FFXIV Write 2021, Prompt #1 "Foster."
FFXIV Write 2021 entry, prompt #1 “Foster.”
The Book of Thursby: Scions of Numenor “Fetch and Carry.”
“Boredom is the birthmother of frivolity. Given enough time a sufficiently unengaged people will give rise to the same trinkets and distractions and the craft which makes them possible.”
-Ossmira Miegs, “Technospectives.”
Ches sifted her way through the dirt with a soft brush from her kit until reaching solidly packed soil, hardened for a millenia or longer. She replaced the brush to her leather dig kit and withdrew a small rock hammer. The head was new to the handle, made of pure Mythril from the east. It was a gift of sorts from a close associate who was bound to a pack of private mariner soldiers for hire. There was as story, even a song about the broken hammer heads his kindred. They were foster children to a venerated woman named Mother Maxwell. Not unlike herself.
The hammer made short work of the condensed dirt and after further work she came upon her quarry. Drawing it from a pocket of soil, which had produced a form fitting pocket that protected it for until she found it, she packed her kit and wrapped the strange object in an oil rag and deposited it in her long leather duster. Satisfied her work was done, she adjusted the rim of her leather fedora, turned and spied a ring of men in the hall between her and the exit. “Chocopoo.” she muttered.
Baxter Twinkinryker IV, “The Quad,” as his kindred Lalafel dubbed him, favored a tweed jacket with leather elbow pads and a rust hued fedora favored by his compatriots. His broom like mustache was not common but seemed to complete the quasi academic look he favored.
He awaited Ches’ returned quietly outside the archway to the ruins. The fat chocobo he rented from the keeper in Ul’Dah cooed and pecked upward at the bait at the end stick riders would use to direct it along, hoping for a random bite.
At last the rapid footfalls from within the entrance faded as Ches came in a tremendous rush out of it. As she passed him and began to mount the Chocobo he asked, “Was it there? Did you get it there?”
Not stoping, She lept upon the saddle and reaching down she grasped Baxter by his tastefully matched tweed vest and flung him into the rumble seat behind her. “Yes it was, yes I did. We go home now” Ches said, pulling the direction stick from it’s mount, spurring the Chocobo and reeling it to the left. Baxter could hear the report of weapons and feet rising from the entrance to the ruins again as the great and fat bird lunged forward and away. At once there was a sharp crack, then another, and the arch of the entrance collapsed. Standing in his little seat behind Ches Baxter looked aghast at the runs all about seeming to fall pel mel. “What did you do?” he asked. “Making friends and influencing people.” Ches replied.
