roses-and-grimoires

[roses-and-grimoires]

Bit of a shot in the dark here, I know, but I'm tentatively putting out feelers for new rp contacts. Within this carrd is a collection of my current "active" roster of characters. Please do not be intimidated, I don't actually get to rp much these days and the size of my roster is not a good indication of where my attentions lie.

Some of them I only take off the shelf now and again, while others I play more frequently, but if anyone sees someone they'd like to interact with feel free to shoot me a message!

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #30: Two Heads Are Better Than One

Characters: Keldrin, Ghyslain ( @zoetic-tome ) Notes: Follow up to Temptation

Well. Well then.

Keldrin eyes the other man for a few moments, noting that cocky smile and the coy glimmer of his eyes; they were so close from this distance. He could even feel his warm breath against his ear in sharp contrast to the cold around them. He sucks in a sharp breath--and then he exhales it as a soft laugh as he shakes his head. One of his hands reaches out, his fingers trailing ever so lightly along the other's shoulders as he strolls around him with the ease of a circling shark.

"Of course I missed you, dear hunter. It has been painfully boring without you--and more importantly, the chaos that you bring in your wake." That finger slides down a bicep, one hard with lean muscle.

"Do you know how delightful it has been, seeing all the panic your little stunt caused? The place has been practically dead while everyone holes up in their little havens and waits to see if you're going to come knocking on their door."

"As for lamp posts--" he begins, a coy smile gracing his own lips as he leans in in a mirror of the hunter earlier, his words murmured into one of his pointed ears.

"Maybe I've thought a bit about how much fun it would be to pin you up against one." His smile widens as he takes a step back, the better to let his eyes rake over the other man. There is a flash of fang in that smile, though no hint of a threat beyond that.

"After all, a bit of danger makes it more fun, doesn't it, dear hunter?" he adds, a hint of challenge in the words to go with the quirk of his lips and the heat simmering in his gaze.

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt 29: Temptation

Prompt: Free Write - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters: Ghyslain, Keldrin (@roses-and-grimoires ) Content Warning: 

His return to Ishgard had taken longer than he’d intended it to. 

Between his period convalescing in bed and then making sure to delicately side-step the mire of whatever was going on with his teacher and his teacher’s partners? Ghyslain had been busy in Sharlayan for nearly a moon.

He’d finally, only just returned to the city. And now? 

Now he was staring down the length of the sword he held out in front of him, pointing at the mouthy duskwight–the mouthy nightkin–that was attempting to push his blade aside and get up into his space. 

“I could have given you a far worse greeting.” He said flatly.

It was only vague familarity that had held his blade still from the initial strike he would have given anyone else attempting to get the drop on him. He was jumpy, and rightfully so, and the other man should have known that.

The blades he carried were shifted back down. Keldrin was probably the one vampire he didn’t think he needed to worry about in terms of a sudden about face.

Not that he’d have called him a good vampire, exactly. But he at least respected the mortals around him.

“I took a brief vacation.” The words were dismissive, undercut what had kept him away from his task for a little while. Revealed none of the very real weakness that had driven him from the city. 

“But you talk like that, though, and I almost think you missed me.” 

He smiled, and there was something almost coy in the expression, grey eyes raking across the shorter man to take in his appearance. Well fed, as usual. Less dressed than someone ought to be in the cold.

But then, he expected the whole blood-drinker thing conferred some benefit, even if he was familiar with the fact that Keldrin actively had a pulse.

“Especially if you've been waiting for me.” Ghyslain stepped forward as he slid those dual blades he carried back into their respective places at his side.

“What's wrong, Keldrin. Everything else too boring?" His head inclined just slightly, so he could murmur a touch closer to the vampire's ear.

"Or did you not get enough of dealing with me the first time when I pinned you against that light?" It was a cutting offer, sharply edged and sarcastic.

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #29: Drop In

Characters: Keldrin, Ghyslain ( @zoetic-tome )

It had been quiet lately. Too quiet. Quiet enough that Keldrin had gotten quite concerned that a certain hunter might have turned into the hunted.

It had been days--maybe even over a week now--where he hadn't seen the dark-haired man hanging about the usual vampire hotspots. And that was a bit concerning, considering that said man wasn't one of the vampires.

And it would be quite a shame if one of the other blooddrinkers got to him; having the hunter around made life a bit more interesting. Especially if he was going after the other leeches, and not him.

So it was with a smile that he drops down from where he had been perched like a gargoyle upon one of Ishgard's parapets, landing with only the soft thud of boots upon the cobblestones.

Not soft enough though; even that little bit of noise had caused the hunter to draw a blade with lightning speed, one that was now pointing at him.

With a huff, Keldrin casually reaches up and brushes the blade aside, flashing the hunter a cheeky smile as he does so.

"Now that's rude," he declares in a chiding tone--though one with more mirth than actual bite. He was being a bit of a shite--and reveling in it.

"Here I was, waiting all this time out in the cold to see if you'd show up, and how do you greet me? With a sword drawn. I'm almost hurt!" he pretends to pout.

"Was worried that someone might've finally decided that you weren't worth the trouble of using as a cat's paw. Especially since you've been keeping so busy; the younger ones weren't enough for you, huh." From the way he says it, it's not a question.

"So where have you been, dear hunter?"

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #24: Bar

Characters: Callistus

"Callistus! Callistus, wake up!"

There was no gentle awakening from slumber; there were only rough hands shaking him and a panicked voice calling his name.

Callistus' eyes fly open, his hand moving with the speed of a viper towards the pistol kept in the bedside table. As he draws back the hammer he hears a sharp gasp, and those hands find themselves in the air as their bearer takes several steps back.

"Callistus--sir, please. There's a problem!"

That voice... that was one that he knew. Callistus squints, trying to make out the figure in the gloom.

"Aetius...? What's going on?" His voice is a croak, one barely audible over the music from the radio and... was that banging? It certainly sounded like banging. Uncomfortably close, too. And shouting.

"I--I don't know, sir," the younger man stammers, his eyes as wide as saucer plates. "I... I was coming back to the barracks and I just saw people attacking each other. Literally tearing them to shreds, and I just... ran. I--" The words are lost as there is a sharp bang on the door.

"Bar the door," Callistus says, in a tone that suggests that it's not a request. The other man is quick to comply, panicked fingers struggling with the lock though having a much easier time moving the desk chair in front of the thin wood.

"Get the window unlocked," he continues as he goes to stand in front of said door, his gun drawn and pointed directly at it. "Once it is, you go out first. I'll cover us. Understand, soldier?"

"Yes--yes, sir."

"Good. Then get to work. If what you said is true, then we're going to have to move quickly."

Little did he know just how true those words would turn out to be.

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #28: Deleterious

Characters: Keldrin, Marcel ( @zoetic-tome )

The sound of the door opening, followed by the sound of someone flopping down hard onto the bed, are what alert Marcel that Keldrin has returned home.

"Something wrong?" he asks, a question that causes Keldrin to let out groan tinged with more than a little frustration.

"It's going to rain," he proclaims into the bedcovers, a statement that causes Marcel to arch a brow.

"And you know this...?"

"Because my leg won't stop complaining about it," Keldrin snaps as he rolls over to gaze up at the other man--and to make it more easy for him to knead his fingers into his thigh, as if that might help.

"Ah. I see," Marcel says. He studies him for a few moments--then there is a second soft thump as he goes to join him on the bed.

"What are you doing?" Keldrin asks, turning his head to eye him.

"I cannot change the weather, but I can at least keep you company," he says as he shifts, making it so he can tug Keldrin's head up into his lap.

"...yeah, I guess that's true," Keldrin concedes, his eyes drifting closed as Marcel's fingers brush through his hair.

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #27: Memory

Characters: Ivaurault, Helionne ( @zoetic-tome )

There was something that the two of them had decided to keep to themselves, even in the wake of all of the recent chaos. A small agreement, but an important one.

A way to keep two memories very much alive, even if their original owners were no longer. Even if few realized that the middle names of their children had come from people that had once been close to them, the two of them would know.

And perhaps that would be enough.

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #26: Zip

Characters: Callistus

So this was Eorzea.

Or at least, a little corner of it; a small spare bedroom belonging to an old friend. Outside, a landscape dotted with crystals, academics delving into old ruins, and adventurers seeking fame and fortune.

And inside, the few remnants of his old life. An old uniform, an old backpack, an old gunblade. A few old pictures, the kind kept in a wallet rather than hung upon a wall. And a small bulldog who had taken over one of the pillows of the bed, and was sleeping away the heat of the day.

Yet it is not a chapter that he is quite ready to entirely seal away. Not yet. There was one thing still left undone, one person who might still be out there, waiting for him.

Or so he hopes. He can do naught but hope at this point. Hope, and prepare, and try to silence the creeping fear lurking in the back of his mind.

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #25: Perpetuity

Characters: Fleurant

With the hustle and bustle brought about by the newborn babes, Fleurant found himself largely free to wander the halls of the old Ishgardian manor uninterrupted.

It had been some time since he had been able and allowed to do so, and perhaps it was merely old age settling in, but even he could not deny the pull of nostalgia.

He remembered the places where he and Dimitri would talk about their studies, or where he would charm the servants into giving him treats to share with Ophelian when no one was looking.

He remembered where he would hide with his books, knowing that the head maid was on his side and willing to direct people the other way. He remembered the times his father had tried to convince him to focus more on his swordwork, that as the secondborn he had to be prepared to take over, should something happen to Leandre.

And he remembered their last argument, and the accusations that had flown. How he was putting everyone in their house and their noble line by daring to question too loudly the war that seemed as if it had no end. At the time, the words had stung, and stung deeply, but time had dulled their ache, especially since he could not even argue that they had been incorrect.

There was perhaps an irony, that he would be the one to continue while the war had died, but it only brings a rueful smile to his lips. There had been too many losses on both sides for it to be otherwise. Yet perhaps... perhaps he could allow himself hope for the future. For both himself, and the nation that he had been born to, even if he could no longer consider it home.

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt 24: Banished

Prompt: Bar - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters:  Helionne, Ivaurault (@roses-and-grimoires) Content Warning:

She had become a mother. Or, more specifically, she had given birth. Months of waiting. Months of infirmity. Of being so swollen she could barely move. Of struggling furiously with the incompetence of her own body. Of denying cravings that she had with desperation, but that were ‘bad for the babes’. Of all the things she could have been chastised away from, the last of these things was probably the worst of them. 

She was in no state yet to be where she wanted to be; out in the yard, sword in one hand and a shield in the other, starting to regain what the months had stolen from her. Instead, she was in the kitchens of the Courcelle manor, a place where she likely ought not to have been. 

And as she had done so long ago as a wee youngling first drug in from the streets, she stood with a bowl of shrimp that was no doubt intended for a celebration cradled in one of her arms, the other hand working to help her devour them in bites that weren’t at all careful. 

One of the servants behind her made the mistake of interrupting, calling her name with confusion. 

“Lady Helionne?” The words were light, as if the kitchen maid was hopeful that she could direct the no longer pregnant lady back out of the room where she definitely was not meant to be, and back up into her rooms. “Surely if you’d like, we can bring..” 

In a flash, the bowl was down, and Helionne held in one hand the longest wooden spoon, meant for stirring cauldrons, and a lid that wasn’t fit to be a proper shield, but that she was managing a good approximation with. The maidservant lifted both of her hands in surrender and stepped backwards. 

“I have been restricted from all I want for moons, and I will not see anyone bar me from this indulgence. Do you understand?” Helionne’s accent was thick in her throat as she chewed and swallowed the last mouthful she’d been devouring when the interruption had come.

“Y-yes my Lady. I’ll just fetch Lord Ivaurault.” The maid continued backing away, stopping just long enough to bow before she darted off into the halls as Helionne turned back to her impromptu feast. 

She’d finished off the entire bowl by the time that Ivaurault arrived. 

“I see you’re feeling better tonight.” He quipped from his place in the doorway, striding over to join her at the now empty bowl, expression rueful as he peered down into it. “Didn’t even save me one?”

He winced away with a laugh as she smacked his shoulder with the spoon, only for her to give a light shriek as he hoisted her up into both arms. The spoon clattered to the floor as she brought her own arms up to grab around his neck and hold tight to him.

“Ivaurault! Put me d-” Her protests died immediately when he pressed a quick kiss to her lips, one that didn’t last, but had her flushing straight to her ears. The smile he gave her was a knowing one. And one of triumph. He'd won that fight with little bloodshed. A miracle perhaps, considering her moodiness hadn't yet faded, merely changed tack.

“Come. You’re barred from the kitchen before you terrorize the maids away again. I’ll have them bring you anything you want, but no more forays alone.” And it was to her voice rising in protest that he flashed a very brief smile to a very thankful maid as he carried his wife back out of the kitchen and towards their quarters.

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #23: On Cloud Nine

Characters: Ivaurault, Helionne ( @zoetic-tome ) Notes: Follow up to With A Cry

He was a father.

He had known this day was coming, of course, but it was one thing to know and another to hold the babes in his arms. His lips curve into a smile as he looks down at Ophelian. The babe had quickly fallen back to sleep once the nursemaid had seem them fed, and he was afraid to wake either him or his brother, sleeping nearby.

He was a father, and Helionne was still breathing. In some ways, even more tired than the babes were, but breathing. And alive.

For the rest time in countless bells he felt like he could properly breathe, like a weight had been lifted from his chest. And he could not stop smiling, even as he returns the babe back to his cradle. His finger brushes gentle as a feather across Lucien's cheek before he steps away, his eyes going towards Helionne, still resting.

Or perhaps not, because he hears a soft stir and sees her eyes fluttering open. She goes to try and rise, and he moves forward, lightly resting a hand on her shoulder.

"I was wondering when you would wake up, dear Lionne," he says, casting her a fond smile as he reaches up to brush some of her hair out of her eyes.

"Feels as if I got run over by a war bird," she grumbles. Her eyes wander towards the wooden crib, the one that had been sent by a certain half-dragon out in Tailfeather. "Are they all right?"

"They're beautiful," he declares, casting her a warm smile. "And about as tired as you, it seems." He leans over to press a kiss to her forehead, one that elicits a small smile from her.

"I'm never doing that again," she warns him, the words causing him to laugh (but softly, in order to not disturb the twins in their slumber).

"We'll talk with the chirurgeon about that later," he promises. "You know, I think they might have ended up looking a bit more like you."

"You know it's too early to say, Ivy," she chides tiredly.

"True, but I have a suspicion," he counters with a grin. "And in any case, they would be fortunate if they did."

"You are incorrigible," she huffs, but there is a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

"Only when I am in such good spirits."

"Liar," she declares, but there is no heat in the word. And any further retorts are lost as he presses his lips to hers in a long kiss, one that ends with an exchange of smiles and his fingers curled around her own.

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt 22: With A Cry

Prompt: Free Write - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters: Helionne, Ivaurault (@roses-and-grimoires), mentions of the many siblings Courcelle. Content Warning: Mentions of childbirth

The relative calm of the Courcelle home had been broken by a woman’s shout in the earliest hours of the morning. Helionne had gone into labour. Early, the chirurgeon had said. Expected, the midwife agreed. Twins were always a birth that came early, especially when the mother was practically fit to burst the way she had been. 

Helionne had been rushed into the room that had been made ready, and innumerable hours had passed while Ivaurault had been made to wait outside. The sound of screaming from inside the chamber had left him no doubt pacing. 

The last time any children had been born in the Courcelle home, it had taken the life of the mother. The knowledge lay like a shroud over the family and most of his siblings drifted in and out of the hall at points. Both to offer a shoulder, and to help stay his fretting. 

That the labour was long was no real question. It had been expected. A first time mother, decently into her years? It would have been stranger if the birth had been flawless. It took more hours than anyone was comfortable with. Nearly half a day passed, before finally, sometime during the midafternoon hours, a set of twin cries came from inside the birthing room, after a too-long period of silence. These were the cries of babes, loud and greedy for their first taste of air. 

The midwife stepped out a number of minutes after that cry, announcing that Ivaurault could enter. Helionne lay paler against the pale sheets that covered her, but she wore a wan, tired smile. Nursemaids fussed with two swaddled bundles, feeding them from bottles that had been prepared just earlier. 

“Ivy.” Helionne’s voice sounded hoarse. Raw from her exertions. One of her hands lifted and Ivy made the few steps necessary to take her palm. Her grip was as tired as her smile had been, but it was firm, fingers curling into his. “Tell them they can see them in the morning.” 

Ivaurault looked back at the door with a rueful expression on his face. She was right, of course. Outside it waited siblings and their father alike. Eager for the good news. 

“I’ll make sure to send them away.” He reassured. She released his hand after that, that tired expression relaxing as she tried to settle herself comfortably into bed to steal what sleep she could for what little remained of the earliest hours of the morning.

"Rest well, my Lionne." Though he was not certain she had heard him, for she gave only a sigh and sank deeper into the bedcovers. Ivaurault stepped over to stare down at the lives they’d created, where they rested in the arms of their nursemaids. 

—

The announcement was made some hours later, when the sun had properly risen and the family had rightly assembled for the day.

House Courcelle was pleased to welcome its newest members, Ophelian de Courcelle and Lucien de Courcelle, born this day, the 24th Sun of the Fifth Astral Moon, to Lord Ivaurault and Lady Helionne de Courcelle.

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #22: Aftermath

Characters: Briardien, Aramis ( @zoetic-tome ) Notes: Follow up to Risks & Rewards

The room is quiet now; Aramis had left, though the taste of his lips still lingered upon Briardien's own, a tantalizing trace of the man who, were he made of less stout fiber, he would have called for and pleaded to stay. But the knowledge of the selfishness of it, of the flagrant disregard for propriety had held his tongue; after all, while he had very thoroughly cleaned house after Aramis' ascent from secondborn to head, he knew all too well what a careless bit of gossip from a servant could do.

But that did not mean he had not been tempted all the same. It was so very, very rare that he had the pleasure of being with Aramis during the light of day, and not having to keep up appearances for others.

"Blessed Fury, forgive me my selfishness," he murmurs as he settles down, making himself more comfortable among the plush pillows and warm blankets; while his own bedchamber was not nearly as grand his lord's, it was a far sight more lavish than the servant quarters he had once resided in.

Yet he would trade it all away, if it just meant that Aramis could remain freely at his side.

But he would never ask that. He knew all too well how heavily the burden of his family's line resided on the young lord's shoulders, and it was his job to help him bear it, not tempt him into sending it cascading into ruin.

And ruin it would be, if the truth of the two of them ever came to light.

The unfairness of it all burns like acrid smoke in his lungs, but there is naught that he can do about it. He had made his promises, over and over, in deed and in unfaltering loyalty. It is why he has no regret about his actions, even though they could have gone so much worse.

A bullet was nothing, as long as it meant that he would be safe.

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt 19: Risks & Rewards

Prompt: Taken - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters: Aramis, Briardien (@roses-and-grimoires) Content Warning: Mention of a gunshot wound. Notes: Part 1; A Challenge, Part 2; Duel

The duel had gone exactly as he had expected it to. The manservant as his ear had described to him what was happening. The gunshot lodged in the shoulder of the man who had insulted him and struck his face at that meeting. And the way that Briardien was clutching his own side. 

He needed to be measured, and he would have to force himself to remain that way until they reached the confines of the manor. He went through the motions, stating his satisfaction. Could feel the set to his mouth when he told Briardien to get into the carriage. 

And it wasn’t until nearly two bells later, after Briardien had been treated, the grazing wound on his side treated and wound with bandages that Aramis finally found himself alone with his steward. He’d ordered the last servant out and it was only then that he let fingers lead him to the edge of the bed that Briar occupied as he sank down onto it. 

“You won.” His voice held a gravel to it that he didn’t dare attempt to correct lest he call attention to it. It was a single, simple thread of emotion he didn’t want to bear out in the light of day. Until with most, he had settled himself and then turned on the bed until he could face Briar properly, one of his gloved hands rising to brush against the man’s ribs well above where the bullet had gouged his side.

“Of course, my lord.” There was a smile in Briar’s voice, one that died as he lifted his eyes up to scan Aramis’ face. The mask he’d worn since the duel had slipped, and worry was etched in every feature, from the deep furrow above his brows to the downset of his mouth. 

“I knew it was a risk. If I’d thought they’d manage to shoot you at all, I never would have had you take it.” Aramis’ voice held no contrition to it, for this was just the way of things in the household. It was Briar’s purpose to endure the things that Aramis himself could not. It was what had enabled him to become so proficient a lord in so short a time. 

“But now no one can question your honor.”  Briardien murmured as he lay one of his own hands across Aramis covered fingers. The darker man’s fingers were trembling under the touch. The fact that any duel with pistols was risky was not something lost on either of them. A misfire. A lucky shot and he’d have been dead. 

Aramis took in a deep breath and shifted forward on the bed until he could lean in and press his forehead against Briar’s own. 

“No, no they cannot question my honor.” He repeated. “But I would rather my honor be tarnished than the alternative.” What he referred to hung in the air like a quiet curse he dare not speak into existence, lest he tempt the Fury’s favor with them. 

Briardien opened his mouth to speak, only to find Aramis’ lips against his own as his lord tipped his head. There was an edge of desperation in that kiss, in the way fingers curled against his side before trailing skin to rise and lay across his heart. 

“Rest, my Briar. For Halone’s mercy, the wound was shallow. I will be tended by another today. And you will sleep.” It was the same tone he had been given when he was told to get into the carriage. One hand lifted to brush across his mouth, wondering if his lips might be as bruised as they felt. 

“Yes, my Lord.” He answered as Aramis’ cane settled to the ground and he rose again, stepping away from the bed to find his way to the door and out of it. Some things, he could never speak aloud. Words that he could never say, for what they would change between them.

Admissions he would love most direly to make, but could not. Theirs was a precarious relationship in many ways. For as deadly as a bullet might be, in some ways, this was the greater risk taken in the House of Xavalien.

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #20: Duel

Characters: Briardien, Aramis ( @zoetic-tome ) Warnings: Violence, blood Notes: Follow up to A Challenge

The light of dawn was a subtle thing, a brightening of a grey, overcast sky. The wind whistled over the empty field, kicking up flurries of snow, the same snow that crunched under the feet of the trio who had arrived to the designated dueling ground first. One of them carried a cane in one hand, while the other was resting upon the arm of their companion, who was busy carrying a long, thin wooden case. The third trailed behind, the livery of House Xavalien just barely visible under the collar of their coat.

"They were not happy when they were informed that we would be using pistols, my lord," Briardien declares to the man with the cane. "I believe the exact words were that they were a commoner's weapon." The steward prided himself on his poker face, but at this remark he allows himself the barest hint of a smile. "But commoner or not, it would have been dishonorable to refuse."

"Excellent," Aramis says. "You have my permission to behave in a manner you deem acceptable for the offense they've given."

Briardien takes a moment to mull over those particular words and the way that they are phrased. Then he nods once. "I understand, my lord." He pauses, his eyes narrowing against the glare of the snow. "I believe they're here."

He gives a nod to the other manservant, who goes over to converse with the other second; Briardien, meanwhile, remains at Aramis' side, his mismatched eyes lingering upon the offending party.

The moment seems to drag and yet over in the blink of an eye, for it is not long before the other manservant has returned, and is pressing a familiar pistol into the steward's hand. Briardien gives him a small nod, his eyes following him as he makes his way towards where Aramis was standing to one side, out of the line of fire. His gaze lingers upon him, his fingers tightening on his weapon as resolution settled into his chest.

His eyes snap to his opponent, his heart pounding in his ears as the seconds tick down. And then the signal is given, and his hand is a blur of motion as he brings his pistol level, and fires.

Two shots ring out, splitting the air with a short, sharp staccato.

Briardien sees his opponent crumple to his knees, one hand clutching at his shoulder, and allows himself to experience a brief moment of satisfaction of having hit his target where he wished. But only brief, for that is when the pain sets in, his gloved hand flying to press against his side. He cannot feel the blood through the fabric of his glove (yet) but he knows that it is there. His nostrils flare as he feels someone come up to him, a few quick words said that don't quite register.

He does hear Aramis' voice though, coming through in a firm declaration: "I am satisfied." Followed by a comment about it wise to make haste to a chirurgeon. His voice is carefully level, with no betrayal of any emotion that he might be feeling. It is left to the other manservant to help Briardien walk over to the waiting carriage, yet he is reluctant to move until the sees Aramis turn away and start coming towards them.

"My lord," Briardien begins, only to see Aramis' mouth press into a thin, displeased line.

"Get in the carriage. We're going," he says, in a tone that brokers no argument. For while the other party is distracted, there were still appearances to keep up. It was only once they were alone that he would be able to express any sort of concern, a fact that Briardien was not ignorant of.

"Of course, my lord."

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #21: Shade

Characters: Keldrin, Marcel ( @zoetic-tome )

"I know you're there."

Marcel doesn't even bother to look up from the book he is reading, even as one of the shadows behind him lets out a disappointed sigh. A second elezen steps forth from the darkness by the wall, his footsteps resonating now that he wasn't bothering to mask their sound.

"I still don't get how you're so good at that," Keldrin complains. "Most people never see me coming or going."

"A good deal of practice," Marcel says without missing a beat. "After all, we've been traveling together for how long?"

"Over a year now? Or was it two? I forget," Keldrin admits as he goes to flop down beside the older vampire. "But anyway! Do you want to hear the gossip I've picked up..."

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt 20: A Challenge

Prompt: Duel - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters: Aramis, Briardien (@roses-and-grimoires) Content Warning: 

It had meant to be a casual conversation about the expansion of business. That was, at least, how Aramis had planned to treat it. He still wasn’t entirely certain what he had said in the wake of the now furiously flying words that were crossing over the table he and his cohorts had opted to meet at. 

His was the business of transport of goods. This man’s, the sale of other goods. How they had ended up at a crossroads where Aramis, unseeing, recoiled from the strike of cloth across his face, was startling. It was a formal challenge. And he wondered for only a moment, if the man angrily and almost coldly challenging him to a duel had forgotten about his infirmity because he continually turned his head to track their voices.

“I wish to challenge you, Baron Xavalien!” The incensed man was still near to shouting, puffing himself up for the overblown nature of his issuance. Surely the Baron would step wisely back from this. 

“I accept.” The baron intoned, lowering his glasses down from where they perched to hide his pale, infirmed eyes. The red mark on his face was almost barely visible behind the fringe of blonde hair, and he lifted a hand to brush over that cheek. Not far from his side, the Baron’s right hand man stood, staring wordlessly. It was to a credit that he didn’t step forward to intervene on his master’s behalf.

“Of course, as one who cannot fight, I shall exercise my right for any such matter of combat.” Aramis continued. “Briardien?” There was the distinct sense that this was a formality, calling his name aloud. And this time, the man stepped forward, his expression a mask of glacial calm.

“Yes, my Lord?” None of this is what the man had expected when he made that challenge. Surely Aramis would understand his limitations and refuse. Apologize and make him a more lucrative offer. Something more beneficial. It was the only reason he’d challenged him. But instead, he watched as Aramis lowered his hand from his face and curled his knuckles against the tabletop in front of him, rapping it once.

“I name Briardien, as my champion.” Something hard had crept into Aramis voice, and the man paled, though the blind nobleman did not see it. “I am done for the evening, gentlemen.” There was something final about those words, a dismissal that the others didn’t miss. Without skipping a beat, Aramis stood, and within bare seconds, the cane he had entered with found its way once more into his hands, while his manservant stepped back again. 

“Fury bless you all.” Purposeful strides and the glide of his cane along the floor carried him from the room as the man who had challenged him, and indeed, the remaining circle at the table exchanged glances and furious whispered conversation. It seemed contrary to the rumors Alexandre had always spread, his younger brother wasn’t actually a man to be trifled with.

Now they just had to pray his manservant wasn't as capable as he looked, or they might be in trouble indeed.