#breandan ducaille

[iron-sparrow]

Got the whole world in our hands Come on, take a chance and start anew ♪

They're just glad to have each other. Borrowed Odette 🐑 from @ahollowgrave and Bread 🍞 from @dragons-ire. Please look at them..........

[eaotheelf]

A portrait for a friendo. So happy with how this one turned out!

[houserosaire]

∞ (Breandan)

If I Think They Are: Ugly || Plain || Alright || Cute || Freaking Adorable || Pretty || Beautiful || Hot || Stunning "Breandan is certainly nice enough to look at. Reminds me a little of a white wolf or something. All pale with yellow eyes. Fierce."

If I Would Go On A Date With Them: Not even if we were the last two one earth || No || Maybe || Eh….Sure || Yes || WILL YOU MARRY ME "In the context of meeting up for drinks to swap war stories? Of course. Romantically, no."

If I Trust Them: Not At All || Not Really || Kind of || Yes || With My Life "I cannot pretend that I know Breandan extremely well. I know of him by reputation certainly and I know enough of what I've seen in our few interactions to feel I could trust him. At least with most things."

If I Care About Them: Not At All || Not Really || Kind of || Yes || Deeply "He's always been pleasant and friendly to me even though I am aware I don't always make that simple. And he lived through the war too. I wouldn't like anything to happen to him."

If I Would Sleep With Them: Not Enough Alcohol in the World || No || Maybe if I were wasted || Maybe || Eh…Sure || Yes || TAKE YOUR CLOTHES OFF NOW! "No. He's attractive enough certainly. But I am certainly not seeking anything more than I have, and I've never had the impression he was remotely seeking anything of the sort with me."

My Comfort Level With Your Muse: Keep a Distance || Okay You Can Stand There, But Don’t Touch Me || Let’s Get Coffee Drinks and Talk || Let’s Cuddle || I Can Change In Front of You || Let’s Take a Bath Together "As I said we don't know each other particularly well, but he's fun to have a drink with and talk the sorts of War Stories one wouldn't always want to share with someone who didn't see it. He's made a point a time or two to seek me out in uncomfortable social situations and I appreciate that as well."

If I See You As: A Stranger || An Acquaintance || A Friend || A Close Friend || My Best Friend || A Crush || The Love of My Life "Perhaps I might consider us a tentative sort of friends. I don't know if we are well acquainted enough for that really, but he is pleasant enough I'd like to think of him so."

[set-in-stone-writing]

16. LUCUBRATION

@severine-savage, @loadedmemory, @dragons-ire, @kinari

When Otolin rises, the first thing he does is reach for the small brown-and-black leather book at his bedside table.

From there, he begins to fill it out meticulously with his agenda for the day, whether it be the usual tasks or something new to accomplish. Throughout the day, he’s sure to cross off each task as it’s tackled and even adds notes here and there. It’ll be a good thing to reference in the future. 

There are others like it, of course, also filled to the brim with copious notes and entries like a journal. Each one has been placed in the drawer of the bedside table, neatly organized by date and time and stacked on top of one another.

Before he does fill out, he does take a moment to reflect on the previous day’s entry. 

As he reads it over, a small smile presses itself over his face:

5:30 AM Wake up.

5:45 AM Meditate. Deep breathing followed by stretching. 

6:30 AM Morning exercise. Run. 

Ran into a pack of coeurl out near central Thanalan. They were not happy that I accidentally stumbled upon them. No problem. Just upped the pace a little. 

8:00 AM Continue morning exercise. More meditation and stretching.

9:00 AM Clean up around the kitchen and living room. 

10:00 AM Cook breakfast for Severine. 

She woke up a little earlier than usual today. Helped me clean up. Kept breakfast light, but flavorful. Able to use some of the fruit we bought from the market over the weekend.

11:30 AM Head into the office. 

11:33 AM Arrive at the office. 

The walk to the office is still only three minutes. No dilly-dallying*.

* Good use of this word.

11:35 AM Arrive at my desk. Review paperwork and potential job offers. 

Not much paperwork today. Some offers, and a few that are long standing. Need to talk with Severine and Breandan about those. 

1:00 PM Check in on Breandan over linkpearl. 

Lily came by with some coffee and scones. She has been a wonderful addition to the free company. Sounds like she’s getting along well with Severine. Nice to see. 

1:15 PM Continue to review paperwork and potential job offers.

Ate two scones instead and proca procrastinated. Still do not want to use the h-word to describe my feelings on paperwork. 

2:00 PM Check in on Breandan over linkpearl.

He’s doing fine. Might be in Ishgard. Might be somewhere else. I trust him to take care of himself. I remember when he used his abilities to cause an explosion during one of our forays into eastern Thanalan last year.

NOTE: Reminder to meet with Breandan and ask him further about Ishgardian Dragoons. Should consult with Silvestre again too. Reminder to not let them kick others. Ever.

They can kick me. I can handle it. 

3:00 PM Visit with Severine.

She’s working on some new material. Let me be her audience, and I applauded with much gusto*. 

* Good use of this word. 

4:45 PM Closing time at the office. 

Had some last-minute visitors, children from a few houses down. They wanted to see our fountain, and asked “if it was a real dragon”. I told them it wasn’t, and they were disappointed.

REMINDER: Tell the children next time it was a real dragon. Imagination is important. 

4:48 PM Arrive home. 

The walk home is still three minutes. We really lucked out, didn’t we?

4:50 PM Late afternoon nap. 

6:00 PM Wake up from a late afternoon nap.

6:05 PM Read “The Eorzean Dictionary, Vol. 5”. 

To someone who might read this journal that isn’t me, this probably seems incredibly odd. I do look over the dictionary here and there to pick up and practice new words, to ‘spice up’* my vocabulary. 

* Severine will be pleased I used this ‘turn of phrase’. 

6:45 PM Finish reading. NOTE: Make sure to mark your place. You have that fancy moogle bookmark! 

I learned the word “lucubration” today. It means ‘study; meditation’ or ‘a piece of writing, typically a pedantic (you know this word) or over elaborate one’. 

7:00 PM Talk with Severine about dinner.

Instead of figuring out what we were going to have for dinner, I told Severine about the word “lucubration” and she wouldn’t stop laughing. A total fit that had her rolling on the couch and nearly crying. 

I thought for a moment I had done something wrong, and then realized I said “lubrication” instead! 

This was entirely unintentional. 

7:15 PM Prepare dinner.

Dinner wasn’t prepared. We ended up ordering out from a local place. This was a good idea. 

8:00 PM Continue to read “The Eorzean Dictionary, Vol. 5”.

No reading was done. I think I’m going to be ‘hitting the hay’ a little early this evening. 

[syerraffxiv]

Dragon and Dragoon.

The most unlikely of friends.

( feat. @geimhleag )

[witchespromise]

Breandan Ducaille ( @geimhleag​ ) Bonus: 

[fist-and-fury-xiv]

The Hero in Your Head

The following story contains some violence and harsh language.

He’s been awake for hours.

Sleep always eluded him in their grasp. Not much has changed there.

“He’s… he’s still up.”

Youthful voices. They can’t be more than eighteen, or maybe even nineteen?

Hard to place in the darkness. 

Otolin doesn’t really struggle much. He’s not actually bound, but instead has been left to sit here in this old cell. The sound of running water continues, a steady stream that shifts through and over moss-covered rocks. It gives him an idea where he might be.

Not far from where the ambush had occurred, where their ambush had been… ambushed? Is “counter-ambush” even a word? A phrase? 

It’s these thoughts that keep him company. 

That, and those of his companions. His… friends. Closer than that.

Keep him from going mad.

It’s not the first time she’s done this, kept him locked off from the others and in the lack of company of his own thoughts, or whatever was in his head in those days, whatever they had taught him. 

“She’s coming!”

The youthful voices pick up, a quick beat, and then drop out. The silence is death, broken by the rust-covered creak of a metal door opening inward into his cell. 

He doesn’t move, keeping still in a sitting position on the floor, legs crossed underneath him. But his mind works, starts to churn through options: how easy would it be… to…

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says in that familiar low tone. 

Otolin doesn’t respond.

“You’re considering the ways in which you get out of this cell,” Emelyn continues, her feet moving against the old stones beneath them. “Each second an equation. How long does it take the door to open, and then close. How many people I have stationed outside. Down the hallway. Out into the courtyard, and then down the steps.”

Each little bit of Emelyn sentence is followed by a step, measured carefully. Her raven-black hair has been braided, keeping still about her shoulders, and the sneer on her features is uncovered by a small shaft of light that strikes through from above. 

Calling it a sneer would be doing it a service. It’s a smile. An angry one. A happy one. 

Otolin opens one eye, and just tilts his head. 

No response still. 

“Manners weren’t included, I know,” she goes on, tilting her head from one side to the next briefly. “But you were taught to respect your elders, weren’t you?”

“I thought I was the elder,” Otolin murmurs in response, barely audible. 

Finally a response. The sneer on Emelyn’s features grows a touch lighter, lips unfurling, and then she laughs darkly. “Please…” She groans, shaking her head. “Don’t be insufferable.”

“I picked up… learned everything from you, so…” He responds, looking up to her with both eyes open.

WHAM.

Emelyn’s fist finds the side of Otolin’s head with force, little specks of orange and purple energy circulating around her knuckles, but it doesn’t send him flying. No, instead, he just stays still, head shifting under the contact of her face to just stare.

Keep staring.

Unblinking.

His mother stares right back, features contorted with the sort of fury that can’t be matched. Her brown eyes are wide and teeth are bare. 

“You’re not maneuvering with enough space in the room to really… really throw that strike.”

WHAM.

Another.

Otolin doesn’t move.

WHAM. Another. WHAM. WHAM. WHAM. Three more strikes. Not a thing changes on the man’s face. He just keeps staring at her, still unburdened by the brutality Emelyn brings to bear upon her one and only son. 

WHAM.

A last strike.

She’s breathing heavy and backs away, fists hanging loosely by her sides. The conflict in Emelyn’s face is easy to see, the way she wants to just scream, to let loose on him.

Not a word. Otolin knows better. She’s always been like this, letting her temper and rage fly in a way that gives greater credence and creativity to her fists. Her feet. The way she fights and murders with ease. 

He doesn’t give her the satisfaction.

Severine would be proud, to some degree. 

“You’re still as…” Emelyn breathes, nostrils flaring. “Still as-”

“Still as frustrating? As… unteachable? As what?” Otolin says, cutting her off.

“As much of a pain in my ass as you were all those years ago…” She sighs, shaking her head and then closing her eyes. “Why didn’t I just kill you-”

“You could do that now, and you’re… you’re-” Otolin cuts her off again.

WHAM.

This strike catches him off guard. Most don’t.

He goes down in a heap, head nearly crashing with the stones beneath but his hands are there to catch him by some form of reflex. Something warm, familiar, begins to pool near the top of his head.

Blood.

His blood.

The smile is back on Emelyn’s face. 

“I mean, I could. I should…” She says, that smile widening, cheshire-like. “But I want… want our people to see your face one more time. To see that little shit-eating look of yours.”

Otolin turns his head to look back up at her, the frown on his features carefully wrought. There’s no sign of the pain from the cut she’s opened with her fist; just the frown, the furrowed brows, that trademark look he’s made his own.

“There it is,” she rasps, crouching down and leaning in before reaching out with a hand to take hold of his jaw and look him in the eyes. “There’s that fucking look.” 

He can hear it.

The anger that’s being barely held back.

“You’d kill me… me for leaving?” Otolin quietly asks, able to get the words out despite the hold. “Just… just for that?”

Emelyn’s eyes go wide, but her hold on his face keeps narrow. There’s something going on, something Otolin can’t read, but when she speaks, it’s with some form of humor in her tone, like she finds this all suddenly funny.

“Wait, you think…” She begins before pausing, her laughter barely held back as she continues. “You think I want to kill you for leaving? For fucking that? You… you don’t know, do you?” 

“Know… know what?” 

The question doesn’t need to be asked, because the answer comes to mind.

Otolin’s eyes go wide. 

Everything begins to come together, a puzzle that’s all too easy to piece with the context of the moment. 

His discussions with Severine about this past, about the gap in his memory.

The talks he had with Silvestre, the strange similarities they had, the things they seemed to know.

It was all about the why and less about the what. 

Emelyn laughs again, that smile turning shit-eating. She regards Otolin like prey, not letting go of the vice-grip she’s easily established around his jaw, and tilts his head from side to side. Her own head tilts up as though thinking, and then nods.

“I don’t want to kill you because you left, Otolin,” she chortles, shaking her head. “No, I’m going to kill you for killing us.”

“What?”

Otolin can’t get any other words out. He knew it was coming, but this… this is different. 

This isn’t how he expected it.

“Oh, how I’d love for you to tell you to not play fucking dumbass in this moment…” Emelyn rasps. “But I can’t. I just can’t. You weren’t you. The Garleans fucked with your head. It’s something they’re good at, and then they sent you after us.”

“I… I defended everyone when… when they tried to escape from them-” Otolin tries to retort, lips able to form words. 

It was the last memory he had. 

The Garleans, their forces ambushing the commune in the crevasses with that ruthless efficiency. Men, women, and children dying under a hail of gunfire. There had only been a few survivors, and Otolin was among them.

He had been a child. 

But age never mattered. It never did. He had been a child, but one who could kill. With ease. He had ripped and torn through the Garleans’ armor and their gunfire hadn’t left a mark on his, the steel-skin he had become so infamous for. 

“The canyon? Oh, is that what they put in your fucking head?” Emelyn teases, reaching up with a hand and poking him right in the cut she’s opened with a jabbing finger. “Because that’s not what happened. You think yourself our fucking hero?”

She lets go of him and stands tall above.

Too many thoughts.

Too much to process. 

The blood continues to pool and stream down Otolin’s face, running through the crevasses of his weathered features. He can’t bear to look at her, gaze instead on the stones below, watching the red viscous liquid run down the cobblestones and ease up at his fingers. 

That laugh echoes. 

“You’re not a fucking hero, Otolin.”

The rust-covered creak. 

“You’re a villain. Our monster…”

The door slams shut.

“... And I’m going to kill you for it.” 

@severine-savage @geimhleag​ @witchesandlotuses​ @loadedmemory​

[loadedmemory]

Frozen in the place I hide Not afraid to paint my sky with Some who say I've lost my mind Brother try and hope to find ‘Brother’ - Alice in Chains

[dragons-ire]

When you are confident enough in your status that you can cover your EDGE with a cozy sweater

[syerraffxiv]

New friends? Also dead.

The meme continues. ( feat. @geimhleag )

[syerraffxiv]

Just a couple of grumps, learning to trust each other. And maybe killing a lot of Bad Guys™.

( feat. @geimhleag )

[ffxivquel]

Just another night at the Forgotten Knight, dropping hot albums with @geimhleag & @witchesandlotuses. 

[ffxivquel]

Smoking outside in Camp Drybone. @geimhleag

[loadedmemory]

On returning to the vineyard, Silvestre fell silent.  Perhaps Brighid sensed he needed time to think.  She kissed his cheek and said something about reading for a little while in the study upstairs.  He squeezed her hand, smiled at her reassuringly.  The sight of her made his heart ache in ways he never knew before. 

He loved her.  Painfully so.

Wandering out to the vineyards, he rubbed his arms for warmth in the growing twilight.  He passed different varieties of grapes, each with their own distinct flavor.  Years of his father’s tutelage finally sank in, and he recounted in his head which grapes made what wine, and what it best paired with.  He stole a fat purple one off the vine and tasted it.  Sour still, but he ate it anyway, thick skin and all.

He looked up toward the two story building made for the business.  To the apartment upstairs his parents used when they were visiting.  That he and Brighid used now.  The light in the window, where he imagined Brighid sitting in her nightgown and robe.  Remembered the flash of pale, soft skin beneath his fingers.

He’d broken Halone’s laws to lie with her.  No regret in doing so, but it meant a great deal to him.  He did not enter into such a partnership lightly, intending at some point to marry her.  

Yet to do so would mean a great deal of obligation on Breandan’s part.  As the male heir to their father’s estate, it imparted certain responsibilities to him in Ishgard.  Traditions of courtship old and antique between the high houses and their vassals.  That meant a tie to the nation he did not have now.  The loss of freedom to roam as he did.  To sacrifice his happiness for his sister’s.  And for Silvestre’s.

Unconscionable to ask Breandan for such a sacrifice.  This left Silvestre wondering what to do.  To break off the courtship was just as abhorrent an idea.  The anguish it would cause Brighid, just imagining it, made him stop and grasp a post to steady himself.  It was that or simply never marry her, also an unfathomable idea.  He may have ignored Halone’s laws once, but he could not live in sin with her indefinitely.  It would eventually break his spirit.

Maybe this was his punishment.  Halone’s spear driven straight through to remind him of his sins.  Had he not slept with Brighid, there might be recourse, a thin thread of logic that went no where, but he grasped it like a lifeline anyway.  But now the die was cast, and he had to deal with the consequences of his defiance against Her laws.

He reached into his pocket, found the rosary he kept there.  The sigil of Halone, three spears, and the little worry stone Breandan gave him for Starlight.  There in the center of the vineyard, he knelt, a knee pressed into the dirt.

He prayed.  For guidance, for Brighid, for Breandan.  And for forgiveness.

(Mentions of @witchespromise and @geimhleag.)

[loadedmemory]

By the fifth round of beers, Silvestre came upon a realization.  Breandan was trying to get him drunk.

Again.

He harbored suspicions before.  But this was the third night in a week they’d sat down for drinks at the Forgotten Knight.  Oh he claimed it was because they had a brief respite, a week off to do as they pleased before being sent back out to the war effort.  It was cause for celebration, because of course there might not be a next time.

As with the previous attempts, this one eventually failed, too.  Breandan tried his hardest, nursing his beer rather than keeping up with Silvestre drink for drink.  At the end of the night, he still needed help getting back to the barracks and Silvestre barely felt a buzz.  

“Fury dammit,” Breandan slurred, “How the swive do you-- shite.”

“Bless you,” Silvestre replied. 

Breandan snorted, “One-a these days, I’ma figure out how to get you drunk.”

Silvestre walked him up the stairs to the second floor.   Most of the bunks were already filled with sleeping dragoons, so it required them being as quiet as possible.  No easy feat when Breandan couldn���t walk a straight line without help.  

“No, you don’t need to--” Breandan hushed suddenly as Silvestre clapped a large hand over his mouth.  He’d done this so many times before.  Perhaps that’s why Breandan just gave up and flopped back on his bed, letting his friend pull his boots off.  “Y’gonna tuck me in, big guy?”

Silvestre just smirked at him.  Then picked up the blanket and tossed it over him.  “You’re gonna have a hell of a headache tomorrow.”

Silent, Breandan was already out like an extinguished candle.

(Breandan belongs to @geimhleag. Any stories or drabbles involving him is done with his player’s permission.)

[loadedmemory]

And this is why I love you Why you're the only one You're the only one Who has seen me come undone And then seen beyond ‘The Sweet Escape’ - Poets of the Fall

They spent the better part of their twenties together.

Two outsiders surrounded by people who thought themselves their betters.  War meant high attrition rates.  Not many soldiers made it to the Hour of the Sheath.  Hope always sprung eternal though, prayers to Halone and ringing oratories at pulpits talking about the righteousness of serving the Ishgardian people.  That all of them would return home again and court a fair lad or lady and live happily ever after.  

All gone in an instant the second dragon jaws closed over a man’s torso and bit down.  Breandan accepted this as a possible outcome, maybe an inevitable one.  But Silvestre said his prayers every night anyway, and usually Breandan joined him.  

They sat around fires when there was a modicum of calm.  Breandan gleefully expounded on his extensive knowledge in all things Lance.  Centuries of proper etiquette, some of it outdated, most of it still in use.  Fascinated, Silvestre listened with rapt attention, asking questions for further explanation.  Breandan delighted in this and sometimes they had to remind themselves to sleep and not talk until dawn.

“You know, that was a pretty bold thing you did, breaking Nouant’s lance.”

Silvestre shrugged, “I had to.  He was gut you if I didn’t.”

“Was going to,” Breandan corrected without missing a beat.  “Yeah but what you did was symbolic.  Shattering a man’s lance like that, you told him he wasn’t worthy of the accolade.  Unworthy of being a Knight Dragoon.”

“Any man who tries to kill one of his own isn’t worthy of it.”

Breandan smiled, not his usual smirk.  “See, this is why I like you, Vigneaux.”

That all changed when Archibaulm came along.  Suddenly the duo was a trio, and Archie was every bit the noble lord.  Sometimes Silvestre wondered if he resented being saddled with two miscreants.  

The conversations stopped, mostly.  The few times Breandan did start talking about his interests again, Archie rolled his eyes.  “We know, Ducaille.  Honestly, any Dragoon worth his salt learned this stuff in childhood.”

Breandan’s jaw tightened.  Silvestre watched as if he could see the dragon within coil around him and squeeze.  “I didn’t.  I like to hear about it.”

Archie’s eyes nearly rolled all the way back to show only the whites.  “Of course you would.”

Breandan kicked snow at him.  

Archibaulm calmed down eventually.  Battle had a way of doing that to a man, no matter what station of life he’d been born into.  You learned to understand the men who served with you.  He and Breandan would never be friends, but a respect between them bloomed, and Archie grew to appreciate Silvestre’s silence and strength.

Silvestre remembered all of it as he hammered a new weapon at his station.  A special order from a foreign woman in town for the reconstruction.  She paid handsomely enough that Advardemont actually allowed it and gave Silvestre the project for practice.  It was a nice detour from the usual.  

Inspecting it toward the end of completion, he wondered what his old friend might think of it.  So that night, he snuck out of the Firmament with it.  

Just to find Breandan and listen to his old friend’s glee one more time.

(Breandan belongs to @geimhleag)