ᴀʟᴘʜɪɴᴀᴜᴅ "ʙɪᴛᴇ ᴍᴇ" ʟᴇᴠᴇɪʟʟᴇᴜʀ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aetherflows) wrote2019-07-04 01:48 am
aetherflows) wrote2019-07-04 01:48 am
Entry tags:
Cᴇ́ ʜᴇ́ ᴍɪsᴇ ʟᴇ ᴜʟᴀɪɴɢᴛ?
thy tender eyes grow all unkind...
[Alphinaud has been settling in as well as one can expect with the loss of his magic and pretty much everything else he's built his entire academic career on. He doesn't like that they're trapped but he's ever one to make the best of a bad situation, so he's taken to helping the locals and trying to, perhaps, earn an ear on the Parliament. His eyes are reserved for one (1) friend in a similarly precarious position, a friend whom he has seen very little of since he left Ishgard. Would that he had time for leisurely visits before they were taken here, but the apocalypse waits for no one, nor does a Scion ignore the calling of some voice through some gate or whatever.
The point is that he's been keeping an eye on Estinien as they learn to navigate this new world. And that means... forging some kind of Bond, which he hasn't done yet. Alphinaud was tested as many new arrivals are after he failed to show any aptitude for his usual incantations, and he was told he was some kind of Monster. Not a monster, but still an indelicate term that made his ears heat up. How could they so easily toss around a pejorative like that? Why not use a term like... well, like they do with Beast Tribes? Though that'd do little to hide the rampant racism he's seen on these streets (and yet another reason for him to be quiet about it...)
It's something he's working on, for sure.
But not knowing what he was destined to become has taken its own toll. He wants to be useful, and not a liability, and he wants to be independent but-- this late morning, this godsforsaken twilight, with the rise of the nearly-full moon, he comes upon a problem.
Two problems.
Two problems that see him at the door of where Estinien is staying at around sunrise. He's wrapped in a tight cloak that somehow makes him look smaller than usual-- or maybe he did shrink a few inches, hard to tell-- but he can reach the doorknob, so he knocks. Is he out training? Is he set on ignoring Alphinaud personally for some slight he's not aware of (that's the fae brain talking, not that he knows it).]
Estinien? Estinien! Have you a moment? I apologize for the hour, but something very urgently popped out-- that is, popped up-- and I would like to discuss a course of action.
[Is he even there? Alphinaud knocks again, bristling with some minor anxiety like a nervous thing fluttering about a light.]
The point is that he's been keeping an eye on Estinien as they learn to navigate this new world. And that means... forging some kind of Bond, which he hasn't done yet. Alphinaud was tested as many new arrivals are after he failed to show any aptitude for his usual incantations, and he was told he was some kind of Monster. Not a monster, but still an indelicate term that made his ears heat up. How could they so easily toss around a pejorative like that? Why not use a term like... well, like they do with Beast Tribes? Though that'd do little to hide the rampant racism he's seen on these streets (and yet another reason for him to be quiet about it...)
It's something he's working on, for sure.
But not knowing what he was destined to become has taken its own toll. He wants to be useful, and not a liability, and he wants to be independent but-- this late morning, this godsforsaken twilight, with the rise of the nearly-full moon, he comes upon a problem.
Two problems.
Two problems that see him at the door of where Estinien is staying at around sunrise. He's wrapped in a tight cloak that somehow makes him look smaller than usual-- or maybe he did shrink a few inches, hard to tell-- but he can reach the doorknob, so he knocks. Is he out training? Is he set on ignoring Alphinaud personally for some slight he's not aware of (that's the fae brain talking, not that he knows it).]
Estinien? Estinien! Have you a moment? I apologize for the hour, but something very urgently popped out-- that is, popped up-- and I would like to discuss a course of action.
[Is he even there? Alphinaud knocks again, bristling with some minor anxiety like a nervous thing fluttering about a light.]
no subject
Estinien has adjusted to parts of life here, at least: he's in a dress shirt with the sleeves pushed up, collar undone, armor nowhere to be seen. He looks like he hasn't seen a bed in at least a day. He eyes Alphinaud for a moment, assessing, then steps back, nodding toward the inside.
He's set up camp in a little cottage, grown and shaped with magic out of a tree close to the Coven. (When he asked with open suspicion where it came from, why it was being given to him, a witch got a strange look on her face and told him it had belonged to someone who'd died trying to study the Cwyld. He thought, sardonically, that it was fitting.)
The cottage has rounded walls and low ceilings, and the fixtures seem to have grown out of the original tree, shelves and cupboards springing from the walls in sinuous shapes. Estinien has left most of it alone. There's a collection of teacups on the wall that plainly he's had nothing to do with, a cheerful chronometer carved to look like a cat, a comfortable rocking chair he's never touched, draped with a bright quilt.
He leads Alphinaud into a little kitchen, dimly lit with a pair of lamps, pulls out two chairs around a tea table, and sits down. The height of the furniture forces him to hunch over just a little, forearms propped heavily on the edge of the table. ]
What is it?
[ Terse, but not more than he ever is. ]
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Ah! There you are. Thank you for seeing me. Again, I apologize for the hour... I am not sure of what your schedule is, but I felt this could not wait. Particularly with the full moon approaching...
[He's dithering. He always dithers when he's nervous, a fact that seems that much more awkward when he looks at the dragoon across the table. Alphinaud doesn't sit just yet. Estinien is expectant and rightly so, but Alphinaud is... nervous. How can he not be anxious, with his diagnosis staring at him so firmly in the face? This is hard proof that rather than just struggling with the magic here, he's... he's no longer human-- well, Elezen-- and what does that mean for when they eventually find their way home?
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Faintly-trembling fingers reach up to the brooch of his cloak and unpin it, letting it fall to the floor. And in its place, fluttering up from his shoulders, are two very noticeable iridescent wings not unlike that of a blue morpho.]
I was given a test when I first came here, and I was hoping it was mistaken, so I have been studying diligently to master the arcane arts. Even simple exercises were beyond me, however, and now I am given to understand why.
sorry for the lil delay! i was moving 🙏
Privately, he also hoped Alphinaud would be a witch. It would have been sensible, it would have been just.
And this won't be the end of it, he knows. There will be other things.
His voice is rough, but carefully slow. ]
So you need a Bond.
no worries, spent the past few days shoving my face directly into shb. i hope moving went well!!
Small blessings, at least, that Estinien doesn't make a big deal about it. Even if that look is... intimidating.]
... Yes. For lack of a better term, 'Monsters' undergo changes most strongly under the full moon, and they can lose their minds as a result and cause very real damage. T'is why I sought to tell you as soon as I realized.
[He's never lost control like that in his life. The mere possibility unnerves him. A new form and he has no idea of the expanse of his capabilities... He could really hurt someone. He tries to hide his trembling fingers in his lap as he finally sits down, his wings surprisingly soft as they lay against his back like a cloak in themselves. He already had to ruin some clothes for this, but there's not much he can do about that now...]
I do not wish to impose. I am perfectly capable of finding someone else to Bond with if you are uncomfortable with the idea, but if what I have heard is true, you must find at least some way to keep your magic controlled. It falls upon us to keep an eye on one another.
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You think I'd send you back out to find another? With the damned moon upon us? Don't be a fool. We should go to the witches tonight.
[ Witches is not a friendly word on his tongue. He's only made cursory attempts at each of their schools of magic, and none of them has made him feel a kinship with Aefenglom's witches — only frustration, and the errant needling thought that Ysayle or Alphinaud would have been better suited to all of it than he is. ]
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I would have done so if necessary, [he says quietly.] Yet I cannot help but find myself relieved. Rest assured that I would have come to you long ago had I spotted these new... characteristics... before this morning.
[There's no way to make a term like that sound nice, even on Alphinaud's tongue. Witch is such a loaded term when there are conjurers and mages and casters about. It's old-fashioned in a bad way, inelegant and pejorative to all but, perhaps, someone like Matoya, who entrenches herself in such legends as protection.]
Have you eaten, Estinien? Mayhap we should find something to settle our stomachs and approach the Coven after. Though I am not wanting for patience, it may be prudent to have it done before the moon rises.
[He threads and unthreads his fingers together, peering at them as if he might be able to tell the changes from fingertips alone. Will he grow claws? Will his hands get bigger, or smaller? He isn't... sure... and that prospect unnerves him.]
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[ His tone brooks no argument, and he rises without waiting. Alphinaud is right about prudence, and his efforts to make Estinien comfortable with this affair, to not disrupt him, are almost absurdly misplaced—
—but implicit in his curt response is the promise that they'll return here, to the cottage. ]
Aught you require, afterward, on the morrow, you should bring here. I shall go with you.
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[He won't argue any further. His nerves won't be settling until this whole thing is over and done with, so he puts his cloak back on and moves to follow his friend. The silent promise of a return hasn't escaped him. Estinien might be brusque on the best of days, but he's the most steadfast of friends.
Alphinaud is so, so glad he's well. With any luck, he'll be able to bring Estinien home just the same.
He's nervous about all this, but so immensely grateful for Estinien. He smiles up at the grumpy dragoon like a spot of twinkling sunlight. Though, that may be because of some iridescent dust he's been shedding everywhere, like a moth.]
I shall keep that in mind. [A pause, and then:] I am grateful for your help. It seems as if you always know what to do next...
I feel I have been as a carriage wheel stuck in the mud for weeks.
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(He crumpled the recipe into a ball, but it's still on his little kitchen counter, mocking him.)
When he turns back to hold the front door for Alphinaud, he pauses, narrowing his eyes. ]
You're sparkling.
[ There might have been a more tactful ways to put it, if he tried. ]
woof sorry this took a while! work was NUTS
Alphinaud hesitates because Estinien did, and glances back over at him.]
S-sparkling?!
[He immediately begins examining himself with some panic, face flushed because oh gods, Estinien had to point something like that out, and he doesn't like to look anything less than composed in front of his dear friend. But sure enough, there's a fine iridescent dust that comes away on his fingers and looks terribly conspicuous against all the dark blue and black he's wearing. He purses his lips into a pout, tries to dust himself off, but it's... not something he can escape that easily.]
By the Twelve! I think I am become more moth than faerie... I apologize if I have managed to shimmer all over your things, Estinien.
it's np!!
Not my things. You think I want it to look like that? Teacups and cats and quilts? Sodding witch hovel looks like it's been waiting to shimmer.
[ He half-turns to Alphinaud with a sharp smirk and a wolfish gleam in his eye, and for a second it's like they never left Eorzea— ]
Not all bad, is it? Girls and famed primal-slayers can hardly help but notice you now.
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You say that as if you have never touched a teacup in your life. 'Tis the only thing a cold night calls for. [He does not give voice to the thought that cats suit Estinien very well, actually. That might not go over smoothly.
But that smirk, wow, it feels like an age since he last saw it. Maybe it's been a few months at most, but... He had wondered about his friend's doings while he plodded through the desert with the Ascian hunter.
... And then comes the tease. He should have known; the warmth in his cheeks becomes a furnace.]
That-- that isn't-- I am quite all right without either of those things!
[He just had to bring that up.]
You have not spoken to Krile, have you? [Gods take him now if she's blabbed about his Studium days to someone else.]
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The teasing would be easy to drag out, torture Alphinaud a little longer — a cold night calls for a damned fire, he could say, or a girl, or a primal-slayer, something of that nature — but he's embarrassed the boy enough, for now.
Mostly. It's been an aggravating month. ]
You must be all right without them, aye, or you wouldn't think first of tea for cold nights. Hells, I wouldn't have thought of tea, at your age.
[ For the moment, the streets are less offensive to him than they've been since arriving, and Estinien stalks through them like he owns them, carving a path through the morning crowds for Alphinaud. He changes the subject, and it might be a mercy— ]
What are you, fifteen?
[ —it's not. ]
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Estinien, you clever bastard.
He stalks after his friend, with two steps to his one, trying to keep up.]
I—[The word is almost choked out, as he realizes what Estinien is saying exactly.] I will have you know that at one point, mayhap my intentions were not on my education at the Studium, but I would like to think I have grown past that stage in my life. Matured, one could say, beyond the frivolities of summer distractions—
[He dodges someone in a hand cart as they almost run him over, and pops up on Estinien's other side.]
My, the streets are quite lively at this time of day.
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[ All the rest of his mocking humor dies as the Coven comes into view between buildings. Unpleasant anticipation prickles along his nerves, not unlike before a battle he's not sure he can win. He never wanted to be responsible for another person the way he's making himself responsible for the boy; it was always easier to hold himself at arm's-length and make no promises.
He says nothing else as they walk.
Inside the Coven walls, robed figures meander around them, ignoring them. Estinien asks a witch with the look of an instructor where they might go. His hands, bare and empty, flex unconsciously as he speaks. There must have been something impatient in his tone; the woman is almost too quick to lead them through a heavy wooden door.
"Just this way," she says pleasantly, not turning back to them. "It's good timing; you're the first of the morning."
Estinien casts a neutral glance over his shoulder at Alphinaud. ]
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There is nothing to be afraid of as long as he and Estinien stay together. That's what he believes, and he hopes Estinien can believe that too. Sensing his friend's need for silence, he does not try to fill it-- only walks beside him, cloak tucked close against the chill morning air, and tries to imitate his example.
He watches the morning hubbub of the Coven with an alert gaze. If he sees Estinien's subtle tension, he doesn't remark on it. He merely responds with a confident nod when he's given that glance.
He leans in and keeps his voice low for Estinien to hear.]
This is what we need to do. Everything will be fine, I am sure of it-- better, even, for the Bond.
[He can't blame his friend for being anxious about magic, though, considering the damned dragon eyes that almost got him killed.]
I am told 'tis easy enough to nullify it should we have the need.
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I doubt we will.
[ The possibility didn't occurred to him; he rejects it out of hand — but he can recognize in it the effort to put him at ease. Alphinaud, putting him at ease.
He makes an effort, afterward, to focus on the present: on the solid stone beneath his feet, on the echo of their steps, the boy's small and light behind him.
The room prepared for the ritual is solemn and dim, but somehow pleasant: incense burns under a stained glass window set high in the wall; a beaten-gold basin close to the door, filled with water, catches the light.
Estinien himself is quiet and gruff throughout; prickly and annoyed with the witches, and uncomfortable when he looks at Alphinaud — but he speaks the traditional words with perfect gravity, and manages to say nothing baldly impatient.
The knowledge that something is different strikes him as they're leaving the grounds, heading back through the high gate: he can feel, very faintly, another existence. It's almost nothing, a whisper that gives him no information, but it's there.
He rolls his shoulders as if to dislodge it, clearing his throat. ]
We ought to get your things. I'm not certain what a full moon entails.
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He's so deep in his thoughts, he doesn't notice the unfamiliar sensation of another presence at the back of his mind-- not until he's drawn out of them by Estinien's voice.]
Ah, yes. I do not have much, as I have been staying in the barracks until I decided upon a permanent arrangement, but I have a journal and a few other things I can fetch...
[It was military, but it was better than sleeping on the street.]
... To be perfectly honest, the townsfolk made it sound very dangerous. Mayhap the risk has passed with the ritual performed, but to that end... Would you acquiesce to supervising me, to be sure I do not fall prey to some consequence we were not told of?
[It ought to go without saying and yet Alphinaud is careful not to force him into anything. He absentmindedly dusts some... fairy dust from his arm and realizes something feels different. What... is that? He can feel Estinien close by, and yet there's something more to it.]
The moons following this one should not be quite so... dramatic, I hope.
[Pity the boy who has no idea what is ahead of him.]