#content warning for overly insistent misogynistic behavior

[theblackestnight-ffxiv]

[ffxivwrite2024] prompt 19: taken

The Drowning Wench was positively swimming in patrons this fine summer evening. D’zinhla couldn’t recall the last time she’d been able to pay a visit to Baderon and her other acquaintances, but the sheer crowd was, on its face, rather discouraging. She paused on the walkway, her ears flicked back in hesitation.

“Too many people, love?” Airraim asked softly.

“No, well, yes, a bit, but-” She bit her lip. “I think I can handle it, anyway. Chances are, they’re all caught up in their own business. I might not get to chat very much with the staff, but… oh!” Her ears perked again at the sweet sound of a La Noscean fiddle cutting above the drone of the crowd, and sudden cheers that rose with it, along with the pulse of hands clapping in time.

Airraim smiled. “I suppose that settles it for you.”

“Quite!” She grinned back, brushing her tail against her partner’s. “Well, shall we?”

“I’ll go find us a place to sit, while you investigate the music,” she said with a gentle shooing motion. 

She didn’t need any further encouragement, her steps far lighter–and timed with the beat–as she approached.

It was hard to get a glimpse through the standing crowd at the entrances, especially in a city with so many Roegadyn, so she wasn’t sure who was playing, but she could think of a few fiddlers she knew that played with that style. That reel was especially popular in Swiftperch, and a few other clues hinted the same, but it wouldn’t necessarily follow that the fiddler themself was from Western La Noscea. She threaded her way through the crowd, trying to get a better vantage, and- aha! Solkzedyr! He was from the west, and was astonishingly dextrous, both with the fiddle and with his feet. From the way he bobbed in time with the beat, she figured it wasn’t long before he started to dance along with his own playing, something she knew from experience was tougher than it looked!

Already a space had cleared enough for dancing to begin, and she smiled wistfully. It was great fun to dance, and she wasn’t half bad at it, but it would put far more spotlight on her than she really wanted. After all, she was here to catch up with her guild acquaintances and the staff who had seen her so often, and once she started dancing, she wasn’t likely to want to stop anytime soon.

“Pretty thing like you all by your lonesome?”

Her ears flicked back at the voice beside her, and she forced herself to pull her attention away from Solkzedyr, into the slit-eyes of a fellow Seeker. He wore his wide-sleeved shirt half open, and the knife at his belt suggested he was a sailor. He grinned as their eyes met, dipping his head toward her with a half-wave. “Doesn’t seem right for you to be all alone like this.”

She forced herself to produce a polite smile, one that didn’t go into her eyes, suppressing her urge to lay her ears back. There was still a chance he wasn’t coming onto her, and it was an odd relief to muse that he likely hadn’t recognized her by her realm-wide fame, which was refreshing, despite his behavior otherwise. “I’m quite alright, and here in company, thank you.” 

“Company that’s left you alone at the edge of the dance floor?” He shook his head sadly. “No way to treat a lovely lass like you!” He grinned anew, in a way he must have thought was rakishly charming. 

Her smile thinned. “I assure you, I’ve no complaints, thank you for your concern.” She turned away as she said it, hoping to signal her disinterest in further conversation.

He stepped to follow her. “Aw, come now, and that’s hardly a way to treat a sailor in for the first time in a moon!” He spread his arms imploringly as he said it, which also had the effect of blocking off her ability to move further in that direction. “You came to the Wench for a good time, so did I, why not have it together and see how the night takes us?”

Her ears slanted back. “I told you, I came here in company, and I am not interested in your idea of a good time.”

“And I’m telling you that I can give you better than the sorry arse that left you alone! Come now!” He held out his hand.

She raised her head, feeling her roiling distaste, forcing it into her words. “Leave me alone.”

A flicker of uncertainty made his grin falter and stumble. “Oh, there’s no need for that, now, I’m just being friendly-”

A hand clapped down on the sailor’s shoulder, fingers curled in a clawlike grip. The man’s face registered irritation as he turned–and then his face went white.

To everyone else, the person who had forcefully gotten his attention was an especially stern looking Miqo’te woman. To D’zinhla and the man, it was a figure made of shadows, featureless but for the red eyes glowing balefully at him. To everyone else, the voice was quiet and serious. To D’zinhla and the man, it had an eerie effect, as if simultaneously echoing from a deep well and also coming from right beside the ear. ”She told you to leave her alone. Do it, or you won’t spend very long regretting it.”

The man flinched away from both of them, his hands raised fearfully. “Seven bloody hells!”

“That’s a good first step. But you’ll become acquainted with all seven of those hells sooner than you thought if you don’t leave the premises. Immediately.”

Face fully drained of blood, the man wheeled and cut through the crowd, headed directly for an exit.

As he left, the shadows dispersed and coalesced, leaving Airraim with her arms crossed and a murderous expression on her face. Her eyes were still glowing. “I should follow him and teach him to never again speak to a woman that way. Or anyone.”

“I think he’s gotten the point,” D’zinhla said softly, aware of the concerned and curious looks of the people surrounding them. Thankfully the music was still playing, so they hadn’t caused a scene for the entire establishment to gawk at. Feeling unclean, she shook her head, then took hold of Airraim’s arm. “Did you find a place to sit?”

“I did.” The crimson glow in her eyes faded, leaving them their usual pale gold. “Come on,” and she pulled her through the crowd to a table for two up against the wall.

D’zinhla sat heavily, feeling much better with a wall to her back. “Gods,” she said, shaking her head. “Haven’t had one that persistent in a while.”

“I was biding my time to let him get the picture, but he insisted on ignoring you. So I had to take action.” Airraim lifted her chin, as if daring D’zinhla to refute her.

She would have tried to say that it wasn’t necessary, but she knew it would be a losing venture. The greasiness of the man’s insistence still lingered on her. She shuddered again, ending in a lash of her tail into mercifully empty air. “If he didn’t learn from you, he’ll learn from someone with fewer compunctions about drawing a dagger on him in public.”

Airraim snorted. “The only reason I didn’t cleave him in two was because that would be a mess for Baderon, and a ruin of your evening.”

It wasn’t exaggeration. She smiled a tiny smile. “I appreciate the restraint. I wish it hadn’t been necessary at all.”

“So do I,” she said darkly. “But a fool used to taking what he wants doesn’t learn until he gets it scared out of him–or ends up dead first. The way he’s going, it’s more like to be the latter, but I’ve done my work for the former, only in consideration to you. Not like he’s worth it.”

D’zinhla sighed. She didn’t like dwelling on him, rude as he had been.

Airraim looked back toward her, and her gaze mingled a softness that overlaid pure steel beneath. “You are mine, beloved,” she said, reaching across the table to seize D’zinhla’s hands. “You are mine, and I won’t allow such filth as that to tarnish your evening.”

Something shivered within her, her eyes locked to the fierceness of Airraim’s expression. A resonance within her darkness, a reminder of what they shared, what her shadow held of her. Everything. All of me. She softened, closing her eyes and taking a steadying breath, then gently squeezing Airraim’s hands, her lips curling upward. “Well then. Let’s get on with our evening.”

Airraim smiled, releasing her hands to lean back in her chair, a look of satisfaction on her face. “Yes, let’s, and you can start by telling me what songs our fiddler is playing.”

A distraction, but an effective one, and D’zinhla smiled. “Well, it’s Solkzedyr Einfedarsyn, from Swiftperch-”

“Ah, the nimble Roegadyn, I do recall. You were quite impressed with the way he could slide so many notes into those breakdowns.”

She brightened. “Yes! And he’s been playing several Western pieces, but-” she paused to perk her ears, “yes, this one is fully Lominsan, it’s a piece by L’sonri Tia, written when Merlwyb was named Admiral. Gods, I do miss L’sonri’s fiddling, but Solkzedyr is up for it. He’s got his own style to it, of course, but it does honor the original writing much better than others I’ve heard.”

Already she was feeling better, and she knew that Airraim knew, and was deeply satisfied for it. She could hardly fault her. This wasn’t the first time she’d taken very direct action to discourage unwanted attentions on D’zinhla, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. This one was only meaningful for the fact that the man hadn’t recognized her at all, and she wasn’t inclined to pull the “do you know who I am” card, when that was exactly what had drawn some of them before. Besides, what if he’d only learned to respect those with the standing to safely reject him?

She felt a mental caress, and flickered her eyes back to her partner, who was once more gazing at her with a firmly possessive stare. She flushed warmly, biting her lip, then cleared her throat. “Mm, sorry, where was I?”

“Telling me about Lominsan fiddlers of note,” Airraim answered, with an amused arch to her eyebrow.

“Mm, yes, right, well!” It was a good topic to get caught up in, and hopefully drive away the memory of the unfortunate start to her evening, while the way that Airraim was looking at her held a great deal of promise for the end of the evening.