#gaheel

[aoki-fic]

Third-rate

Martyn wondered whether he would've been better off doing something sensible like cabinet making. Polishing that much wood was bound to drive him to madness but at least he wouldn't have to risk being mugged in a back alley.

Again.

He'd heard Gridania was nice this time of year.

A gaggle of dancers in sequins and skimpy silks passed him by. They paid him no mind, instead talking at length about which troupe Lord Lolorito would be looking to hire for the upcoming gala.

Martyn kicked a pebble across the pavement and watched it bounce off a wall. He was just frustrated, he told himself. He'd assumed that when he returned to Eorzea, everything would just fall into place but it turned out the average Joe wasn't nearly as keen to let themselves get hit full in the face with morbol breath as he'd hoped. No, introducing a new school of magic wasn't enough. He needed an angle, a way to spin it, something flashy.

He paused mid-stride and turned to watch the dancers setting up their stage. It had been a while, but it wasn't completely beyond his skillset.

He dashed back, “'scuse me—”

The leader of their troupe, a short miquo'te with a nicked ear folded her arms and stopped him before he could approach. “Bugger off,” she said. “We've got clients already.“

“Please, I ah... only wanted to know where you got your costumes.“

She raised an eyebrow and looked back at her troupe. One of the other dancers shrugged. She looked back. She seemed like she was only partially considering beating him over the head with her fan and so Martyn took it as an invitation to continue.

“Please, I find myself in need of a weaver who knows what to do for the, y'know... ” he waved his hand vaguely at the lot of them. “... performin' arts.“

She looked him up and down, frowning. “You aspiring to be some kind of third-rate procurer?“

“No, I...“

“'Cause you oughta know the girls arrange their own garb.“

“And the boys?“

She tilted her head.

“I mean to say, uhh... I'm a performer down on his luck.“

“Alright. Say I'm feeling generous. Prove it."

“Surely it's obvious...“ He started to pull out the lining of his pockets.

“—No, we can tell you're piss poor, thanks. Dance."

Martyn paled.

"Here?"

The leader rolled her eyes. “No, at the Sultana's palace... Of course I bloody well mean here!“

A few of the dancers chortled.

With hands that were probably not shaking, he retrieved his staff (more of a stick, really) and started to twirl it. It took a few false starts, but the movements came back eventually. After not too long, he could practically see the boonewa clapping along with his tapshoes at the Tulliyolal docks. On a good night he'd have offers of mezcal, a tumble in snow cotton sheets, and a few more pel to put towards his expedition to Xak Tural.

Come to think of it, Latool Ja and Gaheel Ja had left for Ul'dah just before his own pass for Xak Tural had gotten approved. Maybe he'd be able to track them down — for old time's sake. They might even appreciate having a local to show them around. Or at the very least, someone they could have a proper conversation with. Even if Martyn was technically homeless.

“Alright, alright, you can stop with your toe tappin',” said the miqo'te. “You've made your point, I don't have all day.“

Martyn stopped halfway through a jump click (or it would have been if he'd been wearing proper shoes) and nearly tripped over his own feet. “Pardon?“

“Talk to Swift Breeze at the Ruby Road Exchange, tell 'er J'kebbe sent you.“

“Oh thats awful kind of...“

She shook her head before he could finish. “Move along, we've clients to impress."

[changelingvixen]

Part 4

She looked at the finished dishes, a few hours later. Yes – she was happy enough. She’d made the curd from scratch and although there wasn’t time to make real Knights’ Bread, which needed overnight rising, she’d used baking powder instead of yeast to get a quick rise and it looked good. She’d signed the sachertorte with lemon sugar icing and although there was plenty to worry about – was there enough curd under the chocolate? Too late to tell now. Would they dislike the yeastless bread? Would the quiche be too eggy? She’d layered the vegetables in a swirly pattern in the top so it looked good. She suspected Royse knew as well as she herself did that food really was a many-sense experience, and visuals were also part of it. For that reason she wasn’t going to cut the Sachtertorte either; she’d serve it with plates, a jug of lemon cream and knives for them to cut their own slices and not ruin the smooth, glossy chocolate.

For a mad moment she wondered if she should have dyed some of it blue, and bit down on the giggle rising in her throat. Breathe – calm down. What happens if they hate it? You’ve lost nothing expect some pride and you didn’t have much of that anyway. You can get Apple and pack up and go back to Gridania and never think of this again. To her surprise, she didn’t want to do that, though. She liked the friendly Latool Ja and his companion, Gaheel Ja, another beastman living in the heart of Ul’Dah. Getting a free room and board was a nice perk. Royse seemed like a decent boss. And there was a strange sense of…well – glamour, excitement – about the place. It was somewhere between a bar and a circus – well, a Carnivale - and she wanted to see the magic. She was curious, she’d admit it to herself. Her skin prickled with nerves when she remembered she was serving to her boss and the star of the show. What was he like, this showman mage? She’d probably never have to see him face to face again, anyway, which was a relief, but she’d like to watch the show, anyway. It felt, for the first time, like a contribution to something greater, something vivid and fun and enjoyable.

A consummate businesswoman like Royse would have laughed at that – that she wasn’t seeing beneath the surface, that she was acting, in essence, like a customer, all google eyes at the show, but she’d never been up close and personal with anything like this. The theatre. The colour. It felt…unique. She’d never really been to much organised entertainment, because going alone was so dismal, but even the passing street bards hadn’t felt like this. She could see why the place was popular.

By the time the doorman – Ocher Mountain – had put a head around the door to say Royse was ready for the starter, she was feeling panicky, her heart galloping. I shouldn’t care this much. But she did. She couldn’t turn it off. Think of Apple. Breathe, for heavens’ sakes. This won’t even have been the most humiliating thing that would have happened to you. She ground fresh black pepper over the bowls of soup and clenched her fists for a moment to stop them trembling, then picked up the tray, licked her lower lip and walked carefully behind Ocher to the dining room.

Royse was there, and another doorman she hadn’t met yet, who raised a scornful eyebrow at her small shaky figure. Ignore it. You’ve had worse. Royse gave her an expectant look. Expectation was fine. The last guest was the Blue Mage himself.

He gave her a big gamin grin. She nearly dropped the tray and, cheeks a hideous and humiliating red, turned her eyes back to Royse. Oh yes, that was definitely a showman. He was attractive, although he wasn’t exactly classically handsome – although he had lovely golden eyes – but he had charisma. It unsettled her instantly. She wasn’t used to having megawatt smiles pointed in her direction. Her eyes must have looked pleading or at least confused, as she stood there rooted to the spot like an idiot, because Royse smiled a little too, trying to be kind. It said a lot that she’d rather face her potential boss’ face than his. Even out of the nice suit, in normal clothes, her had something she couldn’t quite look too long at.

She wished she’d eaten something herself before this to stave off the dizzy feeling.

“The name’s Martyn,” he said, as if he didn’t notice her discomfiture or at least was politely ignoring it. “I’m the resident Blue Mage.” She felt, rather than saw him smiling again.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said on autopilot, because her parents had drilled manners into her. For a moment she thanked them because without the mental memory she would have just stood there, mouth flapping like a fish.

“My name is Sthalmhas,” said the Roe in the doorman’s suit. He neither looked not sounded impressed and that was somehow reassuring. It felt normal, it brought some semblance of realism to the moment. She inclined her head towards him in a half-bow, her limp hands clutching the tray harder.

“Let’s have the soup, then, darling,” trilled Royse – at least someone was excited. She chewed the insides of her cheeks hard to settle herself and, avoiding everyone’s eyes, placed the tray down and served the bowls.

“This smells great!” Royse enthused, and she flushed again. Perhaps she could beg Ocher to serve the other courses while she paced in the kitchen. But they hadn’t dismissed her, so she had to stand there and watch the floor and listen to them eat and chatter to each other between bites, wishing the sands under the building would somehow rise up and consume her.

“I’m surprised,” she heard the biting voice of Sthalmhas, low and mildly…well, not disgusted. “I wasn’t expecting much.”

“I was,” said Royse, smugly. “I thought you darlings would know better than to doubt my skill at finding talent by now. After all, I found you two, didn’t I?” The Roe snorted.

He was saying something now, something jokey and complimentary, and she forced herself to not focus on the words. She got the feeling he was still looking at her, but she kept her eyes trained determinedly on the floor.

Her mind filtered out the rest of the talk until Ocher touched her gently on the shoulder. She nearly leapt a malm.

“Let’s go get the main course, eh?” he suggested, and she nearly melted with relief.

“Do…are you able to serve it, please?” she asked, trying not to sound like she was begging, as they walked back to the kitchen. “While I tidy up the torte?”

He smiled gently and compassionately. “Of course,” he said. If she’d been a different person, and perhaps if they hadn’t just met, she would have hugged him. “Ms Royse can be a little overwhelming but she’s fair, and she’s kind. Don’t worry.”

She wanted to laugh. She wondered what he’d say if she told him Ms Royse was not the problem here. Her heart was still racing so hard she could physically feel it in her throat, smashing a miserable rhythm up and down her body. What was this? Did she really want this job any more? A wild urge to just run out of the Celestium, never to return, gripped her. She could grab Apple and escape. They’d almost definitely never find her. They would get the main course and the tarte for free and she’d never, ever think of those sparkling golden eyes ever again. You literally know nothing about this man – any of these people! You’re not stupid. Stop this at once. A little internal scorn and shouting calmed her down to the point where she could hand the quiche to the amazing, life saving Ocher Mountain, who smiled at her again – the one age group that had always had some time for her had been older people, who apparently thought of her as some sort of misbegotten grandchild – and took the food to be served.

“Is the chef alright?” Latool Ja peered around the kitchen door at her as she stood wringing her hands. “The chef looked unhappy. Latool Ja thinks the food looked excellent.”

She mustered a faint grin. She’d had more positive attention from the folk here than she had in Gridania for literal years. It was ridiculous.

“I’m fine,” she assured the Mamool Ja, willing it to be true. He smiled.

“People here are nice. Martyn is very silly sometimes but a good friend. Martyn taught us Blue Magic, too. He brought us to stay here and made Royse let us live here too and keep learning. Even grumpy Sthalmhas is good person.”

“Oh good,” she said faintly. She could have done without hearing that. Being told he was a nasty person, arrogant, rude, something, anything, would have gone a long way to squashing this inexplicable idiot – hormone feeling. Because that, obviously, was what it was. Her body was stupid and so was her heart.

She didn’t believe in love, let alone at first sight. Crushes on stablehands as a younger woman had left her disappointed and embarrassed, even though she didn’t act upon them. As if the men sensed her burgeoning affection, they went out of their way to mock her. The nicer ones her stupid heart had decided were pleasant had the kindness to simply ignore her. In Limsa she’d smugly decided she’d grown out of being attracted to anyone because it was pointless. Loneliness was a state to learn to live with, and keeping her foolish heart safe was the only way to not be hurt. She’d never felt this monstrous backhand of instant attraction before. She loathed it. Being told he was a decent person as well – who clearly didn’t discriminate against beastmen either – did not help in the slightest.

Maybe there’s still time to ruin the torte, she mused. Then I definitely won’t get hired and I can just leave. But the professional in her couldn’t do that.

Latool Ja was looking at her curiously. “I’m fine, really,” she assured the kind beastman.

“If the chef says so,” he said dubiously, but he left her alone.

Ocher Mountain was her next visitor, and he was delighted. “They loved it,” he told her. “Have to say, I’d be happy to try any leftover cake.” He grinned at the sachertorte. The food. If they have anything positive to think of you, it’s because of the food. Remember that.

That grounded her a bit. “You’re welcome to it!” she managed a weak smile for him, loading up the tray with the cream jugs and plates. “I thought - they could cut their own pieces so they can see the whole thing.”

“Good plan,” the Roe said, balancing the tray gracefully. “You sure you don’t want to serve?”

“If you…um. If you don’t mind…” she mumbled, but he nodded.

“Not a problem. Ms Royse wasn’t bothered, so it’s all good.” He tipped her a small salute with his free hand and disappeared with the sachertorte.

Latool Ja came back in to apparently keep her company, or perhaps just because Royse had him on call as the candidate minder.

“So, you know Blue Magic?” she managed, trying to make small talk. The Mamool Ja nodded.

“A little bit. Gaheel Ja and Latool Ja are learning, although also are sidekicks for show sometimes. Before working here,” he laughed. “Helped Martyn sell job crystals and demonstrate blue magic. Not entirely honest but needed money to help people and not starve.” He grinned. “Martyn mean well and is good salesman and showman but not always totally honest with adventurers.” He waved a hand. “Is also adventurers’ own faults. They not read Blue Magic Spellbook properly.”

“Oh?” she said, and he settled in, leaning against the wall to tell her the story of how they’d first come to Gridania, via near-arrest for slightly dodgy sales techniques.

She gave a small laugh. Well, at least he wasn’t perfect, then. That helped somehow, knowing there was a solid reason to not trust the man. With a smile like that, she instinctively knew not to, anyway. Nobody who smiled like that would be kind to her for its own sake. But she wasn’t naïve enough to buy a dream from him like the adventurers had. She knew when good looking men smiled at her, they were expecting to mess her over in some way, and she might be unattractive but she wasn’t stupid. It helped, to harden her heart a bit. His face had been so open back at the table, his eyes interested and kind. It was good to know that was a lie.

“Yellowjacket think it was for own greed, but that not true. Latool Ja and Gaheel Ja also think so at first until found out real reason. Martyn not tell us. Martyn think he can solve own problems,” the Mamool Ja continued. “Martyn want to help sick friends by buying expensive cure and learn more about Blue Magic. Let people think was greedy and conman, but that is not true. Not really.” He shook his head. “Latool Ja think Martyn very clever and very good mage, but also very stupid sometimes. Latool Ja and Gaheel Ja would help Martyn if Martyn had asked.”

“Oh,” she said, wishing she had a way to say anything more than one neutral syllable. He sounded complicated. She could believe that, this man with the public face and the private, man behind a mask. It sounded like something she herself would have done, if she was honest with herself. Telling the truth left you open to hurt. Not that he would think like that – he wouldn’t need to, not someone like him – but presumably he had his reasons for things. Suddenly weary, she sat down on the kitchen stool, rubbing her eyes. Why did she care? She wished Apple was here, wishing she could breathe in the familiar, safe scent of the ‘bo’s feathers and hear his reassuring ‘kweh’.

“Royse kind to take us all on and help get medicine, though!” Latool Ja continued. “Everyone here nice. Chef will like working here.”

“I might not get hired,” she said dully. But her companion shook his head.

“Food best Latool Ja seen in Crystarium, including Royse’s delivered food!”

She gave a lopsided smile, shrugging a shoulder. “Ah. Well. Thank you. I like food. Cooking is fun. It’s…it makes sense.”

The Mamool Ja opened his mouth to reply, but Ocher Mountain knocked at the door.

“They’re all finished now,” he said. “And ready to see you!”

He waved her out, and she forced herself to stand and follow the Roe, not even managing to respond to Latool Ja’s goodbye wave.

Please just be Royse. Please send me away. Don’t hire me. Don’t look at me, don’t look in my eyes with those eyes, like I’m…like I’m valid. Like I’m worthy of your attention. Just…don’t ever be near me again. I’ve enough to think about and deal with.  

[loveandlucky]

I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD LET ME RANT ABOUT HOW IMPORTANT THIS IS. ALSO THIS IS WHY, EVEN THOUGH NALU IS MY FAVE, GAJEVY IS THE BEST FUCKING SHIP IN THE SERIES. LEVY OFFERS AN OPTION OF SOMETHING MAYBE A LITTLE ROUGH OR DIFFERENT BUT GAHEEL JUST TAKES THE RIBBON AND TIES HER FUCKING HAIR BACK THE WAY SHE ALWAYS DOES. IF THAT IS NOT THE CUTEST SHIT. HE IS SO IN LOVE WITH LEVY AND I CAN'T BREATHE ALSO, PEOPLE WHO THINK MASHIMA IS FANSERVICE ONLY, SUCK MY ASS. LOOK AT THIS SHIT

[blanania]

???

oh?

oh? me too

me

too.