There was a soft knock on the door, but typical of the individual entreating entry, no pause followed to await the door being opened or even an answering call. Instead, the door opened , ever so slightly, to admit the teeny catte through the narrowest possible crack. "I presume that the doctor is in〜?" Saerdha Dhavha lilted as he let the door fall closed behind him.
Lebeaux Desrosiers slid the paper partition aside to emerge from his ‘office’ area at the sound of the knock, his serene smile already in place. Though a dark brow quirked when he recognized the voice and soon after found Saerdha in his doorway. “I am indeed, though I was in the process of preparing to go out. That can wait though, it’s been some time since you’ve darkened my doorway.” He gestured for the miqo’te to come in.
And come in Saerdha did, bidden or otherwise. He'd hardly even stopped since he'd made his way through the door. "Your doorway is already quite dreary on its own. I rather think I manage to brighten it up〜 But offering that public service is not why I've come today." Once he was close enough, he brought up the forefinger of his right hand to poke directly into the elezen's navel through his shirt. "You have been avoiding me."
Lebeaux tilted his head slightly, as though entirely surprised by the accusation, though his smile didn’t falter at all. “Whyever would you think that.” He mused as he reached for the hand that poked into his bellybutton, not twitching in the least. Gloved fingers curled around the mage’s hand to lead him by it further on towards the window seat and the tea he had been enjoying as he prepared to leave. “Simply because I’ve not been to the Quill offices in some time. Or taking messages."
"Because," Saerdha explained, pulling the buckle of his sword belt to loosen it around his waist. Once it slipped free, he knelt down to set belt and sword to rest on the ground before hopping up to insinuate himself onto the elezen's lap. "You're afraid of me〜" He grinned as he made himself comfortable. "And you're certain that I am still cross with you."
Lebeaux moved his hands aside as Saerdha came to settle in, figuring it would be useless to resist or assist. The mage was perfectly capable of making his own way squarely onto the medic’s lap. He wasn’t foolish enough to assume the danger was passed simply because the sword had been set down. “Mm, well considering the circumstances. There isn’t a etiquette example to follow for ample ‘cooling off’ time after getting a thaumaturge’s mate gravely injured. I figured a moon or two would likely be sufficient. At least enough time for the sutures to come out and the wound to heal.” He looped his arms lightly around the other once he seemed satisfied that he had the most comfortable seat.
"Oh, you needn't have worried over it so much yourself. Rin is perfectly capable of getting himself into ample amount of trouble quite of his own accord. You can hardly be blamed for that. Your associate, however, will likely needs make regular examinations of his backside to ensure I've not set them alight if he should ever see me again〜"
“Oh? I suppose you found his bedside manner lacking?” To be fair, of the two, it was likely Geofferaut had the gentler touch when it came to the treatments themselves… but Lebeaux was the more personable of the two by a long shot. As scary of a thought as that was.
"No. It does not at all bother me that he was only slightly more personable than a stone wall. I've peers at the Ossuary who could likely learn a thing or two from him when it comes to interaction with other human beings. Its his methods I take umbrage at. I use sutures on my cadavers, and though I do take care to make them as aesthetically pleasing as possible," and by this he probably meant that he stiched his into little flowers or something else along those lines, "I would never use them on the living unless I had no other options available to me. Potions and magick are far and away more preferable."
“Suturing is a common method of treatment in chirurgery. Seeing as Rinha’li had just been exposed to the Void, it’s likely Geofferaut opted for analogue method to avoid over saturation of the patient or wound with aether and possibly inflaming other side effects.” Lebeaux explained, his tone a shade condescending.
"An argument I would take as more valid if he had not himself requested that you use your magicks to purify the wound as he worked. I'm rather given the notion that he is just a sadist." Saerdha countered.
“To purge the ill humours that can fester if left untreated…” Lebeaux paused as the other Ishgardian was called a sadist. He couldn’t help it, he laughed aloud at that. The sound sharp and devoid of real mirth. “You’ll have to excuse me, after being called that so many times myself, it’s an unusual change to have someone else be referred to as such.”
😍How would they react if the person they fell in love with turned out to be non-human? Asking for a friend.
This is a complex question so let’s examine a few scenarios.
Corrupted or Otherwise Touched By Terrible Powers From Beyond: Eh, nobody’s perfect. If pressed, would admit this is actually kind of a bonus.
Ridden By Symbiotic/Parasitic Spirit: Depends on the being, how tractable it is, if it’s always listening in on conversations, etc. Potentially awkward or dangerous. Not a dealbreaker. Again, shit happens and we’re not put on this earth to judge (mostly).
Literally a Demon Driving a Corpse Around Like A Car: Ill-advised, also extremely unsanitary. Still not quite out of the regret-later zone and into the no-fly zone I’m afraid, not that he would admit this out loud.
Actual Demonic Manifestation or Vision: What happens in the nightmarish hellscape between dreaming and waking stays in the nightmarish hellscape between dreaming and waking. Mostly. Hopefully. Rin absolutely knows better than this, which tragically does NOT mean he won’t.
Ashkin: Again, unsanitary and deeply socially unacceptable, but if they’re human-like enough to inspire romantic affection then possibly worth keeping in the list. I mean, that guy who plays Triple Triad out in the desert next to where all the mythril nodes are seems pretty nice.
Advanced Mammet or Other Construct: Would probably result in an immediate termination of the relationship in favor of figuring out how it’s made.
One Of Those Ishgardian Vampire Warlock Guys From The RDM Quests: Rin is more likely to date one of these guys than a regular Isghardian, let’s be completely real here.
A Dragon: I mean they put up that big mural in Falcon’s Nest of this, it can’t be that bad.
Rinha'li Dhavha, hardly for the first time, stumbles back through the front door splattered in ichor and bleeding freely from self-inflicted wounds. He's shucked off his jacket and wrapped his arm with it to keep the wounds covered, but the hasty retreat back to home base has re-opened the ragged wound and blood is starting to seep into the fabric. He stays on his feet, but wobbles unsteadily from time to time -- prompting him to occasionally grab onto the nearest object for balance. Sometimes this ends up being Lebeaux's arm, much to his dislike
Lebeaux Desrosiers followed alongside Rinha’li through door to Quill. Holding it open with his free hand. The other occupied with a handful of the back of Rinha’li’s shirt. More or less holding him by the ‘scruff’ to help keep him upright without risking the flawless white of his jacket’s sleeves. Despite his best efforts the miqo’te still occasionally lurched over, seeming intent on passing out yet managed to right himself after catching the elezen’s arm. Leaving blood and dirt smudged fingerprints on those precious ruffles. More annoyed at the stains than the situation he glanced around. “Any place in particular we can use?”
“D-downstairs, there's a t-t-table-” Rinha'li doesn't like being dragged around, but unfortunately cannot really protest at the moment.
Geofferaut Derosiers immediately began scanning the room for escape routes and threats, in that order. "I require alcohol and a flame."
Rinha'li points to a corner cabinet in the thankfully empty coffeehouse. "C-clear spirits," he explains.
“Hot water and clean cloths, as well.” Lebeaux suggested, tacking onto the shopping list, turning the miqo’te to start him towards the way down the stairs.
Rinha'li staggers down the stairs and collapses gratefully into the chair at the end of of the hall. “Hot water, t-there's a kettle. Cloth too.”
Geofferaut spent a moment sniffing a few of the available spirits and chose the strongest to bring with him.
Lebeaux helped Rinha’li into the chair before taking a step back to inspect the damage to his sleeves. Frowning briefly at the smudges. “Geofferaut, would you begin cleaning the wounds. I’ll go put the kettle on.” He suggested almost cheerfully, turning on his heel to go find the items in the café area upstairs.
Atlan Lanning had been studying in the basement office when he heard multiple people coming down the stairs. He recognized Rinha'li's voice immediately, but he didn't like the distress in it. "Rin? Are you...?" His question was cut off when they came stumbling by and Rinha'li was placed in the chair at the end of the hall. "What happened!?"
Geofferaut sat and mechanically unpacked supplies from somewhere in his robes. A small assortment of needles. Two weights of thread. Small, wickedly sharp scissors. Two small vials of clear liquid that joined the purloined spirits. He turned dead eyes to the stranger. "You will bring a lit candle to the table."
Lebeaux paused in his departure, his smiling growing slightly when he noticed Atlan. “Oh, perfect. I was going to ask if your boy was in. Atlan, fetch hot water and clean cloths as well.” He turned his attention over to the items being laid out.
Geofferaut turned his gaze to the bleeding subject. "You will lay your arm on the table with the wound turned up." Geofferaut also had a task for the newly unoccupied Lebeaux Desrosiers. "You will aetherically cleanse the subject. If able."
"...I guess you both can answer me when I get back." Atlan didn't like leaving Rinha'li there, even if he did know Lebeaux. He quickly left them to fetch the items the man he assumed would be helping the miqo'te had asked for. "...I'll be close by, Rin. Yell if you need me, otherwise I'll be right back."
Lebeaux sniffed slightly at the order. Yet since he had passed off his last task to poor hapless Atlan it left him with nothing better to do. He settled primly onto the rug beside the table and took Rinha’li’s wrist. Extending the arm and laying it on the table so the forearm was turned upwards to display the full extent of the injuries, under a drying layer of blood, ichor and desert dirt.
Rinha'li winces as Atlan comes through the door, looking quite distressed. He was hoping he would avoid explanations. He lays his arm on the table, palm up, to expose the ragged furrows left by a corpse's unkempt nails. Carefully, he clenches and unclenches his hand, gritting his teeth. “ Atlan, I'm--I'm f-fine-” Rinha'li does not look fine
Atlan came rushing back as quickly as he could to avoid putting out the candle he held in one hand and the items Lebeaux had asked for in the other. He carefully set each one before Geoff, eyes locked on Rinha'li's wound. "...You don't have to say anything right now, Rin."
Geofferaut slides two of the cloths, layered, across the table with only a perfunctory command, "Lift," before sliding them under the injured limb.
"...Just because that's true doesn't mean the current situation isn't bad." Atlan suggested.
Rinha'li takes a moment to realize the "lift" is a command and is addressed to him. “It's...it's n-not as...as b-bad as--as-- it l-looks. Aether-sick.”
“You’re not doing him a favor by lying to him.” Lebeaux offered pleasantly enough as he leaned forwards to inspect the damage. There was quite a bit of physical dirt and grim to be cleaned away. “Keep your hand relaxed, flexing like that will only make the corruption travel further.” He took one of the clean clothes, dipping it into the warm water and squeezing it over the injury before dabbing lightly. Clearing away the dried filth so it could be sanitized with the alcohol after. The dirtied water being soaked up by the cloth Geoff had placed underneath.
Rinha'li hisses between his teeth as water hits open wound.
Geofferaut addresses the liquor bottle he was readying. "The subject will probably survive. The limb will probably remain functional. Lebeaux Desrosiers will not touch the wound. Lebeaux Desrosiers will aetherically cleanse the subject."
Lebeaux glanced up, unsure whether to be impressed or annoyed by how chatty Geofferaut had become now that their subject was no longer a corpse but living being. Touching the wound was half the fun. Nonetheless he smiled primly and set the bloodied cloth aside. Now that he could see the edges of the cash a little more clearly he curled his fingers and then spread them out, channeling aether through his rings to sink the spell into the torn skin. Magic seeping through veins and bloodvessels to seek out the spreading ill humors and drag them back to the wounds to drain them away.
Geofferaut waited for the subject's arm to be released, frozen, staring. Once it was cleared of interfering hands, he upended the booze bottle, giving the open, ragged wound an extremely generous pour.
"Lebeaux, how did this happen?" Atlan asked.
Rinha'li keeps his eyes fixed on the magical process in grim fascination, his arm shaking. "I'm n-not...lyin--Atlan, really, it's--" And then he is taken entirely by surprise when Geoff upends a healthy dose of sanitizing alcohol all over his lacerated arm without warning. He YELPS loudly in surprise and pain.
Geofferaut set the newly empty bottle aside and plucked his gloves off and tucked them away. Long, lean hands criss-crossed in overlapping webs of finely lined new, old, older, and nearly gone scars selected a sinisterly sharp needle and threaded it. "The subject will remain still."
“Well, I took Rinha’li out into the field for a little investigative work to further research Geofferaut and myself are working on.” Lebeaux gestured with the hand not currently casting to the other elezen. “This didn’t go quite according to plan but here we all are.” He smiled sweetly. “If it helps at all, these wounds are self-inflicted.” He didn’t bat an eyelash as the yelping began.
“A nameday is a celebration of one’s continued existence on this wretched plane and a survival through another turn of its miseries. It calls for the sort of good cheer, merry making and carrying on that requires and entire sennight’s worth of confessions to absolve after the day is done. Why, in my youth, I would drag the occasion out for two or three days. Yet here you are letting yours go to waste.” - Lebeaux Desrosiers, on the importance of namedays
Thank you to everyone who showed up to make sure the Golden Fox’s resident cinnamon-roll-kitty was surrounded by good people on his big day.
Gilbert Viscart seemed thrown, even convinced, by Lebeaux's logic though. He stared at the table. "I think Miqo'te can find Halone too, if they believe", he muttered.
Qahs’il Zheron shrugged to Lebeaux. "At least, Menphina isn't tormenting us like your god is tormenting Gilbert!
“If they so desire to cast off their heathen ways and turn to Her path, they may some day work towards something like redemption. But consider Saerdha, I think he is quite content in his ‘faith’. Such that it is.” Lebeaux Desrosiers paused and looked over to Qahs’il, still smiling sweetly. “No, she’ll leave the tormenting to the spiteful trees and childish spirits of the Shroud.”
Sarto’rien Faltomyri growled and lay a hand upon the table. His right eye was glowing a deep crimson, a near-blistering heat enveloped their table; however his voice was calm. "Your xenophobic-ly hate-filled religion should nary be forced upon others; your ridiculous, snobbish belief doesn't rob people of their position as people, nor of the right to live their lives as they wish.” He said, turning to Lebeaux. “I’d daresay you may be less a person than any Miqo’te I’ve ever met.” He was calm-looking, but his other hand was clenched, knuckles white.
Gilbert swallowed, looking between Sarto'rien and Lebeaux, not sure what to make of this, feeling obviously conflicted.
Qahs'il stares at Sarto, sliding his stool juuuuust a couple of inch further away.
Lebeaux turned to slowly shift his gaze over towards Sarto. The wintery chill of his stare meeting the hyur’s mismatched glare. His lips remained curled in a small smile but he did lift his chin a bit more haughtily as he observed the man. “You misunderstand entirely. Cast that befouled gaze elsewhere.” He explained calmly. “I’m making the argument in favor of leaving these other races to their own devices. As we simply cannot expect more of them.” He noted, gloved fingers lacing together as he let his attention settle on that eye. “I would not waste good brandy, nor salvation on them.” He declared, the subject seeming to stick somewhere sensitive. Rather than remove it, the elezen opted to dig that thorn in a little deeper and wiggle it.
Gilbert frowns. "With respect, you're wrong." he says, staring back at Lebeaux. "Halone is there for all who love bravery and the fight against evil. She is there for all who brandish a blade with Her prayer on their lips. Be they Miqo'te or man. Rich or poor. Surely She would not favour those whose blood is tainted by that of others over the other races. If anything it should be the other way around."
Qahs’il simply stares between one and the other, ears flinging in their directions, sliiiightly worried about how this is going to end.... and not peeping a word.
Sarto’rien felt none of the chill of the others gaze, such was the intent of his own fury in that moment. "You speak of leaving them to their own devices, a commendable thing in theory. And yet you intend to belittle their devices, humiliate and despoil all they do for your own sick satisfaction. Your religion is the worst of Eorzea; it seeks not to aid or raise, but simply to oppress, which is does constantly throughout its bloodied history.” He said, his tone becoming a little less civil as he spoke. “Even the filth of Ul’dah pales in comparison to the blood-soaked streets of Ishgard. None hate those deemed ‘below’ more than our people. They’ve answered for it, in part, but a deeper reckoning is needed, judging by your general manner.” He said, then turned to Gilbert. “Even the insufferably naïve is better than the snobbishly hateful.”
Gilbert rises to his feet, one hand on the table: "Worship of the Fury is not about oppression, it is about reveling in the spirit of battle. The opinions of Lebeaux are not driven by Her tenets but by his birth. Thousands of years of lies, perpetuated by the dragon-tainted, leading to our drowning in snow and being forced to submit to peace with dragons. It is by such snobbery that we have lost her favour. Not gained it."
Lebeaux glanced aside only briefly towards Gilbert, the expression decidedly… disappointed. He had been under the impression that they were of a mind but it seemed like the Reformist ideals had corrupted the lad as well. Yet as the tiny hyur’s tone shifted he turned his attention back towards him before he could expression any of that. “Say what you will of Ishgard and her people, it’s plain to see that you’ll not listen to reason.” He declared, oblivious to the irony. He raised a hand, long fingers framing his own eye on the side that the other’s burned red. “I’ve seen something like that before, that corruption that burns through those who cast off Her love and submit themselves to the darkness. Ones not even worth reason nor salvation but perhaps the mercy of a swift end.”
Gilbert's head turned swiftly towards Lebeaux. "What are you saying?"
Sarto’rien visibly scoffed at that. "From what I hear, t'was the lies of the elite that created war with the dragons. Peace is always in favour, never against it." He said, eyes glaring at Gilbert, before he once-more rounded on Lebeaux. "Ishgard is a state that's been run into the ground by its corrupt faith. This reform is a step in the right direction, however; I don't believe it's a big enough one." He near spat by this point. When the framing came, his eyes widened a moment. “My eye is nary one born of corruption, but of magic. A symptom of a foolish mistake, nothing mor-“ He paused when the mention of a swift end came. The Thaumaturge licked his lip and moved himself whole-body to face the other. “If your god IS real, then t’was she who cast me off. Me and millions of others.” He said, before lips curled into a smirk. “And you’re more than welcome to try and be my end. It wouldn’t have your desired outcome, however, I assure you.”
Gilbert looked back at Sarto'rien. He had some things to say about what the other was saying, but the threat of force made him change his mind. "If either of you take up force against the other, you shall have to deal with my blade as well." He looked at Lebeaux in particular. "Submission to dragons may be an abomination, but here in this pub, we should have peace."
Lebeaux exhaled a cruel sort of laugh. “You mistake me, I would not grant you that mercy should it come to it.” He declared as he rose to his feet, glancing between them. “Not to dragons. To the darkness. The oathbreakers’s corruption and heretic’s blade. The man stinks of forbidden magicks, same as a dark knight.” He took his hand away from his own face and gestured at the other mage. “As well as declaring for himself that he had no love for the Fury nor any semblance of Faith. Which makes him all the less a candidate to be preaching as to how to fix Ishgard. A state founded on its Faith and the purity of its blood. Now that both count for little and less it will fall to the same corruption as the rest. All of those undeserving ‘castoffs’.” His smile grew to a cruel grin as the hyur faced him.
“Intending to practice your swordsmanship? Dressed like that?”
"I cannot tell if you simply think it inadvisable, or if you doubt it's even possible."
“A bit of both, to be honest. I’ve been accused of bad form for flashing aether during a duel. I can’t imagine the scandal were duelists to start flashing that around.”
An unlikely band of scholars, researchers and adventurers band together at the behest of a bastard to delve into the confusing field of Theological artifact investigations... through shaky masonry, curious aevis, Aetheric anomalies and clumsy voidsent.
Only realizing well after the fact that they had never actually settled on their compensation for the excursion. While Lebeaux was probably sitting comfortably in his apartment sipping tea and laughing all the while.
