#ooji'a

[marjiandco]

Prompt #12: Fingers Crossed

Word Count: 497 - end of Stormblood, Estinien’s not the only person worried over the Warrior of Light

Tw: blood and bone breaking

Feet fly across the field, barely holding aloft as he trips over broken bodies and magitek.

Where, where, where, where is she?

He whips his staff around like a child's bat, conjuring stones larger than his head to whip across those fool enough to step towards him. Thrice damn his sister, and these petulant scion's that throw her again and again into a fray she should have no part in. She has to take a break, at least for him, he hasn’t had a smoke in so long he’s beginning to wonder if he can just shove some grass into a bit of parchment for release. 

He slides over gravel, twisting his ears at each new noise. Bullets and shouts, the sound of fire reaching him after its heat. His dark grey-blue skin burns, his throat choking from ash long before he can be punctured by an enemy. He shouldn't even be here, he should be at home with his kit. Keep her safe, not some grown ass adult.

“Too late, alas.”

Ooji'a twists around so fast he feels a pang of a cramp in his neck. That slippery voice. Orange eyes scan frantically before widening on a scene near 200 yalms away from him.

“Shit! Fuck!”

He magicks wind beneath his feet. His sister Marji was on her knees, a blank look on her face, arms dangling at her side as Zenos moves forward. A spider who did not think to chase down its prey, for it is already woefully tied to its web.

“Your weapon gods dammit.” He shouted, though she makes no move to obey.

I won't lose her. An image flashes across his mind. Brawny men barring down on them, his barely 8 summers old heart hammering against his chest. A hummingbird caught in a cage that would rather abandon its sibling than face whatever fate their captor had in store. Not this close, not again.

As Zenos towers over her, he brings down his blade just as Ooji'a juts his staff forward and creates a blinding light. He crashes painfully into the vacant Warrior of Light, his breath gone from his lungs as he hears a strange crunch and the twang of metal against rock. He gulps in air as he raises himself to his hands and knees above Marji before falling back down. He drops down on one side and yowls.

My wrist, Menphina's left tit I've broken my wrist.  

“Another enters the fray?”

Ooji'a turns to face Zenos, scooting before Marji, his broken left arm cradling against his body and his weapon crossing before them. He might be able to get a shield up long enough to pick her up, or drag her, but what about-

Just then, a blur of black armor slams into Zenos. Sword against lance, long white hair dirtied by stray flecks of blood.

“Who-” Ooji'a groans before a bark of a voice interrupts him.

“Get Marji out of here! This meat suit is mine.” The elezen growls.

He didn't have to tell the miqo'te man twice. If he attacks Garleans then there's no reason to bother him. With a haphazard shift of his staff to the crook of his arm, Ooji'a manages to sidle under Marji's waist and lift her with his good shoulder. Adrenaline is the only thing keeping his legs moving, and in a blur he manages to find the Eorzean front and transfer his limp sister to safety before moving to his own wounds.

[marjiandco]

Father’s Day Reprisal

J'baro's ears perk up at the sound of a frantic buzzing. Looking around beneath the canopies of trees, he spots a sweaty, irate moogle. He hears its voice but doesn't listen, keen on taking in the sight of a creature he's only heard in tales. It's much smaller than he thought. Out of curiosity (and a little bit of brutish tactlessness) he grabs its pom and squeezes. Soft but solid beneath the fur. He chuckles when it lashes out with a kick, and throws some sort of package at him. He waves the thing off as it disappears back into the shadows of the forest.

“To Pasun...for the journey.'' he reads.

The writing on the tag is written in what someone would thing cursive Common would look like if it was described to them. The paper around it was torn on one end then glued back together with too much tape. Guess all that time adventuring didn't leave room to learn how to gift wrap.

“Who's that from?” the man to his left asked.

“My kit.” J'baro still felt giddy saying that. His kit, J'Mahrji. The kit who came back from the dead to become the hero of Eorzea.

He quickly ripped the thing open then and there, and inside were a pair of good boots. Fine leather on the inside with hard ribbed grips on the bottom. He held up his bare foot and measured it; perfect match. He chuckled to himself, their last conversation was her fretting about how they would walk to their new land without shoes. A nice gesture, though he knew he'd only wear them when she was around.

                            _____________

Count Edmont de Fortemps closed the door to his private chambers. In the midst of rectifying old rules and speaking amongst the high and low courts, he found himself gladdened by the isolation. He felt taxed after the days events, and with Aymeric off to the front, his duties seem tenfold. His relief was replaced by shock, and then a softness in his belly. On his writing desk, a crude display of a gift sat. No doubt delivered by his children for the upcoming father's eve. His cane clicked over the rug, and standing in front of it, surprise colored him again. The small handwritten note said:

To Count Edmont. Happy Father's eve.

-Marji Wahluuk

Carefully he placed his cane down as he eased himself into his chair. His form sank comfortably enough into the old thing, and with deft hands, he opened the package. Inside was a brand new quill, and to his delight a Vanu Vanu feather as the base. The ink was of the finest craftsmanship. So Mistress Wahluuk had heard his complaints of his diminishing ink supply. To have a real Vanu Vanu feather to go with it was a joyful surprise. He must thank her, and have her pass on his thanks to the beastman who gave her, him, such a wonderful gift.

      _____________

Ooji'a took a drag of his cigarette, watching numbly at the red light burned bright then diminished after each breath. His room is dark save for the wretched light of the city barging into his apartment. He'll have to buy better curtains than these moth eaten pieces of shite. He kicks his feet onto the coffee table, paying no mind to the bottles of beer rolling of in hasty retreat. Should cut his nails, he thinks. He wriggles his toes and coughs, the burning, putrid smell of alcohol, smoke, and uncleaned teeth scratch at his senses. He's been good, but on this day, he deserves to slide back into old habits. It's his right, and damn anyone to the seventh layer of hell who'd criticize him for it.

There's a knock at the door. Ooji'a hunches over in his chair, tail flicking in irritation. After a minute, whoever at the door hasn't taken the hint; the pounding at the door was already switching him from numb, to pissed the fuck off. He launches himself out of his chair, spitting his butt onto his long singed rug and stumbles to the door.

“The f-”

He stopped. As he swings open the door to punch whoever dares bother him, he sees a little white thing hurry away, a small, ugly package on his welcome mat. He contemplates leaving the thing, but curiosity urges him to lean over and take it. He holds tight to the door frame with one hand and picks it up. Inside, he drops it onto his chair, rummaging through his mess to find a lantern. Leaving the light low for his keeper eyes, he digs his nails into the side of it and tears the box in two.

“Menphina's tits Marj.” He mumbles to himself.

Inside there was a small music box. Just like the one they had when they were little. He counted the seconds as he reached his hand to open it, careful to touch only when the room spins the least amount. He sinks to the floor and places it between his knees, listening to the sounds of happier memories.

[marjiandco]

Transitions into Stormblood

Marji was nearly done packing up her room. She packed a few necessities for her trip: 3 pairs of shirts, 2 pairs of pants, a pair of small clothes, and her well worn travel boots. She didn’t leave behind her memories though, and rifled through all that she was leaving behind. 

Everything from her Ishgardian travel were folded with care in her small dresser. Her long coat for cold (read: daily) weather, her thigh boots, the first dress Haurchefant had presented her, and the de Fortemps armor. She smiled as she folded the chainmail arms over each other, a small feeling of peace in her chest as she closed the drawer. Another chapter over, and, surprisingly, she gets to choose where the next will go.

She kicks over a pile of clothes on the floor and finds her replacement grimoire. Not all of her could escape unscathed from fighting Nidhogg, and she had her poor Apocalypse turned to ash at the end. She examined her new weapon. A handsome tome to be sure, with sufficient aertherial pull, but she felt no connection to it. She could tell her magic wasn’t as strong, and she was relying more and more on her trance to get through a fight. She frowns at it, thinking. She had this nagging feeling she would one day succumb to her trance. A vessel for the half-truth of a primal. It’s been a spell since she struggled with it, and now she could wish for it to happen and it will obey, maybe one day she’ll do the same.

She shakes her head. There’s more to do than fret about what could happen. She clicks it into her belt holder and stuffs her new pen inside, making sure it was wedged tight before she continued to clean her mess. Another hour and she’ll be finished packing her rucksack with loose clothes, journals, scrolls, and food enough for a long journey. She took her own clothes off, the last remnants of her time in Ishgard with her black jacket lined with fleece on the hood and stuffed them into her dresser. She sat on her bed behind her in her small clothes, pushing her black and white hair off her shoulders and looks down at her own body.

She had just recently had her 24 summers birthday, and she sure if she looked hard enough she could find that many scars on her body. She pinches her side and feels the dip of skin between her fingers where she was hit by the so called Warrior of Darkness. It’s already healed over white thanks to her brother Ooji and her seeker tribe’s healers. It was a reminder. Her decision to go back to her tribe on her father’s side. She wanted to be with him and learn what kind of person he is, or she could have been. J’Mahrji, daughter of J’baro Tia.

She let her skin go and hops back to her feet, rummaged through her closet and found an outfit from her sailing days. It’d be perfect to wear out in the heat. She slips on the capri pants, her cross top and a pair of boots, ties her hair up, and slings her bag onto her back. She’s ready.

[marjiandco]

📂

Ooji’a, Marji’s brother, wields his  white mage’s staff like a baseball bat. He knows he’s supposed to do everything at range but he just can’t help himself and runs straight into any fight.

Thanks for the ask @captain-rez!

[marjiandco]

Quick post of Marji’s family so I can reference it later

[marjiandco]

2. Do they have a prized possession? What is it?

This one I'm keeping to Marji. When she found her brother and learned about her mother's side of the family, she found out there's a tradition of mask making. Someone in the family, and close to you makes you a mask based on how either they understand you or their wishes for the future. Since Ooji is the only living person she knows on her mother's side, he made her a mask based on the deer in the forest.

To her face he says its because of her being a symbol of protection of Eorzea, and of familial bonds.

Thanks for the ask @captainkurosolaire!

[marjiandco]

🐱 \(°-°)

🐱 - A time they found a stray animal

“hm...there was one time I was in Limsa. I was waiting for my friend Marji to show up at this dive bar. She SO wanted to see this band playing there. Said it was someone she knew.” he snorts to himself and waves a hand.

“Anyways, there I was standing around in this crappy part of town when I just so happen to look down an alleyway. I see this big pair of orange orbs in this overflowing garbage heap and, being a man of curious nature, I went to investigate. Lying on this particularly smelly bag was a stray cat. I don’t think he noticed me at first. His orange eyes just sort of stared at nothing, and, get this, it was chewing on the end of a cigarette!

“This poor creature! I thought to myself. So hungry as to find the leafs of tobacco something akin to food. I knocked the thing right out of the strays mouth. And what I get is the animal’s full attention. It was hissing and spitting up a storm but seemed too weak to really try and harm me, so I snuck it inside for some water and whatever real food was nearby. I saved the creatures life that day.” Raiku pretends to wipe a tear away.

In the background you see a miqo’te man seething with rage. “Stop calling me a stray you twiced damned sack of chocobo dicks.”

Raiku turns around and waves “Oh look its him now! Healthier lookin’ now isn’t he? Marji’s sure to be pleased her new brother looks good.”

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Thanks for the ask @adventures-in-random!

[marjiandco]

💞- A memory about their children (ask-popoto)

Ooji’a stared down at her through her curly brown hair. She’s definitely a Wahluuk, he thought to himself as he used his free hand to pat it down. She snored lightly against his shoulder, arms tucked underneath her against his chest, but he could still feel her heart. It thumped steadily, but with each pause he felt himself tense as he waited for the next beat.

She was three years old, and he still  thought he wasn’t ready to be her father. Which is strange, to him, since he impulsively took her from her mother to spend the day with her. A coil wrapped and unwrapped in his belly at the thought of her: S’rhestra. He knew he ran with a tough crowd, but he wouldn’t let them touch her. Not her, not their baby, and still she saw fit to keep little S’Rhin away from him.

He blew out a steady breath. don’t wake up the kit, he thought. Better sit down. He gingerly moved through his apartment to avoid landmines of noise; old food wrappers, empty bottles of ale, burnt spoons. He paused. Those spoons had to go. He shouldn’t, if he got rid of them, of the hidden packages of sand, maybe…maybe S;rhestra will let him be in S’Rhin’s life. He wouldn’t have to sneak her away anymore. He wouldn’t have to pay S’Rhin’s babysitters to let him see his daughter.

Tomorrow. He’ll deal with them tomorrow.

@ask-popoto