#mintiwol

[minti-tales]

"Do you think she'll turn out well as a Temple Knight? Our ward, I mean."

Angelique, majordomo of House Treleaux, gave a grunt of acknowledgement, her head still buried in the book she was reading. A True Account of the Foundation of Ishgard was a riveting read indeed, if the torn sleeves and cracked spine were any indication. "We should be expecting a visit from the Count de Fortemps by week's end. That Haurchefaunt boy *insists* on visitation hours with our ward, despite protestations. I say, she is bound to be noticed by someone outside our confidence, Lady Sabbatine, if she allows this, this unchivalrous behavior to continue."

"Angelique, I asked you-"

"I don't suppose you've had a moment to read the letters our House receives from the Church? Horrid things, all of them, accusing us of 'heresy.' Heresy! Can you believe that? Hypocrites and dragon lovers, the lot of them, if what's in this book is true. I should very much like to march up to the Archbishop, in front of Halone and the congregations, and-"

Sabbatine put a gloved hand on her friend's shoulder and squeezed. "<Darling>."

The book snapped shut.

"<Breathe for a moment, won't you? Just breathe.>"

Angelique closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, then out, sending clouds of steam up into the freezing evening air. It was cold tonight. Every night in Ishgard was bitterly cold.

"Our Minuet. She's expressed an interest in becoming a Temple Knight. Certain parties even heard that she aspires to be an Azure Dragoon, of all things." Lady Sabbatine smiled softly. "There's bound to be some good for the House in that, is there not?"

Angelique frowned and wrinkled her nose. This could be something to help the House, the first good thing to happen since their arrival in Coerthas. "Maybe. I'll need time to look into the application process, who to make good friends with. If she *does* become a knight, the house would have an argument for legitimacy, for existing. A living guard against the Church, so that you might continue whatever it is you're doing with that stone of yours."

"Perfectly good research." The jet black stone, tucked away in a hidden pocket of Sabbatine's armor, pressed hard against the elezen's breast. Its etchings were like red hot fingers digging into her skin. Truly an occult artifact, were the Church to find it.

"Pray, continue your reading. Don't mind my idle musings," Sabbatine said with a smile.

"As you wish, my Lady."

---

(Credit goes to @saesama for helping to make this screenshot happen!)

[minti-tales]

Minti and Pomodoro/Dante (The Viera shaped Voidsent of Y'zel's.)

CW: Body horror

Still got stitches on my ring finger, so here's a 100 word story. I swear I'm taking it easy, but a writer must write.

Dreamscape:

Dreams are meant to be impossible. So why was she seeing this shadow in tattered robes on her ceiling, with ears like hers, and claws like hers, and so many teeth? Too many sharp things, circling a mouth cracked wide open, licked by a stretched tongue the color of bruises. Horrible red eyes inside its maw. Hail and well met, it croaked. I am called Pomodoro. Shall I consume your forfeit soul, where you lie? 

An attempt to scream came out as a scared gurgle, as the Ascian’s tongue wrapped around Minti’s neck. How many masters do you serve, really? 

[minti-tales]

Lost Things

There were no feathers on the windowsill today. Same as yesterday, and the day before, and the day before. 

It had been like this for a good number of weeks, now. Still skies, not a touch of burning heat. No flute songs to keep a hard-working Free Company like Gage Acquisitions awake at odd hours of the night. Just the sound of the massive windmill near the Sultana’s Breath turning in the wind, whooshing as it cut the air, occasionally punctuated by the laughter of miqo’te girls enjoying an evening dip in the Goblet’s hot tubs.  

It would appear that the attentions of an auspice are fickle, indeed. 

Come away with me, my love, she said on one of her nightly visits. Suzaku, the great firebird from the East. Stay with me at the shrine. You will want for nothing. I will endeavor to make every day better than the last and surround you with only the sweetest songs. You may help guard the shrine if that would sway your heart, even a little. 

Don’t you love me, Minti? Don’t you love me enough to come away? 

Put them out of your mind. They don’t love you as much as I.  

The auspice knew where and when to touch. Her wings were all enveloping and warm. She was generous. Their nights together should have been perfect. 

Don’t you love me.  

Minti did. But a mortal’s love and dedication can only go so far. 

The day was beginning to lose its luster, as was the last feather, left on a blanket outside Minti’s house. Before, it was vibrant oranges and reds and yellows, all collapsing into each other, over and over, hot to the touch. Examined closely with care, it was clear that the poor thing was terribly coarse. Why did she hold on to it? What was it supposed to mean? 

In one version of this story, the rabbit would give up her worldly possessions and dwell in the firebird’s house forever. She would be no different than Soroban, a kojin subject to the auspices’ whims and training, except there might be more intimate allowances. Twelve above know she’d live long enough to see the need to stall Koryo’s emergence. A well-trodden story, with a wise, long-lived envoy to the outside world gathering heroes – the small-town favorite, the voice of reason, the wisecracking sidekick, the love interest - to calm the aramitama once more and save the day. How lovely. Perfect. Tenzen reunited with their lover. 

But Minti was not that rabbit. She didn’t live in a storybook. And, most importantly, she was not Tenzen. Harsh facts to bring before a being whose aramitama led them to be blinded by whatever feelings they once cherished for a kindhearted man.  

Night chased after Day once more, leaving the viera little else to do but go inside her home and take a bath before bed.  

It was a nice bath, crafted in the Eastern style by Gage Acquisition’s resident home designer. Heated stones, scented soap, candles that never lost their wax – all things that should have made for a calm, relaxing soak. Tonight, it seemed, had room only for lost and fanciful things.  

[minti-tales]

WIP Tag Game!

Make a new post and post your latest line from your WIP & tag as many people as there are words.

(I was tagged by @autumnslance. Thank you!)

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There were no feathers on the windowsill today. Same as yesterday, and the day before, and the day before. 

It had been like this for a good number of weeks, now. Still skies, not a touch of burning heat. No flute songs to keep a hard-working Free Company like Gage Acquisitions awake at odd hours of the night. Just the sound of the massive windmill near the Sultana’s Breath turning in the wind, whooshing as it cut the air, occasionally punctuated by the laughter of miqo’te girls enjoying an evening dip in the Goblet’s hot tubs. 

It would appear that the attentions of an auspice are fickle, indeed.

---------

A bunch of people I would've tagged were tagged already, but here goes:

@mremaknu @trixcuomo @chickaburra @darbiebot @kharrisdawndancer @saltsparkle @turning-through-the-never

[minti-tales]

I remember keeping watch, a long time ago.

She was there, at your grave. She loves you still.

I should have stayed longer, but it didn't feel right.

The night passes, the snowstorm ends, and I remain here.

I love you too, still.

@ladyofvoss