#severine writing

[snakemoltsiren]

Has your character ever undertaken a morally questionable act they knew was wrong but would contribute to a greater good? How did they wrestle with that? How do they feel about it now?

Severine was - and to no small extent still is - a professional con artist. She has done it for quite a while at this point, even if she doesn't exactly need to to get by. She only grifted from those who could afford it - no small number of Ul'dah well off fell victim to her at some point. For a little while she did it for her own good alone. To get by. To make some money. Somewhere along the way it became far more common for her to steal for the betterment of others rather than herself. As she became more confident in both the local politics and in her own skills, she had unspoken arrangements with numerous groups of refugees. The majority of the money she got from the Ul'dah elite went to job training and placement, provisions and shelter for dozens if not hundreds of people. At some point along the way she earned a moniker - Saint Savage. A nickname that she's more than happy to be known by. Severine has done a lot of things in her past that she's not proud of, and she works every day to atone for them. But she has absolutely no regrets about anything that others might call into question morally, as long as in the end it benefited someone who needed her help. (thank you so much as always for the question SEA!!! <3)

[snakemoltsiren]

❤️ first kiss / realization

In her mind, their first first kiss is draped in shame. It was their first job. First job extended - when the Miqo'te who he'd been working with for however long before she'd met them had been snatched off the Ul'dah streets not long after they'd parted ways following their productive evening. They'd stolen something together. It was why they'd hired her. And it had gone off without a hitch, even though after she'd taken her payout and bid them farewell it had felt a little bittersweet. That tall, imposing but so quiet Highlander had snagged on her like a hangnail. No reason she could put her finger on really, but she hoped she'd see him again. Knew she wouldn't. And then... And then a knock on her door telling her that their missions erstwhile leader had been snatched right off of the streets. And did she want to make a bonus by helping to track him down. She'd set off at his side across the Thanalan wastes, still in her evening gown and high heeled shoes. And when they'd reached the hideout she'd hooked her arm through his to add a stumble to her gait, and when they'd come across a crew that the word 'shifty' had been created for, she'd wheeled around on him, her gaze quick and flashing trust me - please go with it - right before she'd kissed him. His breath had stalled between them but she didn't push it more than was needed for the show. Already felt something like guilt crawling across her skin like ants. Later she had apologized. For springing it on him. For not getting permission or at least warning him ahead of time. And he'd shaken his head and promised her it was fine. She'd believed him - of course. But she'd still carried the weight of that kiss for a decade, where it festered and chipped and rotted through the walls of her own fortitude. She locked it away in her mind but took it out on occasion to sneak remembering glances at. Sure as anything that it was all she'd ever have. A stolen, unwanted kiss. Related Piece - Surprise/Impulsive Kiss

[snakemoltsiren]

FFXIVWrite 2022 - Prompt 3. Temper

And that which makes their Fame ring louder, With much adoe they shew'd the King To make glasse Buttons turn to powder, If off them their tayles you doe but wring. How this was donne by soe small Force Did cost the Colledg a Month's discourse.  - Ballad of Gresham College

The last thing you wanted to see in a glass shop was a hammer.

But Severine grinned at the teenager who was staring warily at the gently spinning mobiles and wind chimes. At the shelves of cute little animal figurines. The look on his face was familiar. The set of his jaw one of stubborn irritation.

She had gotten there earlier than the market opened, wanting to take advantage of the cooler morning air to restock a few of the more popular offerings. The boy had crept in through the side entrance and the pair of them stared at each other in confusion for a moment before she had noticed the small hammer clutched in his hand.

Drawing in a breath she tipped her head to gesture him over and then bent to pick up a thick, clear cane of glass.

“You wanna see something neat?” She didn’t look up when the boy shifted closer, hammer still in hand. Wary. Anxious. Severine carefully heated the glass until the latter end of it was a glowing ember, starting to sag away from the rest. Then she turned and held the cane over the bucket of water by her knees. The glowing drop stretched with molten gravity, stretching away before dropping into the water with a hiss and a cloud of smoke. And, grinning, she turned back to repeat the process.

Once she’d dropped glass into the bucket four or five times, she turned the torch off and set the cane of glass aside. Then she leaned over, reaching a hand into the bucket and carefully gathering up the cooled beads of glass. They were all slightly different but approximately tadpole shaped, with one bulbous end and a thin, trailing tail. Severine carefully set one down and tapped the round end with a fingernail, looking up at the kid.

“Here, hit it right here. With that hammer.” He looked at her, skeptical and suspicious, glancing around as though expecting the Brass Blades to come in at any moment. Severine just smiled and nodded in encouragement, scooting back a little to give him space.

With a furrow between his brows and a little flush in his cheeks he lined himself up with the glass and raised his hammer. It came down true and she could imagine him working in a smith, maybe repairing battered weapons from the Bloodsands. The head of the hammer hit the bead of glass and

Bounced off.

No sound of shattering glass, no satisfying crack. He looked at her in confusion and she chuckled back, giving it a nod. “Try again.”

He did. Three more times before making a frustrated sound and Severine took pity on him, reaching over and picking the glass up. And with a gentle touch, she grasped the thin trailing end of the comet of glass, and snapped the tail off with ease.

The entire drop exploded into a fine powder in her hands. Dusted glass wafting through the air and settling on her work table.

She gave an encouraging nod and he tucked the hammer into his belt, reaching down and tentatively picking up the next one. He turned it over in his hands then, just as she had done, snapped the tail of it. And just as before, the drop disintegrated. He laughed in surprise. Bright and for once looking more youthful than his troubled, angry visage had made him seem.

She could lecture. She could explain that to temper glass you could heat treat it specially. Cooling it quickly put the outer surface into compression while the inner part of it was in tension. She could point out that outside stresses made us hard on the surface while the inside was ready to crack. And just a gentle touch in the weakest spot could dissolve the whole thing.

But, truly, she didn’t think it was her place. And she spent the next half a bell making more of the Sultana’s Drops to give the boy something to have power over. And as the market opened she sent him on his way. With a quiet promise that he could come by any time and ask. And she’d give him something to break.

[snakemoltsiren]

FFXIVWrite 2022 - Prompt 2: Bolt

By now it was as easy as breathing. The arc of metal - thin and singing - followed rote paths through the air. Her muscles twitched in familiar rhythm, burned with remembering and disuse both. Tucked into an alcove in the side yard was a resilient training dummy. Battered and shiny with the impact of talented fists, barely nicked and scratched by the careful precision of blades. 

Her fingers grip the thin hilt with twitchy anxiety unfurling in her bloodstream. She feels primed for something. Charged and building as though something is welling up inside the dam of her chest and is threatening to spill over. Or burst through.

She feels fuzzy and detached. Even as she lunges into the next series of thrusts and parries, even as she should be withdrawing.

Her hand reaches up, brushing past the focus floating above her head. Fingers curl at air, like there’s something to snatch from the sky, groping at invisible threads. She mimes plucking at strings and pulling down, dragging something from the aether and welling it up around herself, scattering it to her feet as she spins with the momentum.

The surge in her system smashes through the barriers inside her that had been holding it back. She feels each artery alight with energy. With power.

She gasps as the spark detonates inside of her and the only response is to throw it loose. To shoot it away from her, a glitter of Unaspected magic that careens into the training dummy and sends it spinning, creaking as it slows. Smoldering from the blast that charred off of its sturdy frame.

Severine pants, light headed and staggering. She stumbles back to the nearby bench, dropping down with a wooziness reminiscent of sea sickness. Closing her eyes against the spinning vertigo she sags back into the gently swaying cradle, trying to catch her breath, trying to ignore the feeling of being on fire without the flames.

By the time it wears off half a bell later she’s still trembling faintly with exhaustion. And she stays there, overwhelmed and bedraggled until Otolin finds her hours later and he has to step over her rapier left laying in the grass in order to pick her up. And bring her back inside. 

[snakemoltsiren]

FFXIVWrite 2022 - Prompt 6. Onerous

This was the worst. Literally no one in the history of the star had ever suffered as much as she had. No one. Why anyone thought she should have to handle this burden, should have to struggle in this way, was completely beyond her. She wasn’t equipped for this on a good day, but now? With no one around to help her? She sighed. Struggled in place. Closed her eyes and tensed every muscle. Flailing one arm brought a rush of cool air and she yelped, hunkering down again, drawing in on herself with a low whine. Impossible. This was impossible and she wasn’t meant to suffer like this. She’d just stay here in the dark where it was warm. There was a quiet sound of footsteps and she tensed, going still. A rustle of fabric and then the bed next to her dipped and a broad hand gently patted the rise of her hip, up to her waist. “Good morning. Would you… like some breakfast?” Otolin’s voice rumbled through her and she whined again, rolling over still completely under the quilt to burrow into the searing warm line of his leg. Trying to leech heat. “Yes.” she mumbled finally, reaching up and pulling the edge of the blanket down so she could peek out at him. He looked amused. Like he was trying to smother a smile but the corners of his eyes still wrinkled in amusement and she stuck her tongue out at him. “S’cold.” Like that was an excuse for staying in bed this late. Well it was a good excuse in her opinion. A heavier weight draped across her and she peeked down to see what it was. The soft, fluffy white knit of one of her heavier robes caught her eye and she sniffed, looking from it up to Otolin. She poked her lip out and - because she was very brave even in the face of impossible tasks - wiggled a hand out from under the warm cave of her blanket nest so she could reach up and pull him in for a kiss. To sweet. Far too good for her. And he made it impossible for her to say that she had to face her struggles alone. 

[snakemoltsiren]

FFXIVWrite 2022 - Prompt 1: Cross

Don’t cross the Saint. Don’t catch her attention, don’t gain her shrewd eye. Don’t let her turn that unwavering focus to you. The Venerable Saint Savage, patron of lost causes, of the discarded and cast aside. She collects causes like trinkets and somehow always has time to stop, to pay attention, to help. She’s less of a presence than she was, say, ten turns ago. But the frequency of her name cropping up has been directly affected by the number of people who have needed to call it. Unlike what some people say, she isn’t a boogeyman. The help she offers is a practical sort. But like equivalent exchange, someone has to suffer for someone else to prosper. And those that suffer the most day to day most often see her invisible hand tipping in their favor. Regardless of what the rabble say, the downtrodden, those unable to wiggle out from their situation… regardless of how they extoll her virtues, there’s those in Ul’dah (the Syndicate members that have earned her ire are no longer able to claim seats on that vaunted board) that see her as nothing more than a criminal. A thief. Even if nothing tangible is stolen she’s a ruiner of lives. Of fortunes. She steals the sense of security right out from under those that built their empires on the backs of those that could do nothing to help themselves. Don’t get on her bad side. Don’t get too high lest you draw her attention. She will find out every back you broke on your climb. Every refugee or disparate you steps on to get there. Every hand begging for assistance that you turned away from. Somehow, she will find out. Don’t let your greed be your undoing. And don’t let the Saint find you.

[snakemoltsiren]

FFXIVWrite 2022 - Prompt 10. Channel

Sometimes it is hard to live as little more than a conduit. You are a channel for other people’s expectations. They see you, formulate their theories, and apply them without consultation. Their dreams attempting to force themselves into your flesh or your spirit to manifest themselves in you in ways that they want and you have not agreed to. They see the skin and the ears and make assumptions and in their mind and in their actions they turn you into a lawless rebel. They see the hair and you’re a fashion icon, you’re distilled down to that single feature, you are defined by that thing alone, as though you are merely a mannequin come to life. It is no different from within, at times. Most of the time. Times when it matters the most. Magic tears through your veins and ignites your breath, your sweat, your sword or your bow with equal ferocity most often when you are not trying. It roars up from some forgotten place, some neglected region to obliterate sense and logic and comfort and any delusions of control you have over your own power. The song buried at the back of your throat sears like reflux the longer you hold it back. Sometimes you fear it will char its way through and escape to burrow its way into anyone fool enough to stay close to you for long enough. You put a coin into every upturned hand. You smile and smile and smile.

[snakemoltsiren]

FFXIVWrite 2022 - Prompt 12. Missed the Boat

Her shoulder rolls back, deftly and pointedly avoiding the casual touch that had swung out to clasp it. A degree of familiarity cut off at the knees early in infancy. She grins though, laughs through it, waves the bartender over for another round. Friendly, friends, companions even. Generous and welcoming as ever. But… Later on, after she’s left for the evening, tottering out into the brisk La Noscean air the evening’s companions nurse their final drinks and gossip about it. She used to be warmer. You felt like her best friend for the evening. Felt like a real star. Something must have happened. Heartbreak or somesuch. Nah she’s still with that big fella. Seem happy as can be any time they’re out together. Friends can break your heart too. Maybe someone pushed too hard. Yeah maybe. Shame, that. Still a good drinking buddy though. Yeah. Ship might have sailed on anything more than that. Shame, that. Real shame.