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"so this is what cherry blossoms taste like?"

[blacksophiehatter]

Coffee for Two- D'Marre

“You are leaving the Scions?”

She was still sitting on her bed, wearing…well, not much of anything, really, which would have been distracting if he hadn’t been blindsided by the question. Though standing closer to the door than she was, he wasn’t any more pressed to leave than the all-too-comfortable sorceress, nor was he dressed to do so. He’d been trying to brew them both some coffee- she had a glass-container contraption in her room for it- and was trying (and failing) to figure out how it worked without her input. It was, of course, only a matter of time before she got bored with him fiddling with it and showed him how it worked, but he was hoping to beat that clock.

“...maybe,” was all he said, unsure of how much surprise was hiding from his face, or how much was displayed in full. He lowered his gaze from her and turned it back to the glass-container full of coffee before leaning down to check the back. I’m sure it’s very simple.

“Maybe?” Interested but amused. Thoughtful.

For what it was worth, he liked that she asked. “Maybe,” he agreed, this time with a little smile. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Y’shtola shifted just a little out of the corner of his eye. Was she giving him her full attention? “You are not simply playing coy with me so that I might find out later?” Her tone was mostly flat to humor him, which he wanted to think was unfunny, but couldn’t.

“No,” he tried to pull the corner of his mouth down, but largely failed, “I’m not. Is that wrong?”

She crossed her arms. “No. It is not. But…”

He glanced at her, enough to put her in focus, then inclined his head towards her.

“I do not think I have ever heard that answer from you before.” She mused. “Usually you have two or three little plans to fall back upon before saying so.”

So she noticed. It was nice that she noticed. That he wasn’t prepared for this eventuality. The permanence of it. ‘Maybe’ was reserved for people like Alphinaud, people too nosy to be mostly honest with. ‘Maybe’ was not dishonest here. Not yet.

 “Usually,” he agreed. “...it’s just-” 

His lips parted. It was just them. Would it really be damning to be honest about it?

“...the Scions wasn’t supposed to be a permanent thing for me.” He admitted. “I just came for…” He broke off, suddenly at a loss for words. 

“For fun?” She finished, her smile apparent.

For you. “Something like that.” Ah. It needed a bit of aether to run, didn’t it? So if he just… “Got it to work.” A little snap and it was gurgling. Hopefully it wouldn’t have any grounds in it. 

“Did you, now?” Her curled hand pressed to her cheek, and then downward, knuckles brushing her jaw. “It took longer than normal.”

He huffed, despite himself. “It was my first time.” 

“Mmhm.” Her gaze flitted to her right, past him and towards the bookshelves touched by the streaming sunlight from her large window- a window that was hard to see into, but not out of. He assumed it was some sort of spell. “What are your plans then? After the Scions?”

He wondered why she wanted to know. Wondered if it was enough to admit to his own personal failing for. In the end, he decided, “I don’t know.”

It stung him to say, and he kept his face turned from her when he said so; dark curls brushing past bare shoulders, he closed his eyes and mouth as he attempted to maintain some form of calm. 

“You don’t know…hm…” Now she was probably tapping his cheek with her fist in that thoughtful way he knew she was wont to. “You could become my assistant, if you wished. That is, if you are not hard pressed about maintaining your form.”

“Very funny,” he half grumbled, but it made him smile. “I’m also very attached to my looks, so no.”

For a while they were both silent, with the steady dripping of coffee in one, and then two cups as the only sound that could be heard between them. When it was done, he picked them both up and brought one over to her. 

“It’s not about work,” he said finally, once they were both settled. “It’s…” The room was warm enough to remind him of home. “...I should move on.”

“To what?” She took a drink of her coffee, though not before stirring something in. He thought, next time, that he should have something to pair it with for her. “I am sure there are a great many horizons for the Warrior of Light to travel across- What?” She stopped in the middle, her eyes narrowing just a tad. “What is that dour look for?”

He didn’t say anything. Eventually, he rested his cup on her nightstand and laid on the bed on his stomach. “There’s a such thing as too much opportunity,” he murmured, though he breathed it out like a sigh. 

“But that is not your problem, is it?” She mused, closing her eyes as she sipped, then crossing her bare legs one over the other. 

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, sighing into the sheets. “It’s that-” His eyes crinkled and a wildness stirred within him, blowing air out of his nose rather forcefully. “I don’t care about any of them. They’re too boring.”

Then he groaned and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, rolling onto his back. 

“Then don’t leave.” It was so simple when she said it. Like everything was.

“I can’t…not leave.” He insisted. “I just…” I can’t get too attached to this place. “Need to go. Before there’s trouble.” He leaned back, the tips of his ears barely grazing the bare skin of her shoulder. In another voice, a quieter one, he said, “I don’t belong here.” There were too many people. Too many names he knew, and more he didn’t know.

At this, she was quiet. He thought at first that he’d said something that annoyed her- an easy feat, honestly- but when she hummed and he felt something thread through his hair, his shoulders drooped, relaxed. “Does anyone truly belong anywhere?” She asked finally.

He peered up at her face. She was thinking very hard about something, and her gaze was not on him, though it lingered in his direction. “...I don’t know.”

“Hm?” It stirred her from her thoughts, whatever they were. 

“I don’t know what I want.” He admitted. The words were alien to him- daunting, even- and when they left him their absence made him scowl. They made him want to apologize. He hated apologizing.

“Hm,” she crossed her arms over her chest, her cup nearly dangling in her left hand. “I did not think indecision so great a crime.” “Isn’t it?” Perplexed and maybe a little miffed, he rolled over again, hoping to meet her eyes. 

His confusion seemed funny to her, given how hard it seemed to hide the laugh puffing up from her shoulders, the way she rolled her head to one side, mirth escaping a mouth D’Marre had already gotten lost in. 

“Not everyone wishes to be perfect, D’Marre.” She flicked the tip of his ear absentmindedly. “You are just more obsessed with it than most.” 

He frowned…but found it didn’t actually hurt his feelings much. Instead, he crossed his arms and cradled his head in them, watching her watching him. “So?” He challenged.

“‘So’ what?” She repeated. “I stated a fact. ‘Twas not a judgment of your character.”

Somehow this made him smile. Gaze sliding down to her stomach and then back up to her eyes, he said, “Has anyone ever told you you’re kind?”

A snort. Clearly this was a joke of some sort. “No.”

He tilted his head. Eyes flickering down to the blankets between them and then up to her headboard, he decided, “They should.”

[blacksophiehatter]

[blacksophiehatter]

happy cat day..

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Member's fanart request: Tea time Uri! An Eorzean magazine about goss- jk

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heretical Ishgardian romance novel "Would You Still Love Me If I Was a Wyrm?"

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Returning the Head of the Forest Spirit

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mentally I'm still here

[blacksophiehatter]

Goku: You wanna go to McDonald’s, son? I’ll get you a happy meal.

Gohan: Dad, I’m 25.

Goku: So you don’t want apple slices and nuggets with a toy?

Gohan: …That would be nice, actually.

[blacksophiehatter]

[Lightning in a Bottle] -D'Marre

As the youngest in his family, he was tasked with being with his aging mother longest; as a small speck on their family floor in a grass-thatched house, he had nothing better to do than to watch his mother as she worked with his hands on his knees. 

“Pick up your thread,” she’d said suddenly, and D’Marr sat up straight.

His eyes flickered down to his feet, where his own needle and thread lay. After a few seconds or so, he said, “Why?”

“I am teaching you how to mend,” she said, “and then we will begin on salve-making.”

He made a face. Though he picked up the needle and thread, he held it like it may bite him. “But mama,” he began, “you already know how to mend.”

She glanced up at him with a look not as severe as it could have been; an amusement that bordered on a threat threaded her silvering features, the weathering brown of her skin, and the laugh lines slowly forming around her mouth and eyes. “Meaning?”

He tilted his head downward and to the side, a gesture to mean his intent was obvious. “Can’t you mend it for me?”

A crooked smile curled at one side of her mouth, the red-brown of her eyes twinkling just for a second as she lowered her hands, freeing one from her own cloth. “And I will be around forever?”

He shrugged. “By then I’ll have someone else to do it for me.” One of his brothers had said as much in passing. He was also much older than D’Marr, so mayhaps he would know one or two things that were true.

Her hand shot out and popped him in one of his stalwart ears, enough to startle but not to hurt. When he opened his mouth to protest, she put one finger to her lips. “You should not depend on others to do things for you. Take care of yourself, and then you can take care of others, and in return, they will care for you.”

Sulking, he reached for the thread again, a pout so deep it may have changed his face if he left it for too long. “...okay.” Then, after a moment or two, he said, “But I don’t want to learn salve-making. I’m a boy.”

 He was far too young to be assigned a gender at all; as he always would be, once D’Marr had decided on something he knew as true, it would become as such to him and him only, and not a single person could shake him. 

“And?” She asked. As she did not continue, he stared back at her, wide eyed, before his eyes bounced around the room, hoping for someone else to come up with a proper argument- though with just they two, he was inevitably out of luck. 

“Boys are supposed to be Wood Warders….” He mumbled mostly to himself, but his mother heard all, as was expected. It was she he had inherited his keenest senses from, not his father- a man that he’d only seen on occasion before they’d sent word that he’d fallen to a Garlean assault. 

“Many,” she agreed, “but it is possible that you are not meant to be.”

“But I’m a boy.” He insisted. “Boys can’t do salve-making.”

“Where did you hear that from?” She asked, her eyes careful in the detail of the tear she was mending. 

“Everyone!” He cried. “Even the older boys say so!” He leaned back and crossed his arms, nearly poking himself with the needle. 

“Well, there are boys who are sometimes salve-makers, and girls who are sometimes warders. Did you know that?” It was a casual, off-handed thing to say for its weight, which only made him more frustrated. 

“Where?” He challenged, though almost immediately afterward, he threw his hand over his mouth, realizing his mistake. Her gaze had become less mirthful, more a warning than amused, meaning he had crossed the invisible line. “...sorry.”

A little nod, as though the indiscretion was suddenly forgotten. The perks of being the youngest. “...I used to be a Warder, you know. And there have been a few male salve-makers in memory.”

“Huh?” Somehow this displeased him greatly. The thought of his mother taking on a man’s job made him roil in discomfort, not to mention how dangerous it might have been. While female Viera were formidable on their own, he felt the women in his community more important; all the village leaders were women, the apothecaries, the technicians, the construction workers. Without them, how would the village run? “Wh- Why? Why would you want to do that? Who was protecting you?” 

The amusement re-appeared, though not without a bit of offense. “I was. My brothers and sisters were protecting me, as they are wont to. When you become a Warder,” she began, “you will understand. Now pick up your thread. We are wasting precious time.” 

****

Though humbled by his unceremonious departure from his village, he was not impressed with the outside world, nor would he allow himself to be. He refrained from a kind of action, and inaction, mostly because he was sure of what to do when he was sitting in a chair, arms crossed over his chest to restrain himself from anything uncontrolled, any active element. He wanted to keep that control over himself, over the people around him, over anything he could fathom to force a piece of the Wood to come with him. To keep himself sane. 

And yet-

A tickle tingled at the back of his throat. He could play for them, if they danced, but he wouldn’t. That was reserved for quiet company, for people who knew him well enough to share secrets with. In a bar mostly comprised of Ishgardians who regarded him with disdain, his legs crossed as well. 

Never had he felt more homesick. Never had he felt more alone. 

His fingers twitched a bit against his forearm. Sure, it was cold, but they needn’t all be so sad all the time. For whatever reason it stirred his gut a bit. Maybe made him a bit angry, though he would not show it. 

What the hell are they so sad about? Dragons? I just got chased out of Ul’dah. I just lost my wife-

As he had already taken care of immediate concerns- that is, a nice pair of thermals and earmuffs to be sure he didn’t freeze in a climate so unlike his own- it would be time to deal with some of the other items on the checklist he had, which were all, in their own way, a pain in the ass to do. Count Edmont had been nice enough to set them up in his house, so immediate needs were taken care of, but with the frigid greeting and even more frigid glares, he felt as though he should move on to stage two.

Hate being hated for no good reason.

“Oh, D’Marre! Come here for a second, I’ve something to ask you.” When he looked down, Tataru was waving up at him, jumping just a little bit to be sure she got his attention. 

He gestured once with his head, eyebrows raising. “Yes?” 

“You’re a Bard, aren’t you? I need your area of expertise for something.” Her smile seemed laced with something hidden; when she gestured for him to lean down so she could speak in his ear, her words made those ears stand up straight. “Do you understand?” She finished, nodding encouragingly. “Can you?”

His mouth opened just a bit, and then closed. Something frustrated wrinkled at his brow- though he smoothed it out quickly and put on a little smile, hoping it was as charmingly congenial as possible. “...of course.” She had asked nicely. Besides, he’d wanted to play something, anything on that guitar, given just standing in the Forgotten Knight was starting to make him depressed. 

A slip beneath the cracks. A “friend” asking to play, a “friend” asking the accompanying dance. He could play now, to honor an agreement he was sure he’d kept by coming along to Ishgard with Tataru and Alphinaud, if only to keep them both safe while under fire. Thinking he may hate some part of this- that his “duty” was controlling him this time, causing him to bring out his guitar from the empty space between the aether beneath his skin and the tangible space around them- he began tuning it to be sure it sounded the way Tataru liked. He did notice eyes on him when he flipped the neck to his left hand- most did not play as such, but, given he was left-handed, he sometimes forgot that the rest of the world did not do things the way he did, or play the way he wanted to. 

That was also fine.

He began slowly, with a set of scales, fingers somewhat stiff in the cold- or maybe from the minor disuse for anything other than fighting lately, with an instrument that didn’t take much effort to shoot from. D’Marre hadn’t gone barding in more than a few weeks, given the very notion of song made him think of parties, and parties, made him think of Thancred. As such, his tune dragged a bit without his knowledge, but it was enough to gain Tataru’s attention, which made him crane his neck at her.

“Are you alright? You don’t seem very prepared for a song like this.” Concern knit her soft brow. “I can ask someone else, if it’s hard for you.”

‘Hard for me’. Hmph. Strangely rebellious, he struck a few chords. “I’m fine. Just give me a moment.” She doesn’t know who she’s talking to. I’ve been playing for a hundred years. It was enough to get them started, and Tataru- much to his surprise- started to sing as well as dance. 

It was strangely encouraging. To the beat of her footsteps, her turns and even some of her singing, he strummed a lively tune to hum along with them, a partner for her duet. By the time they’d reached the end, he found himself spirited for more.

The dreary eyes of tavern-goers settled on them more than once; haggard and unwelcoming but slowly simmering into resignation, the usual suspects settled into the vibe of one or two tunes- and when Tataru decided to mingle with guests (as bards do when collecting information) he began playing one on his own, a song he’d heard in passing.

“Siempre que te pregunto

Qué, cuándo, cómo y dónde

Tú siempre me respondes

Quizás, quizás, quizás

Y así pasan los días

Y yo, desesperando

Y tú, tú contestando

Quizás, quizás, quizás”

It made enough sense to him at the time; later he recalled the Echo and all its powers in relation to him, albeit a bit too late to realize why a sudden pool of emptiness blew a hole in his stomach. He stopped part way- though he picked up soon afterward, a quick ‘hiccup’- and pretended he had not. After finishing, he put his guitar to one side, resting the bottom on the top of his boot, the start of its neck resting against his kneecap. 

A sudden shift in the air. Though still a belligerent, steely sadness (and anger) lingered in the air, he noted a strangely settling acceptance. A welcoming. After a few more minutes passed, a young man even asked him to play it again, and though he was wont to refuse, he felt it aching at his throat, the song’s pulse quickening as his own.

“Of course,” he decided instead, though he did not smile. There was something more earnest involved, a quickening step, that made it better to seem serious, seem…solemn. A song about ache. About longing. 

Yeah. He could work with that. Even if it was just one more time. 

****

There was something to be said about music, about songs passed along from father to son, from mother to daughter, from grandparent to grandchild that held specific meaning; a song written by a bard about his or her experience, from a conductor from their unique look on the world, could do well to sway even the deepest of sadnesses, quell even the deepest of longings. In D’Marre’s case, they were a conversation. A talk. An overlong and revealing heart-to-heart when he would not say what he wished, for reasons he did not mean for others to hear. 

Culturally, music was part of life. An ingrained thing meant to tie others together. Though his own fear of losing it rested against his back like the weight of his guitar, he reached back and touched its strings with one hand, a show of comfort. Maybe these people could understand some part of that. Or mayhaps it was that some part of those songs spoke to their own experiences. 

“Where did you hear that song? I’ll admit I’ve never heard it before, even though I’ve listened to some of your playing at the Waking Sands.” Tataru asked as they left for the day (for it would be more than a days’ work, this endeavor she hoped for). “...I mean-” A little pause, her hands rubbing together. “Before, you know.”

He nodded a bit, though he also offered a smile to be sure she understood him. “Somewhere on the road,” he expressed breathlessly, his voice somewhat softer than he’d intended. Mostly, he’d wanted it to sound careless, dreamy. Instead it sounded wistful. Sad. “I only sang it once for an audience before, but…they don’t seem to have minded this time.”

Of course they hadn’t. Even though he’d messed up, he was more than an expert with his instrument- and he wasn’t that bad on the flute either. 

“Well, if you can bring that along with you again tomorrow- I mean, if Count Edmont isn’t keeping you for another errand,” she added, “we’ll be able to navigate our way around the underbelly of this world in no time!” 

He tried not to smile, but failed. Something about her boundless optimism and can-do attitude was more than brightening for the situation at hand. “Have you spoken to Alphinaud? I haven’t seen him as of late, except at night.”

Tataru made a thoughtful expression. With one finger, she tapped her cheek. “..well, I know he said he wanted to have a look around the Brume, but I told him it might be too dangerous right now, given what we do and don’t know.”

D’Marre found himself nodding. If there was anything clear about these Ishgardians, it was that something seethed within all of them- a tightly pulled rope of restraint that only lessened when looking at outsiders. “I know the boy wants to make himself useful, but he should be more careful.”

“Have you developed a soft spot for him?” Asked Tataru suddenly, enough to make him stop and stare at her. When he didn’t say anything, she continued, “Well, I mean…you two seemed like there was some tension between you before, and you would barely talk to him in person, even though you’ve spent a lot of time together. I didn’t think you’d be….? Well, you know!”

D’Marre paused. It was true that he did not approve of a great many things Alphinaud did- ordering him around, for one, and then thinking he could order around a full group of grown men, mercenaries and other sell-swords without enough battle experience to back it up- but he also thought that he should have some grace. He was still a kit, after all. And, without Alisaie here, he was the youngest as well. Sometimes young men can be salve-makers, he reminded himself on that thought, then he replied, “I think he’s more than learned his lesson by now,” and said no more than that.

[blacksophiehatter]

Moonset 🌙✨🌟

Starting out the new year by coming down with bad cold haha...🥲

[blacksophiehatter]

(Dark Chocolate)- Emilia

“I’ve always thought it odd, though. Despite your prowess in battle, you don’t seem to have an abundance of aether…” 

Her eyes slide to Alphinaud. Why he seems so fascinated with her now is anyone’s clue. If anything, he might be concerned about losing his favorite chess piece- which Emilia refuses to be, at least not without getting something out of it. Arms behind her head as she leans back, she curls her lip in disdain. 

“Not-” He’s noticed her disgust. “Not that it’s a bad thing, mind! I-I mean-”

Oh, he’s too easy. “Kid, maybe you should work harder on keeping your mouth shut.” A grin, its look sickly sweet. She knows. She’s practiced. “Just because you can say somethin’ don’t mean you should.”

“I was only-” He cleared his throat. Trying to save face, probably. “Concerned, for your well being. You use Aetherytes like no tomorrow- more than the average person, I mean. Simply put, it would be less than ideal if you keeled over from that instead of in battle.”

Fake. But kids were allowed to play at being adults from time to time. Alphinaud was just better at it than most. “I’m fine. Just tell me where to go and I’ll go.” Pissed her off, though. How could they figure that out already? Even she knew why her magic- her aether output- was particularly low- not that she’d say so. “What? Are you all so primitive that you think power levels are the end-all-be-all in this world?”

He stiffened. “Well-”

“The Knight Commander is waiting for you in the Intercessory,” Haurchefant’s voice broke into the conversation at exactly the right time, enough to make Emilia smile at his tactics. She’d been preparing to fight the little christmas elf for fun. 

That hawk nosed guy ain’t half bad. 

----

She didn’t think she’d see Estinien again so soon. But then again, this was Ishgard, and he was-

“The Azure Dragoon- and the man I trust most with my life.” Finished Aymeric, and though Alphinaud bowed, she didn’t need such an introduction. Instead, the two watched each other, thinking god-knows-what. If anything, she was trying not to smile. It was delicious, after all. She even screwed up her mouth a bit, ready to say something- but never did. The other dragoon seemed to know that, and he crossed his arms over his chest in response.

“...is something…wrong?” Bright blue eyes shining with more concern than she’d seen in days. Weeks, even. She wondered what that was about, then shrugged, hands in her pockets. 

With her chin she gestured to Estinien. “Nothin’. Nice armor, though.”

From beneath his helmet, he scowled. Clearly. “If nothing else, I can attest to her martial prowess.”

“As opposed to?” She wanted to bite her lip. She was smiling more than she ought to.

“The content of her character,” he finished, though Aymeric seemed very focused on keeping his poker face in its wake.

The Knight-Commander folded his hands over his lap. “So you two know each other?” It hummed with a hint of amusement, his voice. Emilia disliked it. If anything, a honeyed voice was cause for a firmer guard, a closer grip on her blade. “How advantageous.That will save us some time.”  

The talks, if she deigned to hear them fully, were no more or less than what she expected; ‘we will give you this if you give us that’. Unfortunately for Alphinaud, the Knight Commander was much more adept at it- given he was definitely twice his age and had as much experience besides- but Emilia withheld her laughter until afterwards. 

“Too big for your britches again, huh.” Her teeth sunk into an apple, the cherry red of her lipstick almost disappearing into the skin of the fruit as juice dribbled onto the floor. “Told ya you should’ve brought someone else.”

He sighed (though clearly curbed his obvious displeasure, lest she rag on him further for it), staring at his hands before he put them on his hips. “I only needed you for moral support. No one else could fill the role.”

“You mean muscle,” she corrected him wryly, and Alphinaud pressed his lips into a thin line. “Try harder to sugar coat it next time.”

Then she ruffled his hair with her slightly wet glove. His ‘stepped in dog shit’ face was well worth the physical contact. “...well! What about you? Do you have a crush on the Azure Dragoon or something? I’ve scarce seen you smile that much without being mean-spirited about it.” 

“Me? On a guy who can’t get over a simple possession by himself? Fuck no.” The snap of the fruit’s skin was more annoying than satisfying at this point, teeth hungry for a treat less sweet. “But I know’em. If that’s what you’re askin’.”

“Really? From where?” Suddenly interested in her for the first time in ages (even the ‘other’ Emilia hadn’t known him to be overly invested in her- but then again, they hadn’t known each other well, so she’d give’em a pass) he turned to face her fully...though Emilia averted her gaze.

“What? Kid, we were just in Ishgard. Where the hell else am I gonna meet him?” 

“Why were you-” He squinted at first, then his eyes widened in recognition. “Oh…right. You’re a dragoon, aren’t you? So that means you’ve-”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Hand to his head and palm to his cheek, she shoved him hard enough to almost knock him over, wobbling a bit as she swung her leg out so she didn’t follow suit. “I’m gone.” Not even looking back to see if he was alright (it should only bruise if he actually hit the ground instead of stumbling a bit), she tossed her apple core to the side and shoved her hands in her pockets. 

----

“You owe me, Estinien Wyrmblood.”

He would not let it overtake him. But it was true. Even delivered with such a baleful gaze, there was no denying the truth. That he did owe her. 

“She’s smarter than we’ve been led to believe,” Aymeric was saying. “I know you’ve no true head for politics, but ‘tis surprising that you could not offer such insight.”

Red. Red on her lips, her gloves, the very tips of her fingers. Red against his skin, his blade, his armor. Sticky, hot, sharp and precise against his throat, tearing at weaknesses he did not know he had- but sweet. Sweet, curbed by undeniable bitter. How she had gotten so good in such a short time was beyond him. Alberic’s choice in adventurer was better than he’d expected. Maybe too much so.

“Or else next time, I may just put it through your heart.”

The Azure Dragoon said nothing. Instead he kept his arms crossed over his chest, ever on his guard. And instead of offering anything to the contrary, he said, “I know.”

“I didn’t think she would throw her weight around like that,” he pushed back from his chair, clearly ready to reconvene with Lucia or some other council. Estinien wasn’t keen to stop him. He had other problems. “Clearly her companion did not even think of utilizing her properly before time-” He paused. “Where exactly did you meet her? Were you-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Was his response, and then he turned towards the door. “You know how to reach me.”

Aymeric knew better than to ask, but still found himself questioning it as he’d gone. “I wonder what’s gotten into our friend…” But, he supposed he’d look into it another time.

[blacksophiehatter]

[Coffee Beans]- Emilia

Hot. Smoldering. Is she having a heart attack? No, wait. Being overheated is usually-

There’s no fire. There’s barely a smoldering pile of ash. It’s just her imagination again. The cold, lonely street sprawling before her is sparse with people. For once, she’s grateful for it. For once, she can take the loneliness. 

No, wait. I can fix this, right? Someone must have survived, right? Not everyone could’ve been in the apartment when this-

Her hands were in the dirt. Scraping across rubble, piles of splintered glass, shards of metal popping through in sharp pikes like bloodied daisies. Can anyone hear me? Is anyone-

It’s not right. It was just a day. A few hours. No one came? On the whole street, no one called the firefighters? Or had they just not come? Had they seen the zip code, heard the complaints, and decided-

The briefest of breaths. A single swallow. 

I did what they told me. And they still-

She stood. Hands numb and bloody from the needless contact amongst the debris, her willowing shape was liable to blow away in the slightest breeze. After an eternity passed her by, unmoving, she lifted her hand and pulled her wig off, unenthusiastically dropping it on top of the rubble.

Fine.

[------------] was gone. She died with her family. Safe. Unchanged. Where she belonged. 

She pulled off her wig cap and walked. To where, she did not know. But she walked until her feet ached, until her arms pulsed in protest from clutching nearly nothing, clenched so tightly they could draw blood. When she was far enough to understand what she was doing, what she was saying, she pulled its fabric til it stretched and made a hole in the carefully meshed fibers. 

Then she sat on the ground, unnoticed by passersby as the obvious shape of a homeless woman.

----

Air rushed back into her lungs like she hadn’t breathed it in decades. Disoriented, she reached about for a firearm, only to find them missing. Fuck! Where am I- 

A thought came back to her. Amidst the dark of the room, sheets gathered up against her legs, she recalled her place by the stone in its walls. The Waking Sands… A hand raked through the tight of red-dipped curls on the crown of her head. Relieved- and then horrifyingly sickened at the same time- her hands slid from her hair and onto her face. Increased pulse. Sweat. Pulsing, its beat steady and harsh, just behind her right eye. 

Migraine… She exhaled directly into her palms- gloved, as she often kept them when she knew company was around- then swung her legs off the little half-bed (a daybed, they called them) and pulled on her coat. If she couldn’t go back to sleep (and she wouldn’t, not in that condition) a little caffeine might be good to do away with it. Or otherwise a bit of hot or cold. 

Do they got pain medicine here? It was cooler at night, which was fine enough, but as she made her way across the plains and back into Ul’dah’s main hub, she found it didn’t make her headache go away. If anything, the noise made the roar at her temple pound like a well-loved drum. Maybe a pub? Or just outside of town…

Region like this, coffee should be a common export… She leaned heavily on the nearest stone to her side, counting the seconds in between the painful bursts. 

“Help! Can somebody help me?? Anyone?” 

It was a hard sound to ignore. Clearly tired and needing that coffee, she turned to look on the otherwise crowded street towards the sound. A little girl- no older than eight, probably- with cat ears and the biggest eyes she’d ever seen was trying her damndest to get someone’s, anyone’s attention, and given she was jumping up and down to cause some commotion, it didn’t seem to be enough to suit her needs.

Pickpocket, probably. Still, it was bothering her. She trudged over to where the little girl stood and waited a second before preparing her harshest, scalding voice and saying, “Hey.”

The sound startled the little miqo'te so much she reared back. Emilia thought it must have been her expression. Good. Her mouth opened wide. Suddenly she seemed to have forgotten what she’d been trying to say. “I-I…I….uhm…” Trembling, she drew her hands to her chest and took a deep breath. “M-Miss…if you….uhm. I need help…my dad…he broke his leg on the road and…there’s no…chirurgeons available…for what I’ve got….”

Breathless and somewhat chastened by her own words, she hung her head. “S-Sorry to bother…you…”

Silence. Hands in her pockets, she closed her eyes and thought about it. Then, after a while, Emilia asked, “...do you know what coffee is?”

The little girl blinked back at her. “U-Uhm-”

What was she thinking? She was talking to a kid. “...nevermind. Show me where your dad is, kid.” This was probably a “quest” or something. Maybe she’d get her beans that way.

She was apprehensive. As she should be, really. She may’ve asked for help, but without knowing the intentions of someone like Emilia…

Or maybe she’s a pickpocket leading me into a trap… Which was fine. She had her lance tucked away somewhere- that was one of the perks of weaponry in this world. If push came to shove, she’d just teach them all a lesson. And then maybe liberate their coin purses for the trouble.

“Look, kid, if your dad’s already in trouble, it can’t get any worse, can it?” It could, of course, but she wouldn’t say that. “I’m a doctor. Show me to the patient.” 

Unfortunately (or may fortunately), it was exactly as the kid’d said. Besides an overturned caravan- its wagon was missing a wheel, too- two figures sat in the dirt, one adult and one child. She stopped just short of them and waited a few moments, hoping for the other thing (a band of thieves and pickpockets)- then when her hopes were dashed, moved in. Without asking what the problem was, she knelt down beside the man, and with two fingers focused her conjury on him to assess the damage.

“...well, I’ll be.” A break, right in his thigh. “Femur fracture…not much damage…how’d you do this?”

“I was just-” His words broke off when she moved it, clearly from pain. Hm. 

“Just what?” She’d have to reset the bone. “I need to know, so you can be sure not to do it again.” Then she smiled. “Or at least give incentive.” 

The young man- for he was young, relatively, along with those small children to indent his age- only sighed. “I may have…tried to move the wagon before repairing the wheel. It got stuck on the road and…mayhaps I should not have tried to pull so hard?”

So it shot out. “Like a gunshot…” She murmured, but mostly to herself. Kinda fascinating that it could have that kind of speed. From the pouch beneath her coat, she pulled out a bite wafer- long and wooden, in this case- and handed it off to him. “Here. Bite down. I’m going to set this.”

Incredulous, the father turned to the little girl who’d brought her. “Wh- I told you to bring a conj-”

“I am one,” Emilia intoned. This was starting to get irritating. “I just do things a bit differently. Now bite down before I make you.” 

It seemed convincing enough to make him obey. 

“Now,” she continued, her voice light, “I’m gonna set your bone, okay? On the count of three. You’re gonna feel a little pain, which is why I want you to bite down. Ready?” She waited for his nod. “Alright. One.”

Snap.

She ignored the muffled screams and curses and focused her conjury on that spot. Seems like that did it. I can just… With just a bit of magic- aether- she could coax it into healing faster, better, but she wouldn’t do more than that. Relying on the body’s natural healing processes was what kept it working well. This is just because I can’t give him a cast right now. “Alright. That should be enough. Don’t put too much weight on it- I’d advise staying off it entirely so it heals well, but you should be fine in-” Mmm…normally it’s six to eight weeks, but with this method… “Two weeks. A week and a half, if you’re lucky. While I know that’s not ideal, it should work better afterwards. You hear me?”

He sighed and rubbed his cheek a bit. “Yes I…I understand. But how will I make it into town, then? My daughters are too young to support me…”

She shook her head and, defeated, gave him a sigh. “Where’re ya headed?”

------

“We should try to wake her ourselves.”

“What? No way. You wake her.”

“Get one of the inner-circle Scions to do it. We don’t get paid enough for that. She’s a little…”

“Volatile?”

“Yeah, sure. You’re better with those words than me.

Buzzing like flies. She wanted to swat them, a shift to her right assuring she was ready enough to-

“Oh! She has awakened!” That voice was familiar. Minfilia? “Friends! Emilia has finally woken up!”

A groan. Whether it was from her or the bed she was lying on, she had no clue. Still, this was mildly infuriating. Why the fuck was she in bed? 

“Thank the twelve you’re alright…” Clearly comfortable with the fact that she hadn’t swung on him yet, Alphinaud leaned a little too close to inspect her. “They say they found you on the Steps for some reason. I had half a mind to-”

She squinted at him, hoping it was enough to shut him up. It was.

“Well. I was worried. That’s all.” He cleared his throat. “Apparently, someone saw you coming from the desert with a whole family in tow, wagon and all. Where did you-”

“They’re lying.” She sighed. “People just say anything these days. I probably just passed out from my migraine.” Ughh. She should’ve focused more on the coffee…

“Oh, I’ve nearly forgotten! The trio that brought you here said you were asking about a certain beverage, so…” Somewhat excited (though Emilia wasn’t sure why) Minfilia left her side, only to return with what looked like a steaming hot cup of joe. It smelled divine. “Coffee! I didn’t know you’d forgotten since your…accident,” Minfilia continued, “but I should have made a notice about where we keep the beans. The Waking Sands has at least this much, after all.”

‘Accident’. Is that what they were calling it now? “...sure…” Honestly, she was too tired to be mean anymore. 

“Is there anything else you might need, my friend? You’ve been through quite a lot already.” 

The words made her pause. ‘You’ve been through quite a lot already’. She didn’t like that. Instead of asking, she said, “Cream and sugar?”

“Of course!” Was the response, and though Alphinaud measured her gaze carefully, she paid it no mind. She’d been right, after all. The quest had gotten her her coffee in the end.

[blacksophiehatter]

[St. Stephen]- Emilia Chen

[A view from the Tower.]

I don’t think of myself as a hero.

I didn’t want to be born where I was, as I was, and I’d rather not go into details about what a shitty hand life has dealt me. It would be moot. The things I could say- the things I did- and the people I did them to? Warranted, but again. Not heroic. Not cute.

There was one person who thought I was.

One person. I thought they were an idiot. How good do you have to be to shove that idea onto others? How blind and stupid to force the world to look exactly like you want it?

He said it only once. He probably knew I’d hate it. Knew I’d stare at him like I wanted to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze until no life was left. But I didn’t. Instead I laughed. Heartily. I threw my head back and laughed hoping it would hide the roiling disgust I felt on the inside. 

“You’re funny, kid. Maybe you should do comedy as your day job in your next life.”

There’s a such thing as having too much hope. Too much kindness, too much…too much. I’ve always thought that. When I was younger, I didn’t say that, but I meant it. Meant that maybe some people didn’t deserve to get what they got, the abundance of love and trust and charity that we’re taught to give in our line of work. This kid. He had too much. 

A memory of a young girl who never was. Who never would be. Who never had been.

“I want to be good.”

“You’re an idiot,” I told him next. “And in one or two hundred years, when you wake up and find yourself alone, I hope you think of me. I hope you think of my laugh.” 

I didn’t wait to listen to the doors of the Crystal Tower pulling shut.

------

“Are you happy?”

Emilia Chen placed a grape in her mouth. In lieu of responding to the Crystal Exarch, she waited at first, teeth barely indenting its skin in her mouth- before she pressed down, letting the explosion of juice coat her tongue. It tasted like wax. A pale imitation to grapes grown on normal vines, but it would have to do. With a sharp inhale, she breathed through her nose; turned away from him, she closed her eyes. 

“Do I seem like the kinda person that would be?”

A trick question. His exhausting sigh said as much. Even now she could see him crossing his arms, a hardness to the red of his eyes that even he could not banish. Still, she thought it a mercy to say, “I’m never happy when I’m right.”

Silence. He turned his head, the frosted raspberry of his hair brushing his cheeks as he thought on her words, though she popped another grape into her mouth. “Is it true, then? That you are from another world?”

“The Source?” She asked playfully, though it was cut off by his curt, “No.” Gloved hands pawed at the plate below her, legs crossing and uncrossing where she stood as she thought about it. “How’d you know?”

“You told me.” He admits, though it sounds strange. When did she tell him? “You were drunk. I distinctly remember you told me-” 

His voice breaks off. Suddenly he seems unsure, a less-than-rare moment of vulnerability in the middle of what should be a tearful reunion. “I do not regret it. Making my choice.” 

“Liar.” She hummed, a little smile playing on her lips. “You got really good at lying all of a sudden! That title suits you well! The ‘Crystal Exarch’, beloved fool and politician to all his ungrateful-”

“Stop that.”

The smile dipped low, still crinkling at the corners of her mouth, but she did and gave him a shrug. “You can regret it a little. What good's it do you to lie now?” She swept her arm across her person, gesturing to the room as she finally turned to face him head on. “It’s only me here. And I know better.”

His lips press into a thin line. She imagines he’s had a lot of experience with children, and distinctly feels that he is treating her like one. No matter. She’s too angry to care. “You think I’m gonna praise you for being a happy martyr? For giving up the best years of your life to a machine so that other people can have hope? Give me a fucking break. What great feats have you even fucking accomplished by becoming a slave for that thing?”

His gaze is measured. There is a regality about him that she finds she’s proud of. She’ll never tell him so. When a sardonic smile pulls at his lips, she is not prepared for his shrug. “I saved your life, didn’t I?”

The words bob in her throat. It tastes like defeat. Despite this, she spits, “I didn’t ask you to.”

“You did not want me to,” he agreed. “Ah, that’s right. You told me before, you did not like being alive, did not like doing things for other people, but you would. As long as it suited your goals, you would do anything.” He extended his hands on either side of him, palms upward. “I would think you’re in my debt now, because of it.”

Seething. She wanted to hit him. Wanted to say how much it was not about her, despite knowing that she was selfish enough to lie that it was. “Well, well. I guess you’re a villain after all, aren’t you G’raha? Doing things and asking for returns.” She waved her hand. “Unless you’ve figured out a way to send me back home, none of this means a damn thing to me. Did you consider that? Everyone in this world is so obsessed with fairn-”

“Have you considered you may not ever go home?”

The words echoed against the walls of the Ocular, its sound so powerful that every cell in her body froze, aching at the suggestion. 

“To your original world, I mean,” he said, though this time his voice was quieter than she expected. “That this- or, I should say, the Source- is your world now?”

The gun was in her hands before she knew she’d done it; a click of the safety and she pointed it at his face, just as she had when they’d first met on the First. A single word escaped her lips, its sound wrenched from her throat and forced into air by simple willpower alone:

“Don’t.”

They stayed like that for a moment, completely silent in acknowledgement of the other; when that moment passed, she pointed the gun away from him and let it loosely hang from her index finger, barrel towards the ground. “...you have your own oaths. Mine-” If I look at you, I’ll cry. “...I can’t finish what I started if I don’t go home.”

“...and then you will die." His voice had grown soft. A kind of finality crackled at its edges, the kind that came not from being right, but by being true. By understanding. "Right?” 

She lifted her head. Though age would not tell her, her third eye could see the weight on his shoulders, the exhaustion in his eyes. They had reached the same conclusions, solved the same puzzle with an answer that suited neither of them. A duty that must be done. 

She turned the safety back on and tossed her gun to the side. Then she sat on the ornate floor, one arm thrown over her knee. G’raha sat down with her. After a beat, she said, “Don’t tell anyone.”

Without asking what oath he swore, he said, “I won’t.”

The Ocular did well to drown out her blubbering cries.

[blacksophiehatter]

(A Cure for the Common Cold)- Emilia

It’s cold. Even in her coat, she crosses her arms with some disdain. Between Camp Dragonhead and that god-awful pit leading so far down she could barely separate the piles of snow from one another, Emilia decided she’d had enough of Ishgard. 

“This place fucking sucks,” she murmured, holding a pair of field glasses over her eyes. If she’d just jumped while on her chocobo, like she’d thought to, she might be dead by now. 

“I admit, I don’t like the cold very much myself,” sighed Alphinaud, though she didn’t so much as spare him a glance. 

“Then get a coat.” She snapped. “Walkin’ around like it’s your job to get nipped ain’t doin’ you any favors.”

Even without glancing at him, she knew he was bristling. Lightly, he replied, “...I will take that into advisement. Might I borrow your binoculars for a moment?”

She lowered them for a moment, if only to finally give him a good hard look. “Get your own.”

He seemed scandalized by this. “Wh- I am obviously asking because I do not have any! Honestly, is there any part of you that is not childish? Did you not learn how to share?”

Amused, she crossed her arms over her chest, right hand holding them underneath her bosom to keep them further from his reach. “I do, but I also come prepared. You came out to field work with no coat, boots that are shit for the snow, and nothing to see with.” She shrugged. “I’m just givin’ you your due. ‘Sides,” she displayed the pair between two gloved fingers as she wiggled the rest, “these are pretty expensive. Not for kids.”

“I am not a-” Visibly, he stuffed down that urge. “...very well, then. I shall find out on my own.” 

Then he walked off. Maybe more like stomped off, though he tried not to seem as such. 

***

Over the next few weeks or so, during their collaboration with Cid and the people of Ishgard, the air grew ever colder. Though Emilia- who was used to heat and even comfortable in it- had already known better than to mess with snow and cold, Alphinaud had taken to spending more and more time inside the (sometimes drafty) offices of one such Haurchefant Greystone. 

“‘Twould seem this is taking longer than I originally imagined,” he’d said once to the cheerful knight, albeit when he was sure Emilia was not around. “I will admit, I may not really be…built for this sort of climate.”

“It’s nothing you can’t get used to after a while- though I will admit it does take some time.” Ever hopeful and ever earnest, Haurchefant paused long enough to give Alphinaud at least a quarter of the attention he usually reserved for the Warrior of Light (Alphinaud was beginning to think Haurchefant was starting to fancy her- though why, he had no idea). “May it soon be wise to invest in warmer attire, perhaps?”

The young man cleared his throat. “I suppose. But given how close we are to the airship, it would be a waste to travel all the way back-”

The doors to Camp Dragonhead burst open. Standing between them was the Warrior of Light- albeit with a less-than amused look on her face. “Cavern’s haunted,” was all she said.

“What?”

“Cavern’s haunted,” she repeated, strolling past the rows of chairs and charging up the stairs. “Killed the Inquisitor down there. Better find that idiot you’ve been talkin’ too, ‘coz he ain’t it.” 

The news was more than enough to stir the two from their seats, and Haurchefant began sending out scouts to investigate.

****

It was just before they headed off to the Stone Vigil that Alphinaud was approached by a Hyur man in traditional Ishgardian garb for a knight. Other than the rather thick facial hair on his chin and underneath his nose, he was mostly nondescript- save for the brown-wrapped package in his hand. 

“Are you Alphinaud Leveilleur?” Was all he said. After giving a less than subtle nod, the man held out the package for him. “This is for you. I was told you were heading out, so now’d be a good a time as any. Save on the postage, anyway.”

The word surprised him. “...I haven’t ordered anything of late. Are you sure you’ve got the right person?” A quick once over brought him an agreeable conclusion; indeed, it was addressed to him, and, after a quick assessment, excused himself to open it up.

Were he a bit older, a bit wiser, he may have considered that it may not altogether be a nice “gift” for him; that someone may have sent it specifically to harm him, given his family and their legacy, for good or for ill. There is a thing to be said about legacies, and right or wrong, there was always someone, somewhere, who would not be pleased with what you were doing- even if you had the best intentions. Despite this- and not considering it a bit- he opened the package without much incident.

Though there was no note within, the cold of his fingers brushed the fabric of a long and slightly thick piece of clothing; once he unraveled it, he found it was a scarf, royal blue in color- though a rather large piece of equipment clattered to the ground when he did, as he was not aware that it was holding on to its companion- not unlike the wrapping on the package itself- to its contents.  

A pair of binoculars. 

It took more than a few moments to process the knowledge. Once a moment or so passed, he knelt down to pick it up and inspected it. Of fine size and make, but durable. Meant to be dropped, mishandled and clumsily unwrapped in the blanket of warmth that had once cradled it in its arms. 

Unbeknownst to him his lips pressed into a smile. Subdued, yes, but mostly agreeable in nature, he was careful to hide much of it when he carefully wrapped the scarf around his person- as it would be foolish to look a gift horse in the mouth. On the steps of the Stone Vigil, clearly waiting on his and Cid’s arrival, Emilia Chen stood inspecting its gates, hands in her pockets, a white cloud of her breath almost obscuring what little he saw of her face from afar. She was wearing earmuffs now. Mayhap she had not been so prepared for the cold after all? Or else, perhaps she’d been shopping recently.

“You’re late, kid.” she murmured, contempt dripping from her gaze. “Thought this shit was important to you.”

He would have countered that it was needed for their entire endeavor; what use would all her errands have been, had it not brought them to the airship? But instead refrained. Yes, instead he said, “I hope you are prepared for battle, as this may be our most important one so far.”

How he said it was of no consequence. At least it wasn’t, until she said, “What the fuck are you smilin’ about, kid.”

Was he smiling? Saying so made him close his eyes to collect himself, clearing his throat to be sure his voice sounded normal. “Oh…nothing. It’s just…’twould seem I have someone watching over me, is all.” 

Her gaze was less contemptuous this time around. Less chilly. Mayhap it was the scarf, keeping the cold out. Still, she did not say anything to betray her intentions, if she had any, and simply turned and threw one gloved hand up in a rather large shrug. “Let’s get this show on the road, then.”

[blacksophiehatter]

[Home for the Holidays] -Emilia

She was singing again. Thanks to how high up she’d gotten, she was sure it wouldn’t be heard by others- she had a knack for producing “static” so that her words would only be heard by her own ears- so long as they did not get too close, or look too deeply. Her spell would make sure of that; with her very specific requirements, it was almost assured that she would be free to express (or not express) whatever she wanted.

“You can only be heard by someone as lonely as I, from a place I am not and am not well known. You will sound only as the sweetest of whispers of the dearly departed, of easily forgotten words and tones.”

It was cold out; it was always cold in Ishgard, but today, up high and with all that wind, she found herself longing for the snow in a way that she did not think possible before. The month, as it were, was the Eorzean equivalent of “December”, and she found herself reminiscing as she cleaned the blade of her lance, carefully polishing even the most minute of details on the shaft. 

It “sounded” like a normal carol. As she thought much about it and cared very little for its tune, the simplest would suffice:

“Oh ay, ay ay, I’m dreamin’

Of a white

Christmaaas~

With every-

Christmas Card I write

May your days,

May your days,

May your days,

Be merry and briiiiiiiiight-

…and may all your Christmases

Be

Whi-i-i-ite-”

She could see her breath when she breathed out a bit too heavily. She was wearing a hat, but…still. There was something chillier about the warmth of ones’ breath against the air in December, and it always smelled like-

….like…

She paused. Mouth slowly opening and closing, she felt a strong tug at her chest. For a long time she ignored it; its warmth began to scald her throat as she held it down, prickling at her abdomen as she swallowed to destroy it in stomach acid, though it was all to no avail. Its taste was like the sweetest juice. She could indulge it this once. Just once. 

“...I’ll…be home…for Christmas…” A whisper. “You can count on…me…”

“Please have snow

And mistletoe

And-”

She chewed the words to make them unrecognizable. “...r..sents under the tree.” One boot to the top of the cathedral, she pushed back just slightly; a modicum of snow slipped off of its sloped top, dropping down onto the empty streets below. 

“...Christmas eve will find me

Where the love light gleams

I'll be home 

…for Christmas

If only in my dreams…”

The only warmth was on her tear-stained cheek. 

“If only in my-”

(She closed her eyes.)

Rustling among boxes of things long forgotten. Static cling against long, red sleeves. Since it’s winter, it’s the perfect time to rummage among old things and pretend they’re new. 

He’s making a mess. He hates mess, so it’s clearly not his favorite part, but he’s so deeply invested in what the mess could be, that [-----] can’t find him in the garage as readily as she’d usually be able. It’s not that big, of course; though it can fit the one car, it hasn’t in years, given the junk of various persons taking up its space. By now, it’s almost like it was never meant for an automobile at all. 

“I found the tree!”

“Daddy, everybody knew where the tree was, we’re havin’ cocoa right now.” It’s a good thing she’s wearing her long hair today. It’s nippy around her neck and shoulders, even with the hat she’s thrown on to keep her warm.

(She reached up and touched her now-short hair. That was one thing she missed, but maybe not much else. For her it smelled of the fakeness she needed to convince them of her personhood. For her it was estrangement. A barb in her skin.)

“They can’t eat or drink nothin’ til I pray-” His voice broke off. “Babygirl, if you’re gonna help me, then help me! Don’t just stand there.”

[----] let out a little sigh. “I’m not that strong. You should ask….I dunno, Robert or somebody.” Not that she didn’t want to try. Though she’d throw her back out too, with the way things were going.

“He at work right now.”

“Then we should wait until he gets home. He’ll be over for the movie at least, and Auntie’ll probably goad him into staying.” Not that there was any guarantee he’d help out. “At least Trina’ll be around to help out by then. Don’t want you to throw your back out.”

“If I do, I got a doctor right here.”

(Her elbows were getting cold. Stupid dragoon armor. A good coat was better than this. How did Estinien survive like this, anyway? The elves seemed French but reminded her more closely of Russians. Tough and tall. Rough, but trying not to be. Or maybe that was French after all. She wouldn’t bother.)

“Doctor Ross is not on call, it’s Christmas! And, because I’m working with the government, I get paid time off!”

(How that would bite her in the ass later.)

“Well, you should get your ‘paid time off’ behind over here to grab the other end of this tree. I know you been liftin’ patients and all that. Ain’t no nurses ‘round here to pick up your slack!”

In the end she’d relented, if only to take the tree box inside. By the time they were done, her mother had already started a fight with her father about his habits- though at least they’d already gotten through the prayer. It was enough to wake the neighbors- which, in this case, were her aunts and uncles not originally keen on showing up early to their collective grandparents’ (and parents’) tree-trimming, house decorating celebration. It was loud but warm, its simmering cooled only as low as time would let it before they all dispersed to their various homes, most of which were apartments in that same building. 

A microcosm in an otherwise crowded space. If she peered into a snowglobe, that’s exactly what she’d see; a big, loud family in varying skin tones, talking and laughing with drinks in hand, whether they be coffee, tea, cocoa, or wine. 

“Nah, no cocoa. Pass me the rum,” she’d said after one too-long shift at the hospital, and her nana had passed it over without much fuss.

“A workin’ woman deserves that much.” 

(“Have fun, but not too much fun.” She’d say.)

The freezing cold is incentive enough to pull her legs in close, arms tightly wrapped around herself as her thoughts rest in a far off memory. 

*

“Happy Starlight everyone!” Through the hustle and bustle of the season, Emilia finds herself sitting alone at a table in the back of Revenant’s Toll, her arms and legs crossed, boots resting atop the table. Apparently it’s celebrated as a holiday for children- why, Emilia is not keen on finding out- but she relents that it must be a cultural thing, and otherwise not something she is overly interested in. Alphinaud and Alisaie- despite being children themselves- are passing out gifts to every Scion, which she admits is good of them; with all that money in their family, it would be good to at least be generous. 

A poor facsimile of a thing. But they seemed happy nonetheless. She was a lot of things, but a party pooper was not one of them. No, it would be better to leave, or to brood. Whichever would lead them to not seeing her cry like a stupid baby at the end of the night. 

“Ah, there you are.” It was not an unwelcome voice; she’d gotten used to Alphinaud by now (though not as much his twin, who was still merrymaking with other guests and clearly goading them into sharing their drinks, despite being able to buy her own), and figured he’d come around sooner or later, probably to wish her a nice day or something or other. While it wasn’t a bad thing per se, she was getting tired of putting on her act with him, especially when he’d taken rather recently to grinning in response, as if he knew her dearest secrets. As if he knew her. “I’ve a gift for you, if you want it.”

She gave him a very strong side eye. Arms crossed over her chest, she leaned back further in her chair, enough to (while knowing the wall was behind her) stretch her hands above her and brace them behind her neck in a dangerously careless position that she was sure would tip anyone else’s chair over entirely. “If it’s free, I’ll take it,” she lied. 

“I knew you’d say that,” it was almost a mumble, but he offered her a package nonetheless. “Happy Starlight. I know you aren’t keen on asking for things you want, and you may even have been a bit mean spirited when you said it, but-” He paused, seeming to want her to open up the package. She did not. “..well. I hope you like it, at least. And there is a receipt of sale, should you wish to return it.” 

“Generous of you,” she answered lazily, and though he shrugged at her, he still smiled and crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring her former position.

“Well,” he admitted, “I did hear that, with all this prestige, if I cannot afford to be at least this generous it would make me quite the laughingstock.” 

Without wanting to, her lip twitched. It felt like a smile. “Well, blow me over. I guess I’ll accept it then.” And she meant it. Genuinely. 

When he left, there was only a beat or so before his sister came; in her hands was a rather big, vase shaped thing with a big bottom and smaller top (not unlike her own physical frame), that made a heavy, gentle slosh sound- which made her wonder what was in the damn thing. 

“Here,” she said to Emilia, though all she got in response was the doctor’s flickering gaze from her to the gift and back, somewhat in disbelief.

“What is that.” She didn’t ask it like a question, and couldn’t bring herself to sit up at first- but her curiosity got the better of her and she slipped her boots off the table to lean close. 

“Maybe you should open it up…?” It sounded like a hint, but the impatient edge made Emilia grin a little. 

“And if I don’t?” A challenge. Alisaie was easy to challenge, given she never backed down from one, and easy to goad when times got rough. It was her favorite thing about the younger twin- other than her taste for red in her clothing, which Emilia agreed with on principle. 

“Well, then…!” She warned, eyes flashing a bit…but then she closed her eyes and pressed her lips into a thin line. “Look, you can open it or not if you want, but you’ll miss out on something amazing to enjoy when we go caroling later on tonight.”

“Oh, so it’s a drink,” she murmured, using a delicately gloved finger to pull on the wrapping paper. “What, you made me some koo-” She thought better of it. “...some lemonade from your stand?” Easily the best way to guarantee her intent. 

“Just open it!” 

She did. When fully unwrapped, the bottle glistened with the most beautiful brown, the spirits within shivering just slightly with every touch. With two hands she gingerly handled the container, careful not to release its slim neck from her grip. Rum. Finely aged and beautifully packaged. It must have cost a fortune. “...where did you get this?”

“You said you liked to drink,” Alisaie admitted, “and though I know it’s a bad habit, I just thought…well, it’s not wrong if it makes you a bit happy now and again, is it?” 

Emilia’s lips parted. Her lipstick started crackle against drying skin. 

“Now, you have to promise me that you won’t drink too much tonight instead of hanging out with us, or else I’ll…!” She threw her hands up. “I’ll smash the bottle! I’ll drain every last drop and you’ll see none of it.” Arms crossed over her chest and mouth pulling into a tight sort of pout, she turned her gaze to the side. “Whatever. It’s not my fault Alphinaud picked a coat for his gift. I know mine isn’t as good.”

Something tickled at her eye. It didn’t matter. “What?”

“He already gave you his, didn’t he? He tried to make me feel better about it, but I wanted to get you the coat, since it was all you asked for,” she was so absorbed in her conflicts with her brother that she didn’t realize she’d spoiled the surprise. The gift in question was clearly still at Emilia’s side. 

Suddenly driven by a need to know, she grasped the package and ripped it open. Fuck. He really had gotten her a coat. A really nice coat. A really nice red coat, clearly made to be used as armor in environments where cold was king, where her breath caught on mountain peaks and she was too stubborn to do more than sit out there all night long, to be safe with herself and her tears away from prying eyes. 

These stupid kids.

“They’d go good together if they weren’t so-” She broke off suddenly, noticing for the first time that Emilia’s face had begun to flush around her cheeks and eyes. “...are you alright? You look a little-”

She bolted out of the door with her arm over her face and didn’t stop until she was higher than anyone could see her. 

****

Of course they were kind. They're young. Adults, maybe, by this world's standards, but Emilia knows better than most the difference between eighteen and twenty-four. Between an overgrown child wallowing in debt and a fledgling doctor who'd pulled an entire 12 on her feet. Somehow, the twins were both at once. 

The wind whipped at her cheeks again. At least in this cold, it wasn't only her eyes that would sting red, or her nose. She could explain it away this way, crouched down in the snow-covered dirt like a gargoyle standing watch for the holy cathedral.

“Run out of children to frighten?”

Her lip twitched at first with some sort of disdain, though for once, she hadn't meant to. When her head turned to see him, he was more or less the same as she remembered; tall, brooding and unbearably pointy. A more or less match for her ire. An easy target.

“‘fraid not. Got kicked outta my hotel.” The cracking of chapped lips curled to one side. She’d have to find a place with better stuff for them later, since that cheap shit was not cutting it. “Why? Ain't you got better things to do than harass ladies, Mr. Dragoon?”

To this, he was silent. The Azure Dragoon only crossed his arms, a heat stewing beneath his helmet. “Unfortunately for you, this is work for me.”

“...damn. Even you gotta work on Christmas,” she murmured, which made his head turn a bit, though she realized she shouldn't have said it. “...it's a holiday, ain't it? What you out here for?”

“You, apparently.”

The words snapped her teeth against each other. It was good that it was cold. Better to be mistaken for the chatter of shivering than something else. When she regained her bearings, she drawled, “...what for?”

“There’s a storm picking up near here,” he admitted with some carelessness, “and some of the children thought to venture out further than they ought.”

Hmph. “You callin’ me a kid?”

“I didn't call you anything,” he answered roughly, “though you speak it well enough on your own.” A single armored hand extended, its sharp fingers not unlike a dragon itself. “Well? What are you waiting for. Run along.”

She kissed her teeth. She had half a mind to argue with him- tease him, goad him, annoy him enough to give her a good fight- but he was right. It was getting colder, and the flurries of snow were starting to get stuck in her eyes (which she rolled enough for him to see, even amidst the furious white). 

Emilia stood, boots crunching in the thick snow as she shifted her weight to one foot and then the other before shoving her hands into her pockets, shoulders slightly hunching in dismay. “Of course, officer,” she said, her voice clear as a songbirds’. “I was gettin’ bored of this spot anyway.”

Then she smiled. A too-sweet smile that made him scowl. Ironically, it amused her enough to give him a real one for free. When she teleported off, Estinien was still standing there, a statue clad in black in an otherwise endless white. When a few moments passed and he was sure it was clear, he headed back into town, the whisper of the wind kissing the back of his neck, its forgotten song stinging near cracks in his armor.

“If only in my-”

The coat was still sitting on the table when she returned, along with the bottle. Alisaie didn’t smash it yet, huh? A stray thought. She snagged the bottle and opened it up to give it a sniff. 

***

The Scions were all gone. Maybe they'd gone caroling without her. Good, was her first thought, though it soured after a moment or so. That wasn't fair or kind. Not that she was given to doing more than one at a time.

Eggnog.

Boots thump, thump, thumping across the floor. The cabinets to the bar burst open as she searched for some necessary ingredients- though most were below her, in what seemed to be a kind of fridge. 

It was good to ride out compulsions like these when they came. Maybe something good would come out it- like the sudden urge to clean a long-dirty room or do one’s taxes just before the deadline. 

Big bowl. Punch jar? Bowl. Regular bowl. “Who gives a fuck?” She said out loud, thrown up beside her head, a careless gesture to pair with her swears. Eggs, milk- shit, they had so many kinds of milk- sugar, heavy whipping cream, (? was that too different than milk?) vanilla (probably), cinnamon (maybe?), salt (oh hell yeah, salt. ‘To balance the flavor’ or something). By the time she was done mixing what seemed like it should be eggnog for at least fifty people, the doors opened faster than she imagined they would. In an effort to cheapen her actions quickly, she grasped the finishing touch: the bottle of fancy rum.

She took a deep breath. She could drink this on her own. She could treat it as a friend for hours, maybe weeks if she stretched it out, if she was good with it, it get her through this godforsaken season, through the empty and spiraling cold while everyone else sang carols and stayed warm to the touch-

-chewing her lip. A little sigh. Time was running out, and she didn’t want to be seen doing it, so. It’s Christmas, ain’t it? She unscrewed the cap and dumped it all in- at least, more than half of it, to compensate for both the sweetness of the eggnog she had yet to taste, and the amount of servings. Clumsily- and quickly, of course- she grabbed the bottle and set it off to the side, hands on top of the bar. When the doors opened, the Scions- both inner circle and outer- filled in, with Alphinaud and Minfilia at the front. 

“Oh! There you are! We were out looking everywhere for you! Alisaie said you had quite a fright-” The blue twin broke off when she glared down at him, silencing any efforts to overdramatize her flight. He cleared his throat instead. “Anyway, what is this?”

Minfilia in particular peered over the bowl. “Mm…it smells quite nice. Is it alright to drink?”

“Is it safe to drink, you mean,” began Alphinaud, though Alisaie elbowed him in the side. The rebuke seemed to come from either side, Emilia, Alisaie, and Minfilia all, so he just shrugged and opted to stop himself before he got skewered by them all. 

“Well, Emilia clearly made it for us,” she wanted to protest Minfilia’s assumption, but found she could not, “so why don’t we give it a try?” 

She shrugged in response. Though she hadn’t thought far enough to get cups, she found them fast enough to make herself one. “...it’s spiked. Don’t drink too much.” Then she poured some of her own. Apprehensive because of the smell (eggs tended to do that to her, on occasion), she took a sip, only to be startled by the pungent taste that was very unlike alcohol. Maybe she shouldn’t have put in that many different kinds of milk?

“...this is…interesting.” Minfilia nodded, though her expression was clearly concealing a rather different emotion. “It tastes very…unique. Yes. Unique.”

The twins got their own cups (though Emilia thought to keep an eye on them, given their ages; legal or not, they were comparatively young) and Alisaie wrinkled her nose delicately at first, before retching back into her cup. “Ew! What is this?” It burst out from her with a bubble of laughter. “It tastes like…like spoiled milk? With rum in it.”

“Let me try,” Thancred pushed forward, and before they knew it, everyone was grabbing a cup of the eggnog, though Emilia herself leaned back and cupped her hand under the elbow holding her own glass, sipping slowly as she closed her eyes.

“This is awful,” her brother agreed, though he was laughing too. “What is this made out of? It’s not…spoiled, but it tastes like-” His eyes searched the ceiling before they closed, fist to his chin as he lowered his head in thought. “Like flavors fighting for dominance?”

“We shouldn’t judge it too harshly,” said one voice, obviously noticing her off to the side. “I mean it’s- I mean the rum is good!” 

A ripple of laughter washed over the small crowd. Not wanting to upset her (though there was no way she could be) they kept the banter light after that.

The nearly empty bottle caught her eye. She turned away and pointed her gaze at Alisaie. “You still goin’ out?”

The red twin stood up straight. “Wh-I mean you-”

Her brother slid in beside her. “Of course we are. It’ll be cold, though, so you could bring some of this if you were willing to join us…?”

Of course she would. She was young, after all. “Nothin’ better to do.” She swirled her swill around in her cup. A waste of expensive rum. She smiled to herself, enjoying what felt like a smart little secret. ‘Sides, I should take that coat out and see if I need to take it back.” 

This seemed encouraging to him, somehow. “Mayhaps with a little more drink, you’ll even sing some carols…?”

“Shut up, kid.” Was her answer, though more than one Scion noted that it was not a “no”.

[blacksophiehatter]

Lera