#william corvus

[escherstrange]

A sparrow brings a message.

"No harm shall come to you. What tidings do you bring?"

"I see. Thank you, little light. Please wish them happy cake day from us."

[escherstrange]

Julezen #3: Crew

It's not much, but they stick together.

[escherstrange]

Extra Credit: Morsel (Director's Cut)

cw: choking on food, throwing up, implications of eating disorder

One plate for each brother, two types of meat: A slice of roasted dodo and a slice of steamed cod. Joshua picked up his fork and jabbed into the meat. Too little for a meal, but enough for the lordling to give his compliments to House Aubermarle's chef. "It's lovely, I can see why Oudine recommended your steamed cod."

Ofanleitasyn smiled and nodded before all eyes turned to the elder brother.

Isillud looked at the dish as if it was an abomination. Back pressed against the chair, fighting the urge to push the plate away, he looked like a child forced to face his worst enemy. Wil gently placed a hand on his shoulder, "You don't have to, Izzy. Say the word and I'll eat it."

For years he thought his inability to eat meat was due to stress but now they were home, they were safe. Had his body grown accustomed without it after so long? One deep breath. Two. Isillud shut and opened his eyes. His lips drew thin, jaw clenched, pushing the bile down.

"I can do this," he said, slender fingers picking up the morsel.

The second he ate it, the coughing started.

He clamped his mouth, nails digging into his cheeks. Ears rang with the sound of his struggle. Chew, damn it, his mind screamed, but his body refused. Every single muscle locked, barring entry.

"Milord-?!"

Joshua gripped the armrest, "Spit it out, Izzy."

Not now, not when he was so close. He could do it. He would do it.

"Izzy- fuck's sake! Wil! Take it out before he chokes on it!" Wil sprang to action: One hand wrenched his lover's mouth open, his fingers plucked out the roasted dodo and threw it onto the table. Isillud threw his head up, gasping for air then immediately doubled over spitting gobs of saliva on the plate while filling the room with the sound of retching, the worst 30 seconds of their lives. When it finally stopped Wil cradled Isillud's head to his chest, smoothing his hair and cooing reassurances into his ear.

Joshua grabbed his glass of water, "You don't have to eat meat to fit in. Not for me, not for them," he slammed the glass at Isillud, spilling some on the table, "And certainly not for your dinner guest."

Bloodshot eyes opened ever-so-slightly, tears blurring the room. It must be nice to be loved by the Dark, shielding you in its embrace that you suffer nothing, nothing at all. I envy you. "That's nice," he rasped.

He couldn't see his brother's face; not that he wanted to. Joshua threw the cod at Wil (who quickly ate it), snatched the plates off the table and stormed off. "It's yours."

The cook looked between them, finally deciding to leave the two alone. "Lots'a fine meals can be made with just fruits and veggies, milord. I'll-" He looked at the glass of water, "-bring you some thin juice for yer throat...and stomach."

"...Thank you."

[escherstrange]

Countdown to Dawntrail: Where Are They Now?

I was going to have a reflective post about the last two years but I'm bad at talking about myself so

7. Yersinia sees Thilivern struggling to pay for ship fare to Tural, so she loans him the remainder and they go together. They'll recoup the ticket cost by doing some adventures together. Two old people going on an adventure, they'll be fineee.

6. Finnegan washes up on the shores of Tural. Sick of retainerdom he declares he wants to be a pirate despite looking like a flooring inspector (couldn't help inserting a Monkey Island reference).

5. Escher signs Sirolimus up for the Studium's Summer Study program and promotes him to 'research assistant' which is academic speak for 'do my work until I come back with enough research data for the both of us'. Needless to say, the boy panics. Best summer ever!

4. "Ulfrid, Escher will certainly head to Tural! We must follow and make sure he doesn't nuke the place because that's what a HERO would do! Pack up, we leave at 5 PM!"

"Lady Ireul, I beg you to reconsider for your safety!"

(she did not, in fact, reconsider.)

3. Rossignol (and Crescens) are still faffing about on the First. They'll return. Eventually. Trust me, I'm an expert.

2. After getting their family home back, Isillud and Joshua navigate a different new world: Ishgardian high society.

"Why am I the only one paying a visit to Lord Angelique, Izzy?"

"Lord of the House, that's you."

"What ARE you reading anyway?"

"I thought it was a romance novel but it's actually a guide to Ishgardian taxation laws. It's more interesting than I expected."

"So that's where that book went."

Escher takes the search for the secret of the Premier Massage to Tural! And he's bringing Adrian and Crofte along for the ride! Is there no end to his madness?!

(No.)

Will they survive?!

(They had better.)

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

So I'm just going to attempt not looking at social media until I'm done with MSQ, which by my calculations is probably the end of July. I'm sure it will be absolutely fine.

Until then, I hope everyone enjoys Dawntrail the way they want to.

Thank you, and see you later.

[escherstrange]

He greets his crow like a lover returned.

[housedeaubemarle]

Lueur taciturne (A silent glimmer)

~

A bright moon glows above frozen Ishgard tonight; it's a clear night in waning winter, with the breeze of spring on its way – well, so she imagines it anyway. The moonbeams pour through a bay window, over her dark head bent over her work, and into her lap, illuminating a needle which industriously dives in and out of cloth, like a swallow riding the winds. The embroidery she does ought to be neat, being blessed by the Lover's light as it is currently, so there's no room for errant thought or idle folly. 

As the needle rises and falls, a hummed melody and its soft words slip from her lips: an old gift from a father missed. They glide into the air of the room, warmed by fire crystals piled in the hearth.

“Dans le silence et la nuit Magie et poésie prennent vie Lueur taciturne Muse des âmes nocturne…”

She isn't really alone, though her only other companions are quiet, happy to just leave her to her task without quandary or query. They sit comfortably on their respective perches nearby. One dark bird with beady eyes has his head tilted to the woman sitting and sewing in the window. The other lighter-feathered, rounder one turns her large half-closed eyes onto nothing in particular, apparently lulled into half sleep.

“Tandis que la Lune se fond dans l'aube Ton cœur se pose Dans l'obscurité, dessiné Vers l'éternité…”

The little needle pulls its willing partner through its paces, and through it, wisps of aether flow and settle within the thread. A thimble she wears on another finger helps pull more aether through. She'd commissioned them from talented makers, after careful inquiring and searching in high and low places. Skysteel created far larger devices, but it didn't mean they had no connections to those who might make finer instruments and tools.

Her fingertips may tingle where they touch thimble and needle, but otherwise, the effects are nigh imperceptible. This is no great display of magic after all, merely the slow, measured work of putting one stitch of aether next to the other – a hope next to a wish next to a prayer – in lines, in rows, and eventually in a pattern to complete the whole. 

She doesn't notice how the black bird in her study sits up to get a better look at what she's doing. Those sharp eyes, which observe so much without anyone suspecting a thing, watch an almost airy line of magic glide with her thread, before tugs of the needle bind it to the weaving of the fabric. The stitches emanate with gentle protection for, and unobtrusive defense of the one who wears this cloth. If the Weaver saw fit, a blow might soften into a bruise, a piercing wound to a glancing scratch. Aptly for a necessarily imperfect beginner, its power is meeker and milder than usually required.

Yet she would rather not be idle. She can't, not when so many friends are hard at work far from the city – far from her. So in the night, when she may be allowed some uninterrupted bells, she applies what she's learning in the day, and sews, and stitches, and sings.

“Demi-lune, à demi-mot Murmure, étends ton manteau Clair-obscur de la nuit Ta sagesse éclaire nos esprits.”

- 

End.

Note: For those who didn't immediately do Leonardo_diCaprio_point.gif at the first stanza, Lune by Lorien Testard & Alice Duport-Percier is from Clair Obscur: Expedition 33.

@escherstrange - who graciously allowed me to borrow Wil the crow - convinced me not to have Oudine hum a Gaelic (i.e. Mhachi) song as she sewed, and honestly: good call. This song was a much better fit, lyrically and thematically even if it does imply Vouloix somehow has connections to Lumiere- (no of course not)

Never thought this answer would come back two years later as an idea for how she might be able to do more - I find it quite neat really. Oh god I have to do research on the different stitches and the kinds of embroidery and blackwork and-