#tiroro

[gegenji]

A Hard Day’s Night

Chachanji all but flopped in through the front door of his smithy, setting his bags down by the hat rack with a relieved grunt. It had been quiet the busy day for him, after all. Past couple days, in fact. But it was draining in a wholesome, fulfilling sort of way to the little Lalafell. While those with the skills and the intelligence to counteract that strange disease that was going around, Chachan helped out in his own little way by reading to the kids at Lorelei's orphanage and trying to keep their spirits up. He'd been hearing all the fret and frantic over the linkpearl as well, and - after setting it aside one time and leaving it on accidentally - had taken to leaving it next to the spot where he was reading. Maybe his hero stories were dumb and childish but, if it helped any of the others on the linkshell at least a fraction as much as it seemed to help the kids, he was willing to count that as a win.

He tried to bring them food as well - the kids anyway. The first day he had brought them stew, one of the few things he actually knew how to make, but it turned out to be not such a great choice as some were sick to the point they couldn't ingest much beyond liquids. Which had led to awkwardly made miso soup the next day, and then hitting up any and all taverns and eateries that could provide more tasty and filling foods than what bachelor-level things he could. It was a bit draining on the purse, but he didn't mind. It was going to a good cause.

And then there was his meeting with Aya yesterday evening, where they had gone over the results of her tests with that amazing wing suit thing she had designed. Sure, he had helped with building the components and the harness itself, but the whole thing was ultimately her brainchild; which just impressed the little Lalafell even more. He had spent most of the evening afterward going over the notebook she had given him, filled with diagrams and notes on how to further improve the design to allow her to dance among the clouds like she was a bird. He was pretty excited to see how the second iteration turned out.

On top of all the talk and discussion about the suit, there was the staff as well. Chachanji had never been one for the making of weapons - but that wasn't to imply that he couldn't. In fact, the opposite was very much true: he was quite good at it, thanks to the training of his father. But his pacifistic nature, along with the Gegenji view on weapons and their wielders, always made him hesitant and quite picky on who he would make weapons for. He would be heartbroken if he made a weapon for someone too weak-willed to handle it, or if his weapon was used to cause more harm than good.

Aya, though... Aya seemed to be wanting to walk a path close to his own. Where she wanted to avoid hurting or killing if she could manage it, and desired a weapon that could fulfill that purpose. He was certain she'd likely have to use the thing to hurt, perhaps even to kill, but his reading of her that night was that of a strong, intelligent woman who would seek out any and all alternatives available to her before reaching that point. That was someone he wanted to support, even discounting their close friendship. It wasn't often he felt a bit eager to develop a weapon, but he could feel the inklings of it.

And that wasn't the only help he was doing. After his morning and afternoon with the children, he had trekked all the way back to the Goblet to assist Duncan and Nina with the House Dentra-owned smithing shop "Three Ingot Outlet" in the Sultana's Breath Shopping Arcade. Which was its own little bit of ordered chaos - watching Duncan flirt and complain even as he sold the smelting guild's wares, while his firecracker of a daughter tried to keep the old coot reined in even as she too sought to provide a stellar customer experience. And with Chachan himself on the forges, he could let them go about having their fun while he worked on the custom orders, did repairs, or replaced sold items.

He had stayed a bit after closing time, too. Wrapping up what small custom orders he could finish and have sent out by the House's employees over the next couple days as well as just helping with general clean-up. After that, he hit up a couple of the other stores too, seeing what neat little things he could bring to the kids on his next visit: more storybooks, perhaps some toys and other gifts. A quick pit-stop for a late dinner at the food court - a Warker Pounder from McMoogles before it got closed due to something involving that apparently involved Flames intervention (he had been too hungry to ask) - and then he had made his way home.

Tomorrow would be a pretty busy day too, the little Lalafell mused as he meandered through the kitchen and down the stairs to the living area of his little smithy. Bringing the gifts and the stories to the orphanage, then the initial work on the polearm for Aya along with a couple of the larger orders he had taken personally from the Three Ingot Outlet. Perhaps he could even bring Aya along to see the kids with - she wanted to head out that way anyway to find the same hardwood used in her old spear for their new creation, and Chachan was certain the kids might get a kick out of another friendly face.

Oh! Maybe Tiroro too!  He still stopped by the Duskbreak to check on her and spend some time with her, but with her still recovering - along with the still-looming issue of Gunnar and this sudden onset of the stuff with the Whispers - they hadn't really been able to go out and do a lot of fun things. The kids would definitely get a kick out of Tiroro's folk songs, and the two of them could enjoy a nice walk through the Shroud afterward or something equally as enjoyable. Perhaps even plan something even nicer once she was fully healed...

Ah, but he'd need to make sure they both wore masks, he realized as he entered his bedroom and went to change into his pajamas. He didn't want to risk either of them getting sick, that wouldn't be good at all - especially with Tiroro already being as bedridden as she was. After all, he'd been pretty lucky thus - the flowers didn't seem to sprout around his place, he had learned about wearing a mask around the time the disease really started spreading, and even being around the kids he seemed fit as a fiddle. There were folks on the pearls saying they were immune - perhaps he was too? But he couldn't be certain with Tiroro or Aya, though, so it would either be a matter of making sure they didn't get sick as well... or just not bringing either of them by the orphanage until the kids were feeling better.

Well, he thought as he clambered under the covers, they'd figure something out for sure. The people on the pearl had sounded like they were on their way to a cure, after all, though the details for what it all entailed were over his head as usual. Which could mean that this whole disease thing would be behind them and he wouldn't have to worry about immunities or lack thereof - either for himself or others - and everyone already sick would be able to get better very soon. Like the kids, and like Ms. Lucerna. He was looking forward to that day.

He leaned over to turn off the light and nestled against his pillow, ready to get a good night's sleep and be ready to seize the day tomorrow. Slowly he drifted off, dreaming dreams of happy children and heroic adventures. His breathing was gentle, soft, even.

Other than the occasional, quiet cough.

(( @the-faceless-ffxiv ))

[blackhaiti]

Ti Roro. 🌴🇭🇹 Baillargau Raymond was a Haitian drummer known for bringing the artistry of Haitian Vodou ritual drumming and other traditional Afro-Haitian drumming styles to the stage and to recording studios. He was an international performer who influenced jazz musicians, in particular, Max Roach. #haiti #haitian #haitianmusic #drummer #tiroro #folksongs #ayiti #haitien

[gegenji]

What are Chachanji's regrets on matters of the heart?

There are a few but… I think the most recent and palpable was his regret at trying to help through omission. He thought he was truly helping his girlfriend, who was going through some stressful situations at the time - by keeping his own troubles quiet. Faking a smile and saying he was okay when he wasn’t. When it all finally came out, there was a big argument over it and he really regrets that.

He thought he was trying to help, that he was showing how much he cared and worried about her by putting on a brave face for her, but he really wasn’t. And it put a huge damper on their relationship.

[gegenji]

Will of The Weak

Chachanji frowned in thought as he put up the scroll he got from Neheon over the door to his smithy, fastening it as best he could there. He wasn't quite sure if this was the proper place for it – or even if he was doing this right – but, since it was to ward and keep out dangerous magicks and the like, hanging it over the entryway seemed like the right way to go about it. Though, he would probably have to double-check with her the next time he went out that way just to be certain. The Clinic...

It had been quite the chain of events that had even brought him out to the manor nestled out in the Lavender Beds and the Clinic being maintained within its walls. And it all started with those strange whispers that had startled him so during his smithing that one morning. Out of seemingly nowhere they had called to him, enticed him with protecting those he cared about from an oncoming storm he hadn't known was coming. And, given recent events and the other times he had come up short in doing such things himself, he had been tempted. Not wholly swayed – because even he wasn’t naïve enough to just listen to random whispers from nowhere, especial when already occasionally seeing wolves that were not there – but still tempted nonetheless. Perhaps to clear his mind and quell some of his doubts, he had gone to watch the Grindstone – after all, seeing and cheering on his friends and allies in (relatively) friendly matches seemed like a surefire way to reaffirm their own tenacity and strength. Not that he didn’t trust them to be able to but, with his mind clouded as it was, a little reassurance couldn’t hurt. Instead, as if to highlight and exacerbate his concerns, he arrived to find that none other than Gunnar himself had decided to make a surprise appearance in the lineup.

Gunnar.

The man who had threatened both Mr. Evening and Ms. Annunu, left Tiroro bedridden for nearly a moon after ripping her aether from her and detonating it in her face, and used a child as a shield to protect himself from Mr. Ominious’ attack. A picture-perfect example of a “bad guy” he had always said he would step up to defeat to protect people, right there in front of him. And he hadn’t known what to do; he remained frozen in place as the man left untouched from the event grounds as the little Lalafell’s white-knuckled grip found his smithing hammer.

He had wanted to step up, to do something, but he didn’t know what. And a niggling little voice in the back of his mind wondered if he could have even done anything, considering the greater forces that had already been amassed against the man who had already tried. And what would’ve happened if he used the audience like he had used the child, or escaped and sought to harm him through his loved ones like he seemingly sought to harm Mr. Evening through Ms. Annunu? Could he protect all of them too? What ifs, coulds, should, woulds, maybes and maybe nots; they all were a sudden storm in his mind already troubled with thoughts wrought of strange whispers and assumed failures. Ser Warren had let Gunnar go because of his self-restraint, because to cause a scene at the Grindstone would have done more harm than good. That was strong, that was noble, that was admirable. Chachanji had let him go because, in his mental paralysis, he hadn’t known what to do and – in the end – had simply done nothing. A crisis of indecision that, he could tell from the look Ms. Jancis had given him once he told her of it, was so very unlike her view of him.

Ms. Jancis...

The lady Conjurer had joined him in the audience not long after Gunnar had left, sensing his distress and seeking to aid him. When he had explained the situation to her, she claimed that his inaction had been the right choice – as she too had believed that causing a scene would’ve done more harm than good. She had lauded it as a sign of his valor and strength rather than a paralysis wrought of fear and concern. And when he admitted that reasoning to her, she had given him that look – a look that so very clearly showed that hearing such things from the little knight she saw him as seemed… wrong. And then there was Virara, who had also been there – searching for something she wouldn’t say. But what she would speak of cut to the quick of the matter, her quiet yet blunt words striking his core almost as viciously as her notoriously powerful punches. Of what she thought of him, of what he had become over the intervening moons. "You're weak,” She had said. “You lack the stomach to destroy the enemy."

That was nothing new, of course. He had always wanted to avoid hurting people – killing people – due to the finality of it, and of the ripples it caused in the lives of their loved ones. She had actually come to accept that fact, even if she didn’t seem to understand or believe it herself. It had been part of what had made him… him, and she had even gone as far to aid him in developing a pacifistic fighting style that was so different from her own to allow him to express that. So while this view of hers was the norm, there seemed to be an extra bite to it with the Whispers and Gunnar’s appearance still fresh in his mind. Had he fallen so far from where he had used to be when he first came to Eorzea seeking to protect people, when he had first met the likes of Ms. Jancis and Virara? He had certainly learned quickly that he detested fighting, desiring to avoid conflict where he could, and that he lacked that “killer instinct” that seemed to be needed to excel on the battlefield. There seemed to be so many better suited to such a position – like Virara or Mr. Berrod or that mountain of gristle that was Hammersmith – that he had taken a step back and sought to help from the sidelines. Protecting people with his craft, with something he had some degree of confidence in, rather than to risk making things worse due to his inherently gentle nature being so out of place in the middle of combat. And every outing just seemed to reinforce that; making him seem more and more out of place, causing him to spend more and more time on the sidelines… and, like the skilled fighter she was, Virara was quick to attack that weak point as well.

"I have never heard of a hero who saved others by hiding in his smithy."

It was another powerful blow to him and his already crumbling feelings of self-worth in light of current events. Was he really just hiding away in his smithy, not even managing to protect people using one of the few things he was actually good at? Tiroro had been bedridden for a month even with the armor he made for her, but she had said herself that it could've been worse without it. That counted for something, right? Still, he had found himself wondering if it would be better to take the Whispers up on their offer, in case even that wasn't going to be good enough.

But Jancis had words about all this – many, many words shared between them even after they had long since left the Grindstone grounds. She spoke of the things he had done that had protected people, of the times he had stood up to the challenge despite his pacifistic nature. He had confronted his own brother when he sought to cast Eorzea deeper into the flames of war, he had shielded his friends and allies from a powerful blast so they could complete the ritual to pry free from the attacker the enraged spirit that controlled him, he had saved Jancis herself from a group of arcane rogues, and stood strong against the Kojin of the Red in order to return to her beloved Denz what was his. She was quick to make mention, too, of how many of his creations had saved others: the enraged spirit had been contained in a rod of his making, a suit of his armor had saved a Sultansword from the point-blank burst of a grenade, and even reaffirmed his earlier thoughts about how Tiroro's injures could've been far more fatal had he not crafted the leathers she had worn into battle.

He had done good things. He had helped. He had protected people.

Yet even she had said that he could do even more good by coming out of his smithy. That his kindheartedness itself was a strength on the battlefield, not the weakness he had convinced himself it was. That the care and desire to preserve the life given to all things was just as important on the front lines as the ability to take it. And that he should leave his smithy for a time and step out to help protect those he cared about more actively, like he once did. To do what, deep down beneath the uncertainty and the concern and the worry, he knew he wanted to do. To be there. To help. To protect everyone he could.

And so he had gone to seek Tiroro at the Duskbreak, to tell the one he wanted to protect the most that he wanted to be at her side should they encounter Gunnar again. That he wanted to be an active force once more, rather than just being a passive supporter, and to speak to her of the Whispers and their “oncoming storm.” He had wanted to speak to her of them anyway once he had gathered himself, before the surprise Gunnar appearance – to share his thoughts and concerns with her, and to decide with her what to do. Together. She had not been there, for she had - unbeknownst to him - in fact been out at the gathering of the many others who had heard the Whispers. Yet he still provided the path that led him somewhat in her wake - a flyer left behind that spoke of there being kindred spirits, yet more who had been approached and perhaps even tempted as he had by their warnings and their promises. Perhaps they could help as well, letting him know the possible nature of these Whispers and how trustworthy they were. And so he had gone to the Clinic, and he had learned of the offers and the promises and the lies of the Whispers - and how he could have doomed those he cared about to far more horrible fates under the guise of "protecting" them. It was a sobering thought that just by playing to his worries and concerns, and his desire to protect others, he had almost heeded these otherworldly things and aided in whatever scheme they had. But instead he had learned the truth - or as much of the truth as Ms. Neheon and the others had learned - and the rallying thought that, even if someone had succumbed to the temptation, they could still be potentially be brought back. So when they asked for those who would confront these things, these creatures from beyond, he had stood with the rest of themm. All the worry and doubt that the Whispers had instilled in him - and that he still felt crawling about in his gut - he wanted to protect others who might be similarly swayed by it. He wanted to save those that had already succumbed to it, to bring them back and let them know they had friends they could turn to. He wanted to be there, rather than just wait again in the wings and just hope things would work out. His armor certainly wouldn't do enough here - but rather than simply bemoan that fact, he instead needed to step up and act.

And that was where he was now, he mused as he stepped back to admire his handiwork. His smithy would be another safe space for those who sought it, and he would also help however else he can. Whether it just be an ear to bend, a friend to support, or one of the many who were to stand up and let this storm break itself upon their will. "The weak have two choices," Virara has told him that day at the Grindstone. "Gain strength, or find someone who has it." Meanwhile, Jancis had assured him despite all that, even despite all that had happened: "You have always been strong." Strength. He had resolved to gather that strength. The strength those that cared for him saw in him, the strength that those that cared for him lent unto him just by believing in him and wanting to see him succeed. That strength of will, that strength of heart. And then he could be that strength for those that needed it. Who needed that shelter from the oncoming storm.

@the-faceless-ffxiv

[gegenji]

FFXIV 30 Day Screenshot Challenge

Day 21 - “Matching Outfits”

I honestly try to make sure my outfits stand out from everyone else’s (though a lot of folks like the same BSM top I do!), so I don’t have a lot of screenshots of matching outfits. The best one is probably this one - from when I had just hit 70 SAM on Chachan! Still wearing that AF3 gear!

...

[gegenji]

Chachan and Tiroro at @bandeepakshee’s Carbuncle Festival, along with @zhara-liara-yuni!

There were so many Carbuncles! And the two of them shared Carbuncle-themed banana splits and even saw the first match of the Carbuncle fights (including the brown Carbuncle owned by one Vath @aegir-ffxiv)!

Unfortunately, it was on a work night, so we had to excuse ourselves pretty early. Still, it was a really neat idea and I’m glad we were able to drop in!

[gegenji]

FFXIV 30 Day Screenshot Challenge

Day 28 - “Cold”

I figured I’d go for a classic shot for this one - being frozen by Shiva! Chachan was too busy swooning over Tiroro’s dance to notice the freeze was coming until it was too late! How awkward!

[gegenji]

FFXIV 30 Day Screenshot Challenge

Day 14 - “Love”

This shot isn’t from Little Ladies’ Day this time! It’s from... the Valientone’s Day one instead. 8D

Honestly, I would’ve gone with the super happy faces the both of them made when they saw what they got, but the screenshotting was slow (and you can’t just do it again to get a crisp shot) so I only got this one. It was either this shot or this one, honestly:

Still... I hope it works?