22/31 ain’t bad at all I don’t think. Numbers-wise my lowest performance, but I wrote some things I really like and some things I really wanted to write for a while. I also got started on some ideas I may return to (“adroit” and “heady” come to mind).
I bolded my favorites if you’re curious or looking for places to begin.
Thank you as always @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast for running the show-- loved the prompts this year! And thanks for everyone for participating and encouraging each other, it’s really fun to see.
She wrapped the ribbon 'round the little dragon's neck - tying it off in an ebony and crimson bow. The little woman didn't climb back up to tuck it on top of the shelf, to put it out of sight, however.
Not yet, at any rate. The little plush beast, and its new accessory, were a reminder -
"Do you have any friends? Anyone you can talk to?"
She knew it was...in a sense, a medical inquiry. The towering Keeper was supposed to help her...with her aether, and her ability to tap into it. He was discreet. She had to keep telling herself that.
"One person. Sometimes."
Gently, she let herself run the pad of her thumb over the small, stuffed toy's maw, ever-so-careful with those curved claws; that lengthy tail behind her falling, to hang limp against her leg.
He'd seen her. She'd let him see her.
And he'd still run - no loyal Dog, this one.
Just a stray, no matter how much he'd hated the term.
He'd told her about his commitment issues, though, hadn't he? Didn't he say that it always ended up with him running, if they made it to sex...and he started to care.
And they'd been close, hadn't they? To saying forbidden words. Making big gestures.
He'd given her a part of himself, even; the little marble full of purple smoke rolled in her palm, even now.
Then he'd disappeared one day.
Abandoned her.
After giving her so much.
When I needed him most.
One of those claw-tips presses, and presses into the back of the tiny, plush dragon's maw, until the fabric gives with a soft pop. It was better if she didn't carry him with her, anymore...and where better to hide his last gift, than inside the first gift he'd given her?
Deep in a dragon's maw, his secret hers to keep.
She'd have more people to talk to about things, if they didn't always run - but you can't just tell your teacher that, now can you? That you're so fundamentally ruinous a creature, that even the people who care about you either want to hurt you, or get away from you.
Sometimes both.
'If it doesn't hurt, it isn't real,' wasn't that her motto on such matters?
Pushing that marble into the dragon's gullet, little fingers give the black and red bow another adjustment - chest tightening at the thought of the girl who'd given the ribbon to her...another 'friend', gone into thin air.
She'd tried to mend that bridge - though the diminutive businesswoman wasn't very good at friendship, really. But then, what does a tormented beast know about relationships of any kind? They know how to fight, and survive. How to overcome.
They don't know when not to bite, when everything looks like a threat...and perhaps that's simply how it had to be, for people like her.
Did she have any friends, he'd asked her.
Just the one...just the Wolf.
And she wasn't so sure the right word for him was 'friend' - he was, simply, her Wolf - for good, or ill.
Tail strung out behind her, Jak perches precariously atop a chair - the little woman setting the diminutive dragon back up high, atop a shelf, and out of sight.
No, dragons weren't well known for their friendship.
Hot tears pricked the corners of Bel’s eyes as she managed to control her fall enough that she sat on the stair rather than falling down the whole flight. The sudden jarring of her hip brought pain that almost made her empty her stomach there on the main staircase of Fortemps manor. During the day there’d have been someone who could help her, but at this time of night there was no one else awake in the house. She’d have to stay here on the stairs until the pain subsided enough she could attempt the stairs again.
Bel ground her teeth against the radiating pain and frustration. She could usually take these stairs three at a time. She had once walked up and down the banister because Bianca and bet her she couldn’t. Right now she couldn’t even get to the first landing. She knew that lack of sleep and appetite were affecting her ability to handle both the pain of her injury and emotional turmoil. She leaned against the upright rails of the banister and looked down the stairs with dull eyes. It seemed every dark day that had ever haunted her had come back in her nightmares. The mud and thunder of trenches gave way to broken stone and black dragons overhead. Ilberd’s sneer and laugh blended with Livia Sas Junius as red blood spilled across honey colored stone.
“Oh my dear blossom!” The bright voice startled Bel and she swung her fist before her fore brain could tell her hind brain that this was a friend. The orange pixie simply put their hands out and Bel’s fist froze when it barely touched Feo Ul’s palms. “My very jumpy blossom! ‘Tis a good thing my Sapling asked me to keep an eye on you!”
Bel slumped against the banister railing and bit back a mewl of pain when the movement jostled her hip. She whispered a half hearted greeting, “Feo Ul.”
The pixie fluttered closer to the Miqo’te woman’s face and caught an escaped tear in their cupped hands. Feo Ul considered the curve of the droplet for a moment before sipping from it. The pixie gagged suddenly and dropped the remains of the tear from their hands. They rubbed their palms dry on the shoulder of Bel’s shirt. “No wonder you look like an unkempt leaf man, my wilted Blossom! Your poor garden of dreams is nothing but prickly brambles. This won’t do! I will have to help you with that!”
“How-“ Bel started but the little pixie had become the Fae King. Titania smiled and brushed a wayward fringe of lavender hair to the side so they could gently kiss her forehead. Icy relief spread from the kiss to soothe torn muscles and frayed nerves. The cessation of pain was a potent drug unto itself that made Bel sway. She blinked looking at the King and then the king's wings. “But you’ll hurt your wings, they’re bigger than the hall.”
“precious blossom! What a silly thing to worry over.” The king’s laugh was bright and cacophonous, like someone had slapped wind chimes to set them singing. They scooped Bel up into their arms and began to glide up the stairs. “Sleep now my blossom and we’ll trim up those brambles in your garden of dreams.”
Bel struggled a bit, resisting returning to her nightmares. Feo Ul simply sang a lullaby in the fae’s tounge. Their Blossom was ragged and weak, falling to the spell long before she would have normally. They hummed approval and laid their blossom down on her bed. Feo Ul shook her pigtails when she returned to her smaller size. This was a much more convenient form. They turned when the door cracked open. An elf with shoulder length black hair looked in, obviously checking on their blossom. Feo Ul laughed and gave them a wink before vanishing in a puff of glittering aether going to their blossom in her overgrown dreams.
Artoirel blinked once, twice, thrice and shook his head. He didn’t think he had been THAT sleep deprived.
Severine sat on a tufted leather couch, leaning back into the corner with her booted feet sticking out into the air. Soon she would get up and dance as performers came and went off of the stage, but for now she sat, flanked by familiar bodies. Otolin on one side, his hand lightly grasping her ankle and Rose on the other, elbow to elbow. The drink that Xiaohu had mixed and Breandan had delivered with a smile was sweating condensation across her palm and she sipped it occasionally, waiting for the alcohol to slide into her limbs.
After she performed she would joke about being nervous. About needing another drink.
The truth was that she was never nervous. Walking out on stage with a folksy smile, with a wink to Egrine and a flip of her hair was as much a part of the costume as the wardrobe she’d carefully picked. When she was on that stage she wasn’t afraid of flubbing, or the audience, or tripping over her feet.
The only thing she feared when she was up on that stage, was the thing she had taken up there with herself.
A bolus of notes sat in the back of her throat like a bite of food too big to swallow. Meant to be spat out or choked on. When she took a breath and sang it out, she held back the melody that wanted to spill forth and instead sang what she wanted people to hear.
A song lodged itself in her mind and she hummed it when she wasn’t thinking. She only realized what she sang when she saw strangers' faces turning towards her. When hands went slack. When bodies swayed in. She bit her tongue swollen, chewed her cheeks and lips bloody and kept quiet. Only spoke.
Her lazy way of speaking was a curb to hold back the refrain that kept her up at night. That had to be silenced by drowning it in alcohol or starving it without nourishment for as long as her body could stand it.
It tripped out with each laugh.
It crescendoed through each sighing reassurance.
She knew Breandan always listened for it. The only other person who had any idea. What would he do, she wondered, if it slipped through the gaps in her teeth. If one day every head in the club lifted and began to sway in turn. Did he see the dancing bodies the same way she did?
Did he believe her at all when she said there was no problem? That every thing was fine?
|| FFXIV Write - 2021
|| Prompt #2 - Aberrant - departing from an accepted standard
|| Stormblood | Dragoon Quest
|| Word Count -1069
|| Estinien & Kiri
How do you change yourself after war?
She is a dragoon but no longer the kind Ishgard cultivated. When she looks upon the face of a dragon, so ferocious and lined with teeth, she sees a friend. An ally. A mentor. She sees the intelligence gleaming in their eyes and the soul that fills their booming voice as they laugh and sing. No longer would her spear be used to gut and maim them, but to stand beside them. To protect those that she loved.
Kiri found herself scrubbing away exhaustion from her eyes that evening, listening to the gentle fire chewing at it’s given tinder. They had spent the better half of an afternoon finding a place to settle down for the night, arguing as they collected armfuls of firewood for their makeshift camp. Only after fishing for their dinner and grilling it in the flames did their lances clatter noisily against one another. And now, as the heavens sparkled with an array of diamonds, she felt her weariness kick in.
“You should sleep.” The low rumble of a voice made her perk, casting a single look to the man beside her.
Estinien, using a leftover skewer as a toothpick, stared aimlessly at the rising flames.
The woman stifled a yawn and shook her head. “Why does everythin’ out of yer mouth sound so barbed?”
“It was a suggestion.”
“Say it nicely.”
“Tch.”
Together they sat, shoulder to shoulder on the beaches of the Ruby Sea. After a jaunt through the Azim Steppe, followed closely by Orn Khai to reunite family, the two dragoons found with much to discuss. The Dragon Song war had ended. A prelude had now begun in Ishgard; the start of a new lifetime. But what of the dragoons made for war? She and Estinien, now obsolete tools of an era past.
Crickets filled the rising silence, the far off waves lapping at shore nearly a lullaby.
“You spoke earlier of ending your career as a Dragoon,” Estinien began in a soft voice, “But have since decided against it. Why?”
Kiri tilted her head, curiously reading the somber expression forever imprinted on the mans face. For a second his stony eyes met her mismatched gaze.
It was true that there was a time not so long ago that she had nearly quit the lance entirely. She found herself trying new concepts; taking up chakrams and twirling about the battlefield was by far the strangest experience to date. But little else compared to the extension that a polearm gives you. The body learns to counterbalance the weight with every movement, the muscles in her legs a loaded spring ready to lunge forward.
“I nearly died.”
Estinien spat out his makeshift toothpick, startled by the nonchalant tone in which she spoke of such things. “You what?”
On any other given day she would scold him, tease him for having wax in his ears or simply deciding to ignore her. But tonight wasn’t made for that. Estinien had posed a daunting question to her, one that he may have been battling with himself even after the war had ended. The idea of living with yourself after the atrocities you’ve committed with false belief. Where she had come in as an outsider to a war that was not her own, Estinien had been born into it. Every day he had to endure, had to change himself to survive. Lest the hatred in the depths of his mind cannibalize him.
Patient hands began to undo the buttons of her blouse. She could feel his eyes on her just the same as the sea breeze against her exposed flesh. When angry crimson markings became visible just above her right breast she stopped. The injury was still in a state of healing, raw and open. It dropped low, descending down out of sight.
Estinien extended a hand but faltered.
“My indecision almost cost me the very air in my lungs.”
The fight with Zenos at Rhalgars Reach had left her ego broken and her body scarred. Would she had faced the Garlean prince in her trained and respected Dragoon form, she may have saved herself some bandages and cracked ribs. But the weight the name carried now, it left a bitter taste.
“Every time I looked at my lance or armor, I thought of them. How many dragons had been silenced by this instrument of war? I saw the Heavensward believing in their just cause; how all of Ishgard simply accepted the sacrifices of their children, sending them off to a war no one could understand. And I thought of Orn Khai, a child no different than any of us.”
The frustration she felt, even now, swelled in her chest and burned at her cheeks. The rage of Nidhogg… Was it truly so hard to understand? The emptiness Hraevelgr must have endured. The thought of Ysayle, smiling with a glimmer in her eyes akin to sun on ice.
“I couldn’t even hold my lance without shakin’.”
Beside her Estinien adjusted himself, leaning ever a whisper closer. She began to redress herself.
“But after this, and even traveling across the world to end up here, I kept thinkin’ about somethin’.” Her mismatched eyes looked up to the man now, meeting his curious eyes with a light smile. “Dragoon armor is designed ta’ look like a dragon, yea? Scales, claws, helms that have a dragon snout. Some even have tails. So I thought ta’ myself… Why relate all that to killing dragons when it’s more like wanting to be a dragon? We want to be strong like them, to be seen as fierce and cunning. A dragoon admires their strengths and adapts them into our own techniques.”
Far away crickets began to chirp.
Estinien, blowing out a gusty sigh, combed a hand through his silver hair. “You’ve decided to idolize them then?”
“I’ll be their number one fan if they’ll let me.” Kiri winked with a lopsided grin. “Think of the possibilities, mate! The things they could teach us! Maybe someday we’ll even design wings on our armor and fly ‘round like them.”
Soon the Elezen had his head in his hands, stifling an urge to laugh. “Orn Khai would be amused.”
“We could race!”
While Kiri bubbled with chuckles, Estinien reached a hand over and pulled her close. A half hearted embrace that left her speechless when his lips brushed a kiss into her own moonlight silver hair.
The aetheryite glimmers between sturdy, well kept Yurts; the bustle of commerce carrying across the wind despite the silence of those who kept watch.
As a girl of fourteen summers, it was the first time she’d ever seen it.
Regardless, her Mother clutched her hand tightly as though she were a toddler; and judging by Od’s lack of contest, she was more than used to it. A sigh is drawn and heaved from her nose, as she gives a small, testing tug.
“Od, do not wander far ♪
I need to see where you are ♪”
Her mother’s words were melodic, yet stern. For a Qalli who sang every word that left her lips; and even in rhyming pairs, no less, it might sound even comical to those unused to it. But to Od, it was a warning. Her hand is released, and she keeps close to her Mother’s side as they enter the market.
A wash of colour fills Od’s gaze; the myriad standards and garb of so many different Tribes she’d only heard of, and never met. She had, of course, met precious few when they had opted to visit her people for one reason or another, but never able to speak to them of her own volition.
Od’s mother moves to a waiting woman clad in black and red; lengths of long, braided hair at her shoulders.
Freedom.
The scents and sights were almost overwhelming. Rich stews were being peddled as much as hides and horns of the various animals that roamed the land, as well as weapons, fabric; more than she’d ever seen in her life. As her eyes wander, her feet follow.
The first to some floral, Eastern styled dresses. A Raen woman sits with a needle, embroidering the hem of one yet unfinished, and looks up with a smile. Her horns are long and curved, almost obstructing her vision; she is long aged in years.
“A beautiful dress for a beautiful girl, perhaps? Springs colours would suit you most wonderfully, i do think!”
The aged woman smiles to Od, whose cheeks colour as she gives a small gasp. She was not... Shy. But her lack of interaction outside the Qalli was certainly limited. She beams.
“They look lovely, and beautifully made! ♪
But i am here to visit, and have nothing to trade ♪”
The elder chuckles; amused by the singsong tone of Od’s voice. Her tail gives a slow thump against the rug she sat on, before reaching into a small box filled with small odds and scraps, and offering something out to her.
“Here, girl. Perhaps the next you visit, you will purchase something to match?”
A small flower. It is made from pale blue silk scraps, tiny white beads sewn into the middle to give it some structure. A small metal clasp allows it to be attached to something, to which Od immediately puts it into her hair.
“With your clothes, i am sure to impress! ♪
I will ask my parents for a dress! ♪ ”
She beams, and bows her head in a farewell response, as the woman does in kind. Her wide, dark eyes seek out her next location.
A group of children around her age. Some looked a little older, some younger; but all had weapons. A girl with verdant green hair offers a smile as she approaches.
“You’re new here, aren’t you? What tribe are you from?”
Before Od can respond, one of the boys turns his head. He’s already missing a horn, and at least two teeth.
“Huh? A new face?” He grins, wide and somewhat menacing, a well kept sword that seemed far older than he was at his hip. “Maybe she’ll put up more’ve a challenge than you two!”
Od stares, and pales as he approaches, before a small, fair haired girl steps in with nothing but silence and a scathing glare. Her clothes indicated she was a Qestir; judging by how they matched the colour of the guards.
“Alright, fine! I was only joking!” He replied, with a laugh that indicated he possibly wasn’t.
“You’re scaring her!” Says the first, who regards her with smile, and takes hold of a hand. “What’s your name? I am Enkh, of the Gharl!”
Od finally smiles, and responds with her usual cheer.
“I am Od of the Qalli, it’s nice to meet you all! ♪
Do you often come here to the market stalls? ♪”
There’s a little silence, before the response, as the group of mismatched children look between eachother. The boy is the first to offer his hand.
“I’m Ganbataar! Ganbataar of the Dotharl! And don’t you forget it! One day, i’m gonna be Khan, and i will be the one to sit on the Dawn Throne! I---Ow!”
His tirade is interrupted by a sharp elbow from the Qestiri girl, who simply offers a bow.
“And that’s Dagasi. Her dad is on guard, so we hang out here! Y’can join us, if you want to! We’re gonna go fishing later, wanna come?”
Before Od can even fill her lungs, the sound of her Mother’s voice splits the air.
“Od! Od! Where did you go ♪
Where is my daughter, does anyone know? ♪”
Od labours a sigh, and turns her head over her shoulder.
“I’d love to, but i don’t think i can... ♪
But next time, for sure! We’ll make it a plan! ♪”
Reluctantly, she runs back to her mother. Even if she did want to stay, she knows she’d never be allowed to. Mother never let her out on her own.
It was supposed to be their day together, the two siblings enjoying the last vestiges of summer together. There were plans; a trip out to the beach, some fishing, some swimming, some snow cones... but that was going to be after their treat. The bananas were carmelizing in the pan, the air heavy with the scent of browning butter and brown sugar, the warmth of rum soon to be burned off.
"Mind helping? We're going to need a little fire here, yeah?" The question was directed to the child who was currently draped over the counter, lazily feeding her bat a section of banana. "We'll get these nice and toasty, then put them over the vanilla ice cream. I got some ice crystals to sprinkle into yours, and some chocolate shavings, and..." The young woman paused, looking over to the younger girl with a head tilt. What, no interruption? No trying to get into chocolate early? The bananas were removed from the heat and set aside; abandoned for the moment as Teagan made her way over to the counter.
"Hey, hey, look at me.... Theya? Are you okay?" She reached out, her hand resting on the little girl's head for the briefest of moments before falling away. Where was her energy, her vibrance? Her attempts at stealing the kitchen knives?
The bundle of ruffles and lace and raven curls mumbled a response, raising her head to look up blearily. Had she been capable of sleep, Teagan would have swore she looked moment from nodding off. The little girl gave a small whine, hiding her face in the nest of her arms, her hand releasing the banana she's been holding, leaving it for the bat to start dragging off.
"Don't feel good." The words rolled out slowly, muffled by the cloth of her sleeves. Everything felt heavy and bright and no. No it wasn't happening, please not again. She knew this familiar fatigue, knew what it meant, but no. She didn't want to, she couldn't.... What if she got too big? What if her family didn't like her anymore? What if she became a threat? To them, to others... What if others saw her as a threat? Another whimper as the thoughts and worries whirled in her head, the previous plans of fun and banana foster forgotten.
Teagan was at a loss....voidsent couldn't get sick, could they? She hadn't heard of them getting sick, and she couldn't very well call her friends to ask. It was fine, it was fine; she could handle this. She had this.
"Hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay...Let's get you to the couch, yeah? I'll get you one of the soft blankets from my room, and you can have the ice crystals while we wait for your mom. I'll call her while you get comfy, yeah? It's going to be okay, Theya." She had to brace herself as she reached out, gently petting her siblings hair for a quick moment, for as long as she could bear.
N'theya barely registered the rest...something about her needing help, then being told to wait there a moment. 'It's okay', she said... what did she know? It wasn't fair, it wasn't it wasn't it wasn't it wasn't-
"It's going to be okay." Teagan took her hoodie off, draping the warm sky-blue material over the corpsecold child as she quietly pressed one of the ice crystals into the little one's grasp. "You're going to be okay, alright? I'll be right here with you... That's what sisters are for, yeah?" And even if there was no blood between them, that's what they were.
