Nive’s shrill hiss echoed slightly in the room they were in, bouncing around the walls of the Rising Stones.
“Sorry,” Y’mhitra murmured, but she was too distracted to give a genuine apology. “Stay still, I almost have it.”
Nive nodded and bit a knuckle, her fang worrying the skin and threatening to draw blood. “Do all tattoos hurt so much?” She asked plaintively, the sound coming out muffled from the finger in her mouth.
“Not really, no,” Y’mhitra said apologetically. “Since we’re using aetheric ink instead of regular ink, and with the patterns blooming into spells as I work…”
“Right. So most tattoos don’t come with the burning sensation,” Nive said, flexing her other claw into the crate she was sitting on. It already had scores of her other marks from how long this particular session had gone on for.
“Most mages don’t do experimental summoning tattoos that are more art than science,” Y’mhitra corrected wryly. “I’m told regular tattoos are a light pinching sensation, or something of the like.”
“Oh, what I wouldn’t give for that,” Nive muttered, and stifled another gasp as the ink burned with aether as it sunk into her skin. “There has to be a better procedure.”
“Well, we’ve looked at all our records—“
“And found no other procedures, I know,” Nive hissed, her ears going flat against her skull. “But our records are so incomplete, who’s to say that we can’t find more in Saint Coinach’s or in some tomestones?”
“Do you wish to bargain with Rowena?” Y’mhitra asked mildly, and sat back to examine her work so far, her hands light and quick as she touched Nive’s thigh. Her quill scratched a thin line on the inside of Nive’s leg, and the line of mythrite ink scorched its way into her skin. Nive clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from yelling but didn’t quite succeed, only cutting off about half the sound. Her head thunked back against the wall behind her, and her claws nearly broke the crate she was sitting on in half.
“Come now, it’s not even that big,” Y’mhitra chided gently, though her eyes were worried. “You’ve taken more.”
Nive inhaled and let out a slow breath, and carefully unstuck her claws from the crate. “... I’m fine. Keep going.”
“You know, you ladies really shouldn’t be doing this sort of thing in public… I’m sure Y’shtola wouldn’t appreciate learning her younger sister—” Thancred drawled from the hall, poking his head in.
Abruptly, Nive realized how it must look -- Y’mhitra on her knees between Nive’s thighs, working diligently at something, with Nive’s head thrown back against the wall and stifling gasps. Except her thighs were covered in ink, blood, and various cuts, and Y’mhitra’s hand held a sharp scalpel-quill.
“Er…” Thancred backpedaled, holding up his hands. “Just what are you two doing?”
“If you’re going to interrupt, you could at least be useful and grab a wet rag from the counter,” Y’mhitra said, brandishing her scalpel dangerously at him.
Nive blinked at the Thancred-shaped cloud that suddenly occupied his space. She had no idea he could move so fast, though with how he acted after meeting Lady Yugiri…
“So. Tattoos.” He said, coming back with a rag once Y’mhitra put down her scalpel. He rubbed at his neck where the Archon glyph rested, half covered by his ridiculous choker. “I take it this is a different process then?”
“Very. These are Summoning glyphs, with spells interwoven into them,” Nive said, gently lifting up her leg so Y’mhitra could wipe at it. “We’ve found evidence of other summoners having similar tattoos and markings, but the records are incomplete. We know that the tattoos augment their abilities, and used aetheric ink instead of regular pigment.”
“Ah, so that’s why I sensed aether fluctuations,” Thancred muttered, crossing his arms. “... that must hurt—are you sure this is a good idea? I realize you two are trying to revive the lost art of Summoning, but…”
“It’s just as much research as innovation,” Y’mhitra shrugged. “Summoning as we understand it is over five thousand years old. There are going to be differences between what could be done then and now.”
“For an example,” Nive started, then winced as Y’mhitra wiped over the cut. “Allagan had used a machine needle to tattoo the subjects, having somehow managed to compress both ink and aether into the pinprick. Obviously we don’t have that.”
“Right.” Thancred said, leaning back against the wall to watch. He pretended to be oblivious or a skirt chaser, but his eyes were quick and sharp as he took in the shape that Y’mhitra was working on. “But Arcanima glyphs can’t translate to Summoning, can they…?”
“And this is where we’ve gotten to the innovation part,” Y’mhitra chuckled. “With her background in Arcanima, Nivelth is able to pick up the techniques much quicker than any other current discipline of magic. She has a soul stone, but the actual combat spells she uses are a mix of both. So, Arcanima glyphs to start, and we can proceed from there.”
“And this particular glyph is for…?” Thancred trailed off, though he clearly had an inkling, from his years around the Twins and Urianger.
“My carbuncle, Dusk,” Nive clarified. “Grimoire summoning only works if I have access to my grimoire. What if I’m captured, or it’s taken from me? I’d rather have at least some summoning spells at my disposal.”
Thancred made a little nod, as if to say ‘that’s fair’. “Isn’t there the risk of the aetheric ink searing your skin?”
“There is,” Y’mhitra said, glaring up at Nive from where she was between her legs, and twitched the quill dangerously. “But Nivelth has been rather insistent about this, so here I am.”
“You know,” Thancred drawled, taking out one of his many knives and starting to slice into an apple, “if you wish to know how to defend yourself without a weapon, the pugilist’s guild in Ul’dah is always accepting new applicants.”
“Thancred.” Nive’s voice was flatter than Momodi’s crepes.
