#donny putting chomby through the gauntlet if he wants to date his sister

[ascalonsmercy]

9/02: BARK.

noun: to make the characteristic short loud cry of a dog. 

rating: g

characters: donatien de dansereau, archombadin de dzemael, douceline de dansereau (mentioned)

tags: post-heavensward, character study, chomby pays a visit and finds donny instead of dou (unfortunate)

summary: an unexpected social call. 

wordcount: 733

The end was sure to come for anyone—or anything—that would part Donatien de Dansereau from a good night’s sleep. Regardless of how many bells had passed since he laid head to rest the night before, the lordling was wont to spend as long as he could in the comfort of his bed and the several layers of furs and sheets that practically cocooned him through the cold Coerthan night. He had finally received respite from his work at the offices housed in the Tribunal—albeit a forced one—and since he and his peers were unsure of when their duties would resume with even a modicum of what they once knew it to be, he was sure to make the most of his free time doing as he pleased. 

The hounds of Cygne Cross thought otherwise.

He groaned and bent his ample pillow over his ears. Jean-Luc led the charge with a bark that outdid his underlings tenfold and the others—the rumbling growl from Aubergine and the short but rapid-fire yapping from Nougat. Something—or someone—had stirred them awake.

Not long after came the hurried feet of the House Steward accompanied by what Donatien assumed to be two of the servants. 

His lips pressed thin for one, two seconds before he swept the sheets and furs off of him, braving the cold floor with his bare feet. Maybe ‘gonde had brought a new pet home and the rest of the household had come to bid it welcome—or Dou had brought home a dragon, and their hounds were simply doing as hounds in every Fury-fearing house was wont to do. Even then, old habits were hard to break—and seeing as none of his siblings had come to properly greet their guest, he ought to share in some modicum of responsibility with their mother still indisposed.

In naught but his sleep clothes and deep-blue robe he peered down at the staircase with its subtle-spiral, noting the wag of tails and the flurry of newly-brushed fur at the entryway as the figures by the door became clearer as he took one, two, three steps down. Almost halfway down the staircase and Donatien found his earlier assumptions by ear correct—all but the snowy-haired Elezen 

Donatien smiled. His morning was saved after all.

“Lord Dzemael! What brings you here so early on this fine day?” Few would know the delight in seeing a scion of House Dzemael taken aback like a cornered rabbit. And Donatien would enjoy it in full.

“...I wanted to.” He cleared his throat. 

“Congratulate the Lady Douceline—”

“I’m afraid there’s a bit of a queue.” Donny grinned.

“Though I would hate to put you through such efforts for nothing. Care for some tea, perhaps?” At the word Thibault turned to have the refreshments made ready—perhaps a bit too quickly for their guest’s liking. The hounds aside—there was only him and the youngest Dansereau at the base of the staircase, and no dear Douceline in sight. Archombadin knew there was no winning to this situation. He was in a home not his own, after all—the only slim advantage he held was that the Dzemaels ranked higher as counts rather than the baronial Dansereaus. But, as all of Ishgard knew—the status quo had changed so swiftly after certain events—and the validity of their so-called ranks were now called to question. Also, Douceline would no longer be a mere lady of House Dansereau—she had now been dubbed the Savior of Ishgard. Much more was now at stake for an otherwise spare heir, even from one of the Four High Houses—a fact that Donatien relished. “Tea would be lovely. Thank you.” The welcomed guest cleared his throat as he acquiesced, still unable to look directly at his host For better or for worse—these last days had been an exercise in learning to swallow his pride.

“Shall we, then?” Donatien extended his hand, his mood soaring to new heights. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his sleep clothes and robe and now he had no intention to. Archombadin had entered his house, high-necked overcoat and buttoned boots and all—and Donatien would appear as effortlessly comfortable in his own environment. Once in a while the petty power games so prevalent in the Pillars were fun to play—especially if he held the higher ground. 

With a subtle nod, Archombadin followed the younger man suit, with the dogs eager and wanting at their heels.