manor guardsman said I might happen to find you here.”
The heretic turned and saw a young man dressed in the attire of a nobleman standing behind him. A dangerous place for one such as he, which only lended to the strange look Heilyn gave to him. “...Pardon my rudeness, but are you out of your mind, ser? Coming down here dressed like that?”
The nobleman merely looked at Heilyn with a questioning tilt of his head. “Pardon my asking but do you truly think that anyone would attack a nobleman with a clear witness in the broadest of daylight? Particularly when the man with which he is speaking happens to be carrying a rather dangerous looking dagger, and the noble has his sword?”
Heilyn was silent before speaking again. “Point. Carry on. State your business. Whatever does your high up self need with a lowly crafter like me?”
“Ha, funny,” the nobleman replied. Though there was little or no humor in his tone. “My name is Ferrant de Durand, and I would request your help, Heilyn.”
“My help? With what? I’m afraid if you require crafting services My little shop is yet to be ready to accept such things. And I will not be taking advance orders.”
Ferrant shook his head. “No such things. I… wish for your help in, well, politics.”
There was a beat of silence.
A second.
A third.
And then. Laughter falling forth from Heilyn’s mouth. “You’re joking! You must be! Politics! Me!? Funniest shit I’ve ever heard!”
There was just a deadpan expression from Ferrant. “...I’m serious Hraesar. I wish to work for the rights of the heretics who live on after the war. You wish to have your little workshop that aids displaced heretics into society funded. I would be more than willing to be your patron should you be willing to help me write speeches and offer up advice.”
The laughter stopped in an instant. Heilyn looking at him in shock. “...By the Twelve. You’re serious about this.”
“I am indeed. So, what say you? Are you willing to lend me your aid in return for mine? Or shall I scour the city for another heretic who knows some small details about matters. Another willing to make a difference? Make the Ishgard you know you dearly wish for?”
Heilyn paused. Thinking carefully on this. On the one hand, politics and snooty as shit nobles. On the other, funding which he needed. ...and if he had a third had he’d add the look of fire behind the man’s brown eyes. Heilyn couldn’t not help but admire that determination there.
...If things went wrong he could always back out and earn the funds to pay him back through hard work. Simple as that. A gamble but… perhaps with this man it was worth taking. Heilyn held out a hand.
“I suppose you have a deal, Ferrant. Prove to me that you really can make this the Ishgard I want to see.” (Ferrant can be found over on @heartofthefury! Been wanting to write this one for a looong time! :’) )