#//i wont subject you all to Cid

[sharpxshootin]

[ofdragonsdeep]

22: Fluster

Haurchefant was never one to keep his feelings close to his chest.

(m!WoLxHaurchefant)

The sound of footsteps on the solid stone of Camp Dragonhead’s keep accompanied Ar’telan on his late-night walk. He rubbed the arms of his robes as he went, the chill seeping through his simple healer’s garb despite the frenzy of activity that he had just left.

A surprise assault by the Dravanians, easily repelled by the knights stationed at the camp but not without its casualties. No deaths tonight, for a mercy, but Ar’telan had spent every bell since before the sun had set in the infirmary with the other chirurgeons, intent on preserving that statistic. If he had not already been intending to stay the night, the sheer exhaustion that seemed determined to seep into the marrow of his very bones would have made the decision for him.

“Ar’telan! I was hoping I would catch you. Have you a moment?”

Haurchefant’s voice startled him, and he all but tripped over his robe to stop himself dead, nodding as quickly as his wearied muscles would allow. Haurchefant, too, looked tired, but his was the tiredness of a man who did not sleep enough rather than that of someone who had just exhausted most of their aether on healing magicks. Both problems were unfortunately incurable, if the quiet grumblings of Haurchefant’s closest subordinates had taught Ar’telan anything.

“I am sure I can find a moment,” he said, cutting himself off before he could add for you, as if he would not have forcibly uprooted time for anyone who came asking, to the detriment of his own health.

“Good. There was something I had wanted to speak to you about, but in the chaos it quite slipped my mind.” Haurchefant had the easy smile on his face that he always wore, save for when he was reviewing news of recent deaths or accusations of heresy, but there was an awkwardness to the way he was holding himself, Ar’telan thought. He was far too tired to process that, though. “You have been given use of a room nearby, yes? That shall do for a venue, if you will forgive the late-night impropriety.” Ar’telan blinked.

“I- yes, I have, we… if you like,” he managed, fingers tangled up on themselves as he tried to process. Haurchefant was not much one for privacy - to his detriment, at times. It was the only thing that Brigie, the Camp’s resident Inquisitor, had to say against him - he would hold tactical meetings out in the snow if not pushed indoors, for any heretic and their mother to hear.

“Excellent! By your leave, then, my friend,” he said, all but herding Ar’telan the rest of the way to his door. Ar’telan was not entirely certain he would not simply pass out as soon as they got inside, but he would at least endeavour to stay awake for whatever late-night secret Haurchefant was seeking to involve him in.

---

The room, much like the one that served as Ar’telan’s back at the Rising Stones, was a simple affair. It was not like the barracks reserved for the soldiers, at least - there was but one bed, and he did not have to share it - but it was small, tucked into the side of the keep, and possessed little more than a bed, a side table, and a stool for the latter. Ar’telan, stifling a yawn, sat himself upon the edge of the bed, tail curling up around his legs, and watched as Haurchefant stared at the empty table instead of at him.

“I confess it is a little embarrassing,” the elezen said, gaze fixed on his reflection in the mirror. “I am sure that by now you have become familiar with the gossip among the knights?” Ar’telan raised his hands, then pulled them back in towards his chest, momentarily taken aback.

“I have heard rumours,” he confirmed, dancing around the subject carefully. Truth be told it was impossible to not hear the rumours, if Haurchefant was not in the keep when Ar’telan arrived Yaelle and Corentiaux were taking it in turns to ask if their commander had professed his affection yet. Embarrassing was certainly an appropriate word. Ar’telan thought that the only person at this point who did not know was Alphinaud, whose head was always firmly rooted in whatever task he was currently focused on. Haurchefant’s eyes lingered on him for a few moments, as if to be sure he would say nothing more, before the elezen sighed and awkwardly folded himself onto a stool not sized for someone of his height or spindliness.

“My apologies if it has caused you undue distress,” he said, and Ar’telan blinked at him in tired confusion. “In truth, there… there is weight to them. I confess I am quite fond of you.” He took a breath, averting his gaze so Ar’telan could not answer before he was done. “But I would not tell you this without context. My father… is Count Edmont de Fortemps.” He looked back at Ar’telan then, who made a pitiful attempt to collect himself. There is weight to them. All the teasing he had endured, all the feelings he had buried…

“The head of your house is your father?” Ar’telan said, trying to piece things together. “Does that… matter?” Haurchefant let out a soft laugh.

“My mother was not the Countess, so yes, it does,” he said. Ar’telan considered the information. He had not, it had to be said, paid all that much attention to the rituals and expectations of Eorzea’s other races, but he understood the theory of marriage, even if it had never applied in the culture he had grown up in.

“I- I’m sorry, I don’t…” he began, shaking his head and collecting himself, “You wish - what is it you are asking of me?” Haurchefant gave him that soft smile he was so fond of, even if Ar’telan could see the lines of nerves in every muscle of his face. How long had he been holding on to this thought, these feelings? And worrying about problems that Ar’telan did not even understand?

“I would ask to court you, if such a thing is your desire,” Haurchefant said, crossing the distance between them to kneel beside the bed and gently take one of Ar’telan’s hands in both of his. “But also to tell you that it is not… as easy as I make it sound.” Ar’telan swallowed down his nerves. “I am a bastard child, though my father yet acknowledges me. It has cost him greatly, both socially and emotionally, to do so, but I love him with all my heart.” Haurchefant shook his head slightly, taking another breath to steady himself. “For the son of a High House to have a relationship with an outsider… Well, it would perhaps be the one time that many of Ishgard’s nobility sought to label me thus.” Though the terms were foreign, the situation seemed clear to Ar’telan now. Ishgard despises foreigners, this he knew from their fateful attempts to locate Cid’s airship. Some of the knights, though not those here, had come close to equating all of those not of Ishgard born with the heretics. If they knew…

“I… I understand,” he said, gently pulling his hand from Haurchefant’s own to shape his reply with his fingers. “At least, I think I do. You would wish me to keep a secret.” Haurchefant nodded.

“Far less simple than cornering you in the training yard, which I will admit was my first choice,” he agreed, and Ar’telan choked at the mental image. “I know it is not a kind ask, my friend. I will not hold it against you if you turn away - and I pray that you will not think less of me for asking.” Slowly, Ar’telan shook his head.

“No. I- Your words make sense, though I have much to learn of Ishgard yet, I think.” He bit his lip nervously, feeling the sharp teeth of his canines catch against the scar that rested there. “I will not refuse you. I do not think I have it in me to do so. I hope that- that I am worth this trouble, this…” The look of delight on Haurchefant’s face quickly clouded to concern, and he placed a finger on Ar’telan’s lips, though he did not take his hands to stop his words outright.

“I will hear none of this self-doubt from you, my friend,” he said. “You are bright, and kind, and brilliant. All who know you are blessed to have done so, and I am honoured to count myself among them.” He ran his fingers down Ar’telan’s chin to tilt up his head, pausing for a few precious moments in case Ar’telan wished to voice his disapproval. When none came - Ar’telan could barely move his hands for all they trembled, much less form words with them - he leaned down and placed a chaste kiss upon his lips.

“Haurchefant…” Ar’telan managed, watching as the elezen moved back and flashed another cheerful smile at him.

“Worry not, my dear,” he said, and the moniker sent Ar’telan’s heart fluttering. “The winter is long, and there will be many more nights where I can find you before you have spent your all on saving lives, as is your wont.” He offered a bow, a wicked look upon his face as he straightened. “Rest well. I shall see you on the morrow.” Ar’telan nodded helplessly, watching as Haurchefant left, closing the door behind him with the quietest of clicks of the latch. It didn’t feel real. Gods preserve him, he would have been content to simply watch with longing, but there was too much strange complication to dismiss it as a dream.

It was lucky he was exhausted, else he might never have slept.

[chrysalispen]

v. the clays of a cold star

am working on the daily prompt free for all, but in the meantime it’s sunday so also have a chapter for reborn by fire aha

======

All told, Aurelia privately hadn't expected much out of an Eorzean infirmary.

It would, frankly, have been unfair of her. The technology gap between the Empire and most of Aldenard was more like a vast yawning chasm (though there were rumors, largely unsubstantiated, that Cid nan Garlond had defected to Eorzea specifically to close said gap), so she'd assumed that the procedures would be... well... primitive, at least compared to the working conditions to which she was accustomed.

What she encountered was not quite as bad as she'd feared, but still worse than she'd hoped. There were so many people lying abed within the first pavilion that there was scarce any room to walk. The man called Sparrow was carefully placing his footfalls on what small patches of uncovered ground still existed so as not to disturb the bedrolls with their passage.

As they slipped out the back towards the tent that had been erected for a surgery, Aurelia was astonished to see even more wounded. The line stretched outside, with some soldiers unable to stand and sitting or lying in the mus and cold water, while others were left to mill about with minor wounds and shivering in the rain that still fell.

Hells below, the Garlean thought, dismayed.

Two Hyur were working over a table, their aprons bloodied, while a third poured aether into their subject with an outstretched hand. As Sparrow and Edwin approached, an elezen woman emerged from the opposite side of the tent, scowling at them. She wore a long white apron of the sort Aurelia recognized instantly.

"Oh for Nophica's sweet sake," she spat, throwing up her hands, "how many times do I have to tell you lot, no jumping the queue. Everyone will be seen in the order they arrive, now back to the line with you."

Sparrow coughed.

"Uh, beggin' yer pardon, Léonie, but the prisoner's got to be seen to before we can take her to the holding area."

"Another imperial, eh?" A pair of tired hazel eyes met Aurelia's gaze. She braced herself for coldness, for hostility... and the elezen instead gave a noncommittal grunt. "Well then, put her on the table and let's get this done. Need to get the rest of her armor off--I'm guessing she can't walk since you lot were carrying her."

"Hip was out of socket," Edwin spoke up. "I'm fair certain at least one leg is broken if not both."

"Looks like it was reduced."

"Aye. Did it before we came back."

"You shouldn't have reduced her hip if- hells, that's a godsdamned third eye."

The woman had tilted her head back to check the superficial head injury she'd sustained, and her dirty fringe had shifted in a wet, matted clump to bare her brow. She had recoiled, and was now staring incredulously at Aurelia, obviously awaiting an explanation for some mad reason. Stymied as to exactly where this line of questioning was going, she could only nod.

"But... you're a woman," the chirurgeon said.

"I... Y-yes?"

"But you-"

There it was again. Aurelia sighed. 

"Why's everyone so bloody surprised I'm a woman?"

"Oh," Sparrow said. "Er..."

"We've, um." Edwin actually had the good grace to look embarrassed. "We heard your, ah, your people don't let their women take the field."

For a long moment, Aurelia just stared at them.

Well that's... certainly a theory.

There was some small nugget of truth to it, she supposed. Garlean women weren't often assigned to the foreign legions because of the risk that deployment to areas like Eorzea posed. For all its technological advancement, imperial society was still rather conservative, and women of her social status were largely expected to serve their compulsory four years before wedding a man of their family's choice to produce heirs for their bloodlines.

That said, highborn women like herself certainly did go through their paces to make a career of military service, and could rise quite high in rank at that. One of Aurelia's own cousins, a woman two years her senior, was one of Legatus van Gabranth's highest-ranked tribunes. 

So it was with some difficulty that she managed to keep a straight face when she replied,

"Dare I ask where you lot came by that notion?"

There was a long silence before Sparrow mumbled something that sounded like, "Privateers."

"Ah yes,” she said rather drily, “pirates. Truly, a most reliable source of speculation, and certainly not wont to embellish their tales in the telling."

The pair exchanged decidedly sheepish glances. 

Really, though, it was an absurd notion. She might have actually laughed did she not feel so terrible - and if she didn't think she was like to be punished for it. Had the Captain been present, Aurelia was certain she'd have got a hard shove in the back and told to keep her cheek to herself.

"Well," the chirurgeon said, rather briskly, "now we've got that sorted, perhaps you lot might clear out and let me do my godsdamned job. Go on."

"Léonie, the captain will want t-"

"Go, Sparrow, off with you! I can do this without your hovering. If she tries to strangle me with my own apron strings, you'll know about it. Now pull the curtain shut and give a lady some privacy."

Aurelia fidgeted nervously as the two dutifully filed out, one of Sparrow's meaty hands pulling the curtain taut in his wake. She kept thinking of the cold, miserable wounded sitting in their lines, waiting for help, exposed to the elements, watching as she was taken to the front of the line. Her own injuries were far from minor, but she'd seen at least a dozen people who in her own mind would have warranted attention first.

The healer, Léonie, rolled her eyes to the heavens.

"As I was telling him, he shouldn't have tried to reduce that hip of yours if he thought the leg was broken. Could've made it worse." 

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Aurelia said. “I asked him to do it.”

“That was foolish.”

“I know. But there was no way they could have carried me here otherwise.”

“Best you hope your hip isn’t cracked as well.” Deft, long-fingered hands reached for her legs. "Let's get these off, then."

"Please be careful-"

"Yes, yes, I've done this a time or two, girl. I know what I'm about." Aurelia relaxed somewhat when she realized the woman was unfastening the heavy buckles that held the greaves in place, rather than attempting to yank them off. "...Can't bloody believe they had a slip of a lass like you going about in heavy armor. You don't look built for it at all."

It was becoming difficult to maintain her composure. The pain had dulled to background noise as they'd traveled - never, she thought to herself, underestimate the body's ability to accustom itself to anything - but now that her full attention was focused on it once more her stomach twisted, the pain suddenly front and center and very very huge.

She saw why the moment the armor was slowly and carefully lifted away: exposed bone an ilm below the knee, cutting through flesh and carbonweave like a snapped stick.

"Compound fracture," she said aloud, between clenched teeth. "I had feared that."

"Pardon?"

"I was pinned beneath a magitek reaper -- hit by it when the moon.. when everything happened," she replied by way of explanation. "My injuries were - are - consistent with blunt force trauma. I was expecting a break, just hoping for something not quite this dire."

The elezen gave her a quizzical glance as she set the cermet plating aside, and turned towards a small metal bowl on a side table.

"Wouldn't expect a soldier to know aught of that sort of thing."

"As well you shouldn't, because I'm not a soldier," Aurelia said steadily, or as steadily as she could manage through the screaming fire that was now her entire left side from the waist down. "I'm in the business of saving lives, not taking them."

"...You're a healer?"

"A field medic, yes."

"I've never seen a chirurgeon in so much armor."

"Robes and leggings would be poor protection for me. I can't use magic so I do what needs doing with... potions. Infusions, and such." Gods, it hurt, it hurt, she could barely think through the throbbing that kept time with her racing heart. "Lost my godsdamned field kit in all of ... this, or I'd have already tried to see to my hurts, if not those poor bastards outside. But it's gone. Out in the Flats somewhere."

She had no way of knowing that for sure, of course. But undoubtedly all those potions, aught that could have done her or anyone else any good -- they were likely gone now, destroyed by the eikon's wrath. 

And for lack of proper medicine and proper care, many of the poor souls she'd seen on her way in were probably going to die before the first night had passed. The sheer frustration she felt in the face of that knowledge made her want to weep, or maybe that was just her broken leg.

"Hm. Well, you're right, this is going to require rather more work than just a splint. Lie back and relax. I'm going to fetch that conjurer who came in with you so he can put himself to use and let Sparrow know you'll be here a good while."

She swallowed, lying back against the unforgiving surface of the table and fighting not to vomit. The older woman placed a light hand on her brow, very briefly, like a mother calming a feverish child.

It was not until the unnatural heaviness had sunk into her limbs and dragged her eyelids shut, leaving them too heavy to open, that she was able to sense the chirurgeon's aether weighing her down: not the cold heaviness of iron chains but the soft touch of a warm blanket, silently urging her to shut her eyes and drift away.

She fought it at first, panicked, wondering what they meant to do to her-- and then a stray observation struck her:

Anesthesia. Of course. Anyone who could put a body to sleep would have little need for potions unless the spell was resisted.

The last of her apprehension began to fade. 

Whatever else the woman was, she was a healer, and her manner, though it spoke of overwork, had not been one of malice. At the very least, Aurelia thought, she could probably trust a fellow chirurgeon to do her work. Even if the conditions weren't ideal.

She gave in.

~*~

For his part, the Gridanian conjurer in question was currently concentrating on pouring aether into a small body lying prone in the muddy pathway. His patient's companion, a fresh-faced young Hyur wearing the tabard of an Immortal Flame, sat alongside, clutching at a bleeding forearm he barely seemed to notice and staring at the other lad with dark and worried eyes.

"Is... he going to be all right, healer?" the young soldier asked in a smoke-roughened voice, his skin deathly pale beneath a layer of dirt, water, and prominent freckles.

Just a boy, really, truth be told. Gods, Sparrow thought. So many of these so-called soldiers were naught more than children. The aging warrior reckoned there were even more who'd died well beyond the bounds of Carteneau, defending their settlements--farm boys who'd set aside their ploughs to take up whatever blade they could.

Edwin did not answer. He did not need words to give his answer when he sighed, at length, and let his hand fall to his side. The spark of aether at his fingertips dimmed and went out, and his hands returned to his sides.

What little color remained in the Hyur's face drained from it.

"No," he whispered. "No! Didihesu can't-"

"I'm sorry," the conjurer said. "Burns this deep and widespread are beyond my power to heal. Perhaps if he had been brought sooner-"

"You have to help him! Please!"

"I cannot!"

He cut off the torrent of pleas, something sharp and angry and hurting in his words, and the boy went quiet. There was a startled hush that rippled through the nearby patients, as his shout briefly drew their attention.

"Healers cannot work miracles," Edwin continued, his voice more measured, but rough and subdued. And exhausted. "Should I push myself beyond my current limits, I risk my own life as well."

Sparrow knew it was true, and they all knew it had been a long shot- the lalafellin lad's wounds had been grievous even before they had been aware of the extent of the burns Bahamut's fire had left behind- but he also knew what small comfort that would be. They both watched that young face crumple like old parchment, then break, then the inevitable flood of tears.

"...He didn't even want to enlist," the lad sobbed. "But then I-"

"It's not your fault, son," the roegadyn began, but he was cut off by another strangled sob.

"It is my fault! I talked him into leaving the village with me to join the Flames! I-I just wanted my best friend with me when...!"

Edwin watched all of this with an expression that might be mistaken for indifference did one not see the guilt lurking in his eyes. One of the Gridanian's hands was already extending towards the body, gently lifting hands that had cooled and stilled, placing them across poor dead Didihesu's chest, lifting the body to remove it from the mud and the sunken footsteps between the camp tents so that at least he would not be trampled by passerby.

Knowing this was only the beginning of the work they had to do-- just thinking about the countless bodies still left to unearth from all the wreckage here, all the destroyed settlements, made Sparrow's stomach turn itself in knots. But that seemed so trivial in comparison to the decision Edwin had just had to make, to let a boy die because it was either save him or save himself.

It was to this grim scene that Léonie thrust her head out of the tent flap.

"Conjurer," she said shortly. "You're needed."

At first, Edwin did not respond. He knelt a moment longer by the lalafell, wiping at his face, and Sparrow could not be certain if he was shedding tears or if he was simply wiping away mud and rainwater. Then he sighed, and with a grunt used his staff to regain his footing, leather boots splashing in the brown water, the hem of his robes soaked in more of the same.

"Are you going to be all right, then?" the roegadyn asked.

"I have to be all right. I've little choice." His head jerked with a snort tilt towards the straggling line of wounded huddled close and cold and hurting in the storm. "They're depending on it."

What a hard and heartbreaking thing, Sparrow thought to himself, watching that slouched and retreating back as it disappeared into the surgery, to be a healer. To bear such a burden, the responsibility of others' lives. To feel so personally the loss of each, as it shuffled off its mortal coil.

To be cruel simply to be kind.

Gently he placed his hand on the sobbing boy's back, mindful of his hurts, standing guard over that small cloudburst of grief. A small bit of comfort for the living left behind -- that was the least that could be offered, and the most many would get, he thought, in the coming days.

Overhead, the aether-driven storm -  heedless of the affairs of mortals or Calamities - continued apace.

[themadddoctor]

How Tall is Sora?

A slightly scientific analysis of Soras height in Kingdom Hearts.

Kingdom Hearts is a (dearly) beloved series to people across the world; successfully crossing over the vibrant worlds that Disney creates, with the grandiose stories of Final Fantasy. As to be expected from such a combination, the charters are large than life, but how much larger than life are they really? The ever optimistic hero of these games, Sora, is not the tallest person in the world; in fact Riku, his best friend and rival, is clearly taller than him. But how tall is Sora really? Today i attempt to give you a rough idea of what the world looks like through Soras eyes.

1.Method

To gather my results, I took advantage of a feature I did not know existed until recently, the first person camera mode. By pressing select on the PS2/PS3 controller, or the touch pad on the PS4 controller, the camera can be swung into a first person view. This view is set clearly at Sora’s eyes. To double check this, i used the fireplace in Traverse Town’s Accessory shop.

as you can see, Soras eyes are just about even with the top of the fireplace opening.

Switching to first person mode confirms this. Therefore, we can assume that the cameras default position in first person mode is even with his eyes, and that the center of the screen is where his eyes would be. This leaves about 2 or three inches of extra Sora above this position.

(note. All screenshots were taken on the PS4 port of Kingdom Hearts 1.5 HD remix. To capture them, i positioned Sora as close as possible to the subject, switched into first person mode, and took the screenshot without touching the right stick..)

2. The evidence

(The following screenshots will contain only the NPC characters for Destiny Islands, and Traverse Town. Heartless are too mobile in the base game to get a proper comparison. All captures were taken using the above mentioned method. Also, one last thing. I Love you.)

First up on the docket is Destiny Islands. There are 5 total NPC’s present in Kingdom Hearts 1, Riku, Kairi, Tidus, Wakka, and Selphie. Lets start with Riku.

As previously mentioned Riku has a little height on Sora, but not much.

Kairi on the other hand, is a few inches shorter than Sora (and doesn't like to look at the camera)

Tidus looks to be the same height as Sora....

While Wakka towers over both Sora and Tidus, just like in Final Fantasy X

Selphie is noticeably shorter though.

Moving onto Traverse Town, there are SIGNIFICANTLY more NPCs, so i wont be naming them all up here. Lets begin with a staple of classic Final Fantasy, the Moogles.

uhhhh, i said the Moogles......

Oh, there you are. As you can see, the Moogles are TINY, probably close to Soras Knee at tallest. Next up another staple of Final Fantasy, the grumpy old man himself, Cid.

As you can see Cid is much taller than Sora.

Not quite as tall as Leon(Squall) though. He TOWERS over Sora.

Aerith doesn't quite tower over Sora, but shes still got some height on him.

Even Yuffi’s got some height on Sora. Poor kid.

Lets switch gears to some Disney Characters. 

Starting with Merlin hes a little taller, but hes also a super old wizard so that makes sense.

The fairy Godmother is about the same height as Merlin, probably only an inch shorter.

Geppetto continues the trend, being slightly shorter than Merlin and the Fairy Godmother.

Pinocchio meanwhile is just about as tall as to be expected for a puppet/boy.

Pongo and Perduta seem to be about the right size for dalmatians.

finally, lets look at some un-named NPC’s

Starting off we have stoner Tidus. Much like his cousin on Destiny island, hes the same height as Sora.

Next up we have green skirt lady. She appears to be about the same height as Yuffie.

Next up is Big Dude. I think his name says it all.

Last but not least, we come to the dynamic duo themselves, Donald and Goofy.

.....While he shares his color scheme, hes not Donald....

There’s the zipper hated mage! He appears to be about the same height as Pinocchio. As for Goofy......well.....

There we go, now lets just switch to first person.

AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Lets just say Goofy is taller.

3. Conclusion.

As you can see, Sora doesn't have a height advantage on very many people, in fact he’s downright short. If this is what the world looks like to Sora, Im more than fine with my third person camera.

[chrysalispen]

kissing prompt: ‘a kiss meant to seduce’

not answering these in any particular order but tbh i’m trying to get these nero/WoL wips out the door so have another prompt response. more or less a lead-in to this fic i wrote which i don’t hate quite enough to take down.

not explicit, but probably a T/M rating on AO3 for mention of dirty talk etc.

=============================================================

All told, no one had seemed to be in an agreeable mood on the way down to the Find from the Crystal Tower courtyard, or after they'd arrived. Cid's expression had been positively thunderous, blue eyes dark with his agitation, and the overall feeling from the other Ironworks engineers on site ran the gamut between confusion and suspicious resignation.

Well. Almost no one. Their sudden interloper seemed quite cheerful about the entire circumstance, as though all of this were going exactly the way he had wanted and they were all just cogs in some machine he'd set in motion.

That idea was absurd, of course; Nero tol Scaeva couldn't have had much more of an inkling of what was behind those doors than anyone else here, surely. But the calm, self-assured way he moved told her he did know something, and more to the point, that he had some plan in mind for it once they’d bypassed all the security for him.

That alone was more than enough to make her wary.

She glanced from side to side, looking for Cid, but he appeared to have quit the Find in a fit of pique (not that she particularly blamed him). The other engineers were just as busy, and G'raha was animatedly chattering to Unei and Doga who were both attempting to answer his flood of questions as best as they could manage.

Everyone seemed to have quite forgotten her presence now that her ability to brute-force the doors to the Labyrinth open was no longer necessary. She wished she could feel even slightly surprised, but that was what she was here for, she supposed. The muscle, the good luck charm.

With a sigh, Aurelia approached Rammbroes' study pavilion and lifted the tent flaps, letting herself inside. If the scholar or one of his fellows -- or better yet, Cid -- was there, she could talk with them, feel out if there was anything that they ought to be concerned about before venturing into the tower should Nero's timely appearance be subterfuge for something sinister...? But the tent was---

---the tent was not empty, as it had appeared from the outside. A familiar figure turned towards the sound of her entrance, a leather-bound book clasped in one hand.

She immediately reached for her weapon, snapping, "What are you--"

Nero tol Scaeva lifted his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

"Before you cut me down in cold blood, the journal is mine own. I was attempting to compare my notes with that of your associates here."

Aurelia's eyes narrowed but the tribunus only stared back, a look that was both coaxing and challenging at the same time, as if waiting to see what she would do. Finally she relented, tucking her staff back over her shoulder. While it was obvious he'd come in here by himself to rummage through papers, it seemed that he hadn't been here much longer than she had. So it wasn't as though he had had sufficient opportunity to do anything.

Nothing she could prove at the moment, anyroad.

"And the tomestones? I can't imagine you'd want to leave those behind without having a look for yourself."

"They're welcome to them," Nero said with a dismissive shrug.

She blinked. “That was... not the answer I expected.”

"Personal experience from the Ultima Project. The majority of those tomestones will be naught more than particularly expensive paperweights; what useful data exists on them has quite likely been eroded due to time and exposure. As counterintuitive as it may seem, their decision to keep written documentation of the dig may be the wiser course of action."  His pale blue eyes had not tracked away from her face the entire time he had spoken. The gaze he’d leveled upon her was sharp, scrutinizing, intense, and this time she didn't have the benefit of his magitek armor to hide that interest from her sight.

Not that he was bothering to hide it in any way. What game was he playing...?

She broke eye contact, feeling ill at ease as she glanced at the entrance to Rammbroes' tent. She'd backed up against a nearby worktable; heavy and sturdy, it sat just below her waist, at hip height. Perfectly appropriate for a roegadyn sitting down to pen missives or peruse dusty old texts or review Allagan tomestones.

Nero was smiling but he still hadn't said anything, and that made her uncomfortable enough to finally break the silence between them with a defensive "What?"

"Any particular reason you happen to be blushing?"

"Wh- I'm not blushing."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

The right corner of his lips tugged slightly upwards, just enough to reveal a flash of canine. She chewed on her lower lip, grasping at the table for a sense of purchase and trying not to think about things she... really should not be thinking about. Really shouldn't. Like how in the seven hells a man was born with a mouth like that. It was- it was unfair.

His answering chuckle made her realize, much to her chagrin, that she had spoken aloud.

He braced his hands against the table's surface and leaned his weight back against it, slotting himself in the open space at her side. Unconsciously, Aurelia shifted herself to put a few ilms of space between them, trying not to think about the difference in height that was somehow far more noticeable now. Nero tol Scaeva was damnably tall; she was average height for a Garlean woman and still barely came up to his shoulders when they stood side by side, let alone in a position like this.

"To that end I've a question for you, eikon-slayer,” he continued smoothly, “if you would be so kind as to indulge me."

"About...?"

"I find it passing strange that a woman who can slay gods without blinking should find my presence in any way disconcerting. An artifact of your upbringing, I assume?" He was baiting her, she knew; the tone of his question was decidedly mocking. But that smile-- that had turned into something speculative and dark. Combined with the intensity of his stare, it set alight a strange, pressurized heat in the pit of her stomach. "Does Garlond elicit this reaction?"

"Cid? Hardly." Aurelia wrenched her gaze away from the movements of his lips to stare over his shoulder at the tent opening. Scholars and Ironworks engineers were passing to and fro just outside; she could see the shadows they cast upon the tarpaulin. "Cid also doesn't stand two ilms away from my face and stare me right in the eyes like he's about to devour me, so take that as you will, I suppose."

" 'Devour' you? What an interesting turn of phrase. Although I must admit you make a salient point. I cannot imagine that you are embarrassed by the slightest of his attentions as you are mine."

Was... was he trying to do what she suspected he was doing? The idea seemed laughable on its face -- Eorzea had no shortage of beautiful women, so who on earth would find her appealing? -- but the problem she currently faced was that it was actually working, damn him. It didn’t help that it had been... she couldn't remember how long since anyone had taken any sort of prurient interest in her, now that she thought about it.

Assuming of course that she wasn't just overthinking this and he wasn't putting her wind up for fun. Either way, she had to put an end to this now before it escalated any further.

"Unfortunately for you, I am not interested.” Calm, collected, and to the point. Yes, she thought; very well done.

She'd hoped that her bluntness would deter him, but that smile only widened, the maw of a hunting predator about to strike.

"Something tells me you are perhaps not being forthright with me." His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. "Shame on you, hero."

"I mean it. I am not interested," she repeated, this time with more resolve. "After what you did in the Prae-"

"Ah, you're concerned that I might turn on you all like a rabid dog, as it were. Worry for Garlond? Thinking I might sabotage his precious Ironworks or somesuch?"

"Not---no, none of those things, not as such, but to say I trust you would be a stretch. Not a word in all these weeks and suddenly you turn up, unannounced, as thought naught had transpired?"

"Your concern is unwarranted. Merely do I find myself with a plethora of free time in the wake of my sudden discharge from military service.”

“You-,” she began, but he was not finished.

“Lest you labor beneath the assumption that I intend you any sort of bodily harm, for a long while before we were... shall we say ‘formally introduced’, I had this recurring dream about you, me, and an interrogation chair-" At the wide flare of her eyes, he paused, only to grin at her: "...Now that, eikon-slayer, is a very interested look."

She tried to scoff at him, but it came out as a short, sharp, nervous bark.

"What look? I didn't give you any look."

"You most certainly did."

"You're reading intent where none exists-"

"Am I? Couple that with the fact you're mortified by the slightest hint of insinuation on my part and it's quite telling."

"Scaeva, I was in the legions myself once. Do you seriously think I'd not been exposed to the odd bit of barracks chatter?" She scowled at him. "I'm a chirurgeon by trade. I think I know enough of the human condition not to be easily embarrassed by such things."

There it was--the look she'd seen him pass Cid every time he was wont to needle the man in the space of a single conversation, coupled with the upwards arch of one eyebrow. She’d not realized how aggravating it was to be on the receiving end of that look until this moment, now that she was the subject of Nero's condescension. 

"I'd wager that what you believe passes for 'barracks chatter' is overwhelmingly tame. You've not heard the half of it, I assure you. Even the worst among the rank and file will behave themselves around a skirt, especially if the lady in question is a pureblood."

"Perhaps if the lady had seen no military service. I imagine there is precious little they could say that would shock me."

He pushed himself upright and turned to face her, bracing his hands on either side and giving her precious little in the way of an escape route. 

“I am very willing to test your hypothesis."

"I'm sure you are.” She kept her voice steady with some considerable effort. His mouth now lingered but a bare hairsbreadth apart from her own, and trying not to think about that fact was only causing her to hyperfocus on it.

"No time like the present,” he said, “and I am a man of science. Call it professional curiosity, if you like. May I?"

He'd called her bluff, and after her own assertion she felt she had little choice but to accept the consequences. At last Aurelia nodded, stiffly, trying to ignore the faintly triumphant curl to his answering smile.

His hand cupped her jaw, warm and callused fingertips trailing the shell of her ear, palm just barely cradling the soft skin over her throat. If he wished he could close his grip and tighten it, squeeze until she had no air to breathe- but the Echo would have warned her of any killing intent. Although it gave her no indication of any danger from him, it took a conscious effort not to bolt under his arm and flee the tent. Tension thrummed through her frame like a live wire.

Nero leaned inward until they were cheek to cheek. Her breath hitched for the briefest of moments when she felt the light scrape of stubble and caught his scent: some kind of aftershave perhaps, a bit stringent but not unpleasant, and the heat in her belly clenched tight. Lips lingered at her ear and she could feel the tribunus' warm breath fanning very lightly across her skin.

Then he began to speak.

Sotto voce, in their native Garlean tongue. A soft, soporific rumble, breath just slightly uneven- and not the mildly suggestive banter or off-color jokes she’d expected but a soldier's words of coupling, rough and lascivious and filthy.

All of it aimed at her. 

Her grip on the table tightened as she willed herself to remain still through the impulse to slap him or shove him away in shocked mortification, as he well knew a proper young lady of gentle birth would have been expected to do. He knew, too; could sense her dismay, how much it cost her just to maintain some semblance of composure, and he wasn't fooled by it.

He was laughing at her, the bastard: she could hear the soft, breathy chuckles woven through his unending stream of vulgarities. Her face felt as though he had set it afire and she knew she was probably bright red right down to the roots of her hair---and then she felt the press of his mouth, a light kiss along the juncture of her jaw just beneath the earlobe.

A hot shudder of anticipation warped its way down her spine.

"So the eikon-slayer is undone by a bit of bawdy talk after all." He had not moved his lips away from her skin before speaking. She could feel the heat of his breath against her, warm and velvet and damp and gods, he was practically purring in her ear- "It would appear your theory has been disproven, hero."

She found herself unable to respond, mouth feeling suddenly very dry, swallowing with some effort. The clicking sound her throat made in her ears as she did was so, so loud.

And before she had quite managed to gather her wits again, Nero tol Scaeva straightened his posture and backed away from her position against the table with a mocking bow before tucking the journal in his coat pocket and strolling towards the tent flap. Turning his back on her, quite deliberately, and making his exit.

As though the entire exchange had never occurred.

She let out the exhalation she hadn't realized she was holding, sagging back against the sturdy oak surface of Rammbroes’ makeshift writing desk and attempting to ease her breathing into something resembling an even pace. He'd left her rattled and flustered and... burning. There was a deep, aching knot of tension that had formed in the base of her belly, one that would not fade quickly.

And she suspected that like as not, he’d only done it to prove a point, namely that his wits were malms beyond hers and her victory in the Praetorium had been but a simple fluke, a stroke of blind luck.

Small wonder Cid's hackles had been raised by his mere presence. Hells take him, the man was utterly insufferable.

After some time had passed (and the heat in her cheeks had faded), she slipped out of Rammbroes' "study" and saddled her chocobo. She had to talk to Cid about this, she decided, regardless of how sour his mood might be. Someone was going to have to keep an eye on Nero once they set foot in the tower, and given everyone else’s relative importance in the grand scheme of things, it might as well be her; she could endure his baiting so long as she made sure they had an understanding.

Aurelia didn’t see any sign of him on her way out of the camp. Doubtlessly he’d gone in search of someone or something else to act as his temporary source of entertainment until the expedition into the Tower was underway, she thought. She could not well decide if she was disappointed or relieved. 

But if he planned to behave this way the entire time, it was going to be a very, very long expedition indeed.