Send me "Ours" for a drabble of our muses raising a child
The sun was rising over a small collection of houses in the mists, just south of the port city of Limsa Lominsa. Beachfront, a short, redwood dock extending out from the bleached sand into the churning waters. A beautiful, albeit small, boat, gently rose and fell with the lulling waves, moored to the dull crimson structure. The distant call of the gulls was the only sound marring the peaceful ebb of the tide. Such a scene, set to oil and canvas, would not seem out of place among the galleries of the upper decks of the coastal hub of trade on the island citystate of La Nocea.
The same, however, could not be said of the humble shelter that stood opposite the vessel, across the alabaster grains. Though not many signs of trouble shown from the outside, a fist sized hole in the south facing windowpane, small fractures webbing outward in the glass, the interior told an entirely different tale.
Within the stone and plaster walls, the scene seemed that of a hostile home invasion. Furniture lay topped in the living room, chair legs singed, couch missing chunks of material from it’s armrests, cushions thrown clear across the room. A lone oil painting hung from the wall of a handsome couple, smiling with a their child in the woman’s arms, however half of the male had been burned away, smoke rising from the canvas. Despite the destruction on display in the small house, however, silence permeated the air.
Rawkin Sat upon a child sized stool, painted a bright pastel pink with flowers, a gift from Beatin of the Carpinters guild. His elbows rested on his knees, a lit cigarette in between his lips, the smoke slowly escaping his barely parted lips. His eyes scan the room as sunlight begins to filter in through the windows, falling on the canvas painting. He had decided to have two made, just in case. Seems he was right to have. The couch could be repaired with some thread and elbow grease, something never in short supply in their house. The window? That would take more work. Not something he wanted to worry about now.
Finally, his eyes fall on the leatherbound chair in the corner of the room. In it sat Yui, eyes closed, small Au Ra chest rising and falling in her newfound slumber. Her ebony scales contrasted beautifully with her muted bronze skin, tip of her tail slowly swaying as it tangled from the seat, She was just as beautiful as the day he had met her. In her arms, after an entire night of screaming, crying, and the horrors brought about by natural Pyromancy, their little Au Ra daughter slept peacefully, Sanme was curled into a tiny ball nestled against her mother. He smiled at her, his heart warming despite the trouble she was.
Putting his cigarette out on his worn brown working Kecks, he pulled himself from the ground. Stuffing his right hand in his pocket, he moves a quietly as possible, picking up things misplaced, righting things overturned. After several minutes, he wiped his brow, satisfied with the clean up job. Leaning down, he kisses his wife on the top of her head. As he pulled away, a loud crash sounded behind him, eliciting a wince. The rest of the window had cracked, shattering to the ground. Sure enough, just bellow him, Sanme began to wail. He groans, head tilting back. Yui responds with a groan of her own, torn from sleep as she was. It was going to be a long day.
(sorry this took so long! Had a bit of writers block this weekend! @yui-moks @tinyqote @catina-kitska @vallem-in-eorzea ))
