#i know i know this is my second time doing paper menphina

[astralartefact]

The only Menphina I accept is a menace, because the one we got was... paper-thin! *ba-dum-tss*

Non-trivial Facts about Paper Menphina:

Know-it-all Prodigy who became Love God because it sounded cute

Her Understanding of Love begins and ends at the Love in Love and Friendship

Literally a Minor

If she was a Paper Mario Partner she would do absolutely nothing except randomly heal the enemy once in a while

Has helpful things to say...

...but will not say them.

She will only say that she could say something useful right now.

I love her. She might be an idiot but she's my idiot <3

[luck-and-larceny]

Nymeia, the Spinner: 12. Describe an instance where your character experienced a direct consequence of the ‘butterfly effect’. Halone, the Fury: 1. How protective is your character over their possessions and/or loved ones? Menphina, the Lover: 6. How romantic is your character?

OOC: Oh man. This is gonna be a long one. Please buckle in for what amounts to a short story with that first answer. Sorry!

Describe an instance where your character experienced a direct consequence of the ‘butterfly effect’.

"Ok. Sure. Let's think of a fun one.

There is a crooked businessman named Wayward Sun. He opens a ton of businesses and then runs them poorly and treats his employees like trash. My biggest dream is to drain him of so much money and reputation that he can never open another one. I’ve done this a few times and we now have a healthy, mutual, absolutely raging, burning hatred of one another.

So here’s the story:

I needed to get into an exclusive club he started for wealthy socialites. Boring. Those are a gil a dozen. But this one was his and that meant I needed to fuck it up. I knew that he had a safe in his office and that the office was behind the front desk.

The problem was that he had an amazing employee working there named Delilah who he loved to abuse and for whatever godsforsaken reason just let him bully her. She never moved away from the front desk. She was irritating in just how competent she was at her job. No trick I tried would ever get her out of the way long enough for me to get to that door to unlock it.

I figured I’d just have to make do. I’d have to pin my hopes on luck. One evening I decided I’d just have to go in disguised as another employee during a busy period and see if I could figure out another way inside that office or, at the very least, a different, fun way to fuck things up.

I got myself ready. And at the exact moment I burst in the front door in disguise, Wayward Sun had decided to fire Delilah because he said she’d left the safe in his office open. She was beside herself tearfully apologizing as she asked for her last check. He howled at her to leave his establishment and hand him her keys. She politely handed them over (she should have thrown them at his face) and left distraught. And Wayward Sun? He didn’t pay any attention to who most of his employees were. He saw me and told me that I needed to man the front desk for the rest of the night.

And handed me the keys.

And then he left! The front desk was unmanned and the office door was left unattended. And I didn’t even need to use my lockpicks on it because I had the key! I slipped inside to find that Wayward Sun, who had just fired an employee for not closing his safe, had left his safe wide open to do so. Inside was a significant amount of gil (obviously) and more paperwork that detailed other locations he was considering opening up with that gil. Just on a lark, I also decided to also take every important paper off his desk. And wouldn’t you know it? I found on the top a list of all the employees and where they lived.

To make it clear that his real worst enemy was himself, his second worst enemy was me, and that Delilah had nothing to do with this- I carved a beautiful picture of myself into his incredibly elegant and expensive desk with a letter opener I found sitting prettily on that desk. It took more time than I wanted it to, so I was forced to just use ink on the wall to get my point across: “It’s me again! Thanks for the keys!”

And, of course, now that I knew Delilah’s address, I went there to drop off the money. I snuck in and placed it at the foot of her bed with a note telling her to find a way to share it with the other employees at the club if she could and gave her the address of a newly vacated apartment to move into. I knew it was newly vacated because it was mine and I had vacated it, on a whim, just that morning.

How protective is your character over their possessions and/or loved ones?

"My items and the people I love don’t need me to protect them. If you are able to steal my things, I think you should have them (right until I steal them back). If you attempt to hurt the people I care about I imagine they will fuck you up much worse than I ever could."

OOC: There are a few items that if you steal them from her she will lose her shit. I could put what they are here- but it might be more fun if I don’t!

She is pretending like she isn’t often a malicious, chaotic tornado of sheer spite when people she cares about are attacked. What a lie. She isn’t over-protective of people. And she’s not remotely possessive. But if someone does manage to hurt someone she cares about or threatens to do so while she is nearby, that person is in for a world of pain. Perhaps not physically. But she will do what she can to ruin that person and will not rest until she is satisfied. Yay?

How romantic is your character?

“Eh. If you give me roses they're just going to die. I'm not good at caring for things. Or people."

OOC: She's a remarkably romantic character no matter how she might try to deny it. There's inherent romance in believing that things are going to go exactly how they should go (even if that means badly) and that every single thing–even the mundane– especially the mundane– is beautiful. She is passionate about and swayed by music. She is moved by thrills and mysteries. She loves people. Not just as individuals, but as a whole. Everyone has their own story, their own quirks, their own desires, their own motivations…

She's a con artist and often exploits those things she loves about people buuuut-

I'd say the degree to which she secretly is inspired and moved by the world and the people around her is deeply romantic.

Thanks for the Asks! Sorry it's so loooooong.

[ffxivimagines]

fidelity | Fic for DarthSuki

Thank you so much for your patience and support @darthsuki! I had a lovely time working with Samilen ^^

Ao3 Link

Rating: G 

Category: M/M

Applicable tags: Stormblood spoilers, RDM questline references, I went a little hard on the pining can you tell, mutual pining

Summary: Maybe Samilen shouldn't have read so heavily into X'rhun's many shows of affection, but maybe he could have stood to had a little more confidence as well. 

There is a letter waiting for him when Samilien slides onto a bar stool inside the Quicksand. Momodi smiles knowingly, sliding the folded paper across the counter toward him, and says, “Someone left a little somethin’ for you. I didn’t peek.” She finishes her sentence off with a wink. Honest to Menphina, a wink. 

Samilen… is not sure how he should feel about that. Momodi isn’t the sort to gossip (usually) but the way she’s watching him promises trouble. 

He takes the letter and opens it gingerly. The first thing he notices is the familiar pattern of X’rhun’s not-quite-cursive spelling out “To my dearest Samilen” like they were lovers and not just comrades (though the idea of being involved in that way is by no means a bad one). He tended to title nearly all his letters the same. The notable differences are simply where the comma is placed or what comes after the sappy opening line. 

In this case, the latter that follows is no less affectionate as it is urgent. They rarely correspond via paper means─while enjoyable to send and receive, they are easy to track and intercept─and receiving written correspondence is always a welcome surprise. The letter reads:

To my dearest Samilen, 

‘Tis a rare occasion I can write to you. I can only pray this letter finds you in good health and in better time. There have been more skirmishes with the Empire as of late and I have been sorely missing your presence at my side. Do write me a response if you are able.

Sincerely,

Rhun

The trouble with Garlemald is standard fare for the both of them, but what is not by any means standard is the scribbled footnote saying that a package should be arriving within a few days (or so X’rhun hopes). 

Momodi giggles behind her hand and asks, “An admirer, perhaps?”

Samilen is tempted to reply, but flounders. X’rhun is a comrade. A friend. Not an… admirer. He hasn't shown the slightest inclination that he views Samilen in that way, either. He settles for shaking his head. Momodi frowns. 

“A shame, that. You’re a lovely young man,” she says, disapproving of his apparent lack of prospects. “I’ll make sure you know when that package of yours arrives.”

Samilen excuses himself, tucking the letter into his pack, and tries very hard not to think of exactly why X’rhun is sending him a parcel. They are both affectionate in their own ways, but this can’t be meant in that way. X’rhun has given him things before (like the all-important Soulstone that allowed him to take up Red magic) but he really shouldn’t be reading this far into it. It would just serve to get his hopes up over nothing. 

With that thought in mind, Samilen goes about his day. He manages to successfully forget about the promised package until he prepares to check out of the inn and head out of Ul’dah. Momodi slides a parcel across the countertop before he can even hand her his room key and says, “That admirer of yours sent a little somethin’ extra, it looks like. Make sure to write back, Samilen! Leadin’ them on isn’t like you.”

He flusters, ears flattening close to his head. “It’s not like that,” he signs frantically.

“They sure don’t think so.”

He places his key on the counter with a pointed clack, counts out Gil for his stay, and takes the package under an arm before departing. Momodi calls after him, tone teasing, and he tries not to give her words any credence. He’s already on the airship and sat in a corner with his bag in his lap when he remembers that he never even opened the parcel currently making a menace of itself where it’s wedged between cuttings he’d collected from throughout Thanalan. He extricates it with care (little for the box itself and more for the phials it was sitting on top of) and simply stares. 

There, in X’rhun’s typical script, is a label that reads: To my dearest companion.

Samilen thinks he may have missed something. Multiple somethings. Like how they used to share drinks all too often and X’rhun’s hand would stray from his elbow to his waist. How he always signs things as Rhun in an all-too-intimate show of trust and affection. 

Affection that Samilen would still like to think is platonic, lest he drown in embarrassment. 

He feels his cheeks heat the longer he looks at the little parchment tag, so he tears apart the wrapping and hopes that the little voice inside his head saying that it is definitely a courtship gift will be proven wrong. The box inside is made of thin plywood sheets and left shut with a length of butcher’s twine. It isn’t much to look at, all told. It’s simply standard for things that might be damaged during a courier’s travels. Nothing more and nothing less. 

Samilen finds he is somehow disappointed. 

He unties the twine and lifts the lid. Inside is a pocketbook─the type he would expect to find in Gridania proper and not wherever X’rhun was camped out─with close-set type and a thick, cardstock cover. “A Horticulturist’s Guide to Ala Mhigan Flowers'' the title reads and maybe Samilen should have had more care when flipping through the pages because there are loose flower petals all over his lap, now. He picks them up delicately, cursing quietly when the airship lurches and he accidentally punctures the delicate surface of what he assumes to be the remnants of a carnation. He sweeps all the petals into the box and carefully continues flicking through the book. He gets to the second to last entry, careful of the myriad pressed flowers between the pages, when a small scribble catches his eye. 

X’rhun’s familiar scrawl fills up the margin. Samilen squints, reading his writing with some difficulty. The words are barely spaced and the looping script has become a curse where lines intersect and make nonsensical symbols instead of letters. He manages most of it, though. 

I hope you enjoy the gift. It would bring me great joy if this has managed to arrive safely into your care. Do take a moment to read the entry on this page. I think you’ll find it most enlightening. 

There, circled in blue ink, is a little section explaining the meaning of the plant in floriographer’s terms. Jonquil is something he recognizes. It’s resemblance to the daffodil is a point of constant contention for beginner botanists. It also… isn’t a flower he ever thought to look into for more than cultivation methods. He wishes he had, now, because it stands for desire─both toward someone but also to have that feeling reciprocated─and X’rhun had pointed it out very much on purpose. 

Samilen realizes with such sharp clarity it nearly hurts that he has been ignoring legitimate courtship attempts. Readily given company, trust with each other’s safety, tokens of affection, physical closeness, and letters titled and signed with ever-increasing intimacy. X’rhun has been courting him (him! By Menphina!) and wanted to know if he returned the feeling. 

He feels like he’s nearly buzzing by the time the airship lands and he disembarks. It’s a wonder he manages to not crash into anyone on his way home because all he can think of is that he wasn’t reading too much into gestures, but rather that he had been ignoring them. He sits down and pulls out a sheet of parchment the second he’s inside, nearly forgetting to close the door behind himself. He stares at it, unseeing, before realizing that he has to write on it in order to send a reply. 

How could he even title it? To X’rhun? Certainly not! Well, maybe. He had every other time they corresponded, but this felt different. He would be replying with the knowledge that it wasn’t just letters between friends. But, then again, X’rhun had been attempting to court him for many a month. He could respond the way he has before and address the unspoken question, but doing it through a letter also feels less than genuine, considering how recent of a realization it is. 

He settles for a request to meet and agonizes over how to word it. By the time the letter is written, folded, and appropriately labeled for delivery, Samilen thinks he may be making a mistake. The courier is already down the road, however, and it’s late enough he simply sorts out the cuttings in his bag so he can attend them come morning. He looks at the little book sitting innocuously next to the wrapped bits of plant and decides not to snuff his lamp. He has a lot more reading to do if he intends to respond in kind. 

When a reply arrives, it’s in the hands of a red-coated Seeker whose roguish smile barely manages to cover his nerves. “Is this the residence of a Samilen Jawantal? I have a letter for him.”

[thevoilinauttheory]

Entry #3: Faith in Himself

FFXIV Writing Challenge Prompt #3: The Twelve

**All characters in this prompt belong to me**

“What are you going to do with your life?” The words rang in his head. He never knew, he never had responsibilities, or anything to live for. What was he going to do with his life? As he grew older, his thoughts often turned to what he would do with his life.

At eighteen winters old, Maximiloix found his faith.

He would always find a place to think, usually away from the crowds, among the outer edges of the Brumes. There was such a wonderful view of the Bridge of Faith, it was perfect for contemplating life for a while. Perfect for losing himself in a world unlike the one he lived in.

“Excuse me?”

A voice cut through his thoughts, sending his eyes towards the perpetrator. A woman, fairly younger than he by a few years it seemed. He blinked as he waited for more of a response; and spent the seconds in between her words to examine her appearance. Short auburn hair, sky blue eyes, a smile filled with worry; if it weren’t for her rather concerned expression and undamaged clothing, he would have thought her from the Brume. The worry gave it away, the paranoia of an unknown area, yet she trusted this stranger enough to speak with him.

“I...I seem to have taken a small, teeny bit, of a wrong turn. I’m supposed to meet someone here.” She unfolded a sheet of paper from her pocket, extending it to Maximiloix. He stared at the paper blankly. Oh dear...he never learned to read. “I, oh, I...uhm.” He stammered as he stared harder - as if the words would jump out at him and give him their written knowledge. He didn’t wish to admit his lack of the most basic learning, but he couldn’t help.

“I’m sorry, I don’t...know.” He shoved the paper back towards the woman and stood up from his thinking ledge. “Sorry.” He apologized again with a bow; but it was like she had read him as easily as the address written upon her piece of paper. “Wait, please sir.” She grabbed his wrist in unintentional fervor, stopping him in his tracks with the uncontrolled strength of a dragon with panicked anxiety. He stared at her with an almost fear in his eyes. The grip alone made him realize this woman could kill him in an instant if she so wished to, yet she was filled with such a softness that was unaware of it. It was...attractive.

“I- I- I’m sorry, I can’t help you...I..” His eyes moved to the ground. “I don’t...” “It’s okay, sir, I apologize...here, let me read it for you.” She opened the paper back up, standing beside Maximiloix as she read off what was written. “I am looking for the Corbeau Apothecary located somewhere nearby to a small church in the upper Brumes. My mother is quite ill, and since father is a knight under the Fortemps, they provide medicine for free. I am to meet another knight there, but I seemed to have lost my way. A little.” Her speech was so eloquent, yet casual, as if she were talking with one of her noble friends - he admired the way she spoke certain words. “Oh, the potion maker? I don’t...remember a church, but I can take you there. They’re real nice. And, I was sure they were located in the lower Brumes...they don’t have any signs, though. You can tell by the smell how close you are.” 

He guided the woman past abandoned and destroyed buildings, one of which was labeled “Corbeau Apothecary”, very plainly written. “Oh, there, here.” “No, no...that’s not - I wouldn’t go in there.” “Hm? Why not? This is where--” “Keep moving.” He snatched her wrist and yanked her away from the building as kept walking. He had seen a shadow moving inside the unlit window, something gave him a startle. The woman followed in silence, even more worried than before - she was supposed to meet someone she knew there, yet someone she didn’t know warned her of it. Was that not where she was supposed to go?

“...Those who give the Brume a bad name stay there. I saw someone inside...” Perhaps it was the knight she spoke of, perhaps he was mislead as well. And on the off chance he wasn’t, Maximiloix saw fit to deliver the noble’s daughter to the correct location. He never wished anyone to come of harm, especially someone so...so dazzling. “They’re located futher this way.” “How can I trust you?” Trust him? She had so willingly came to him for directions and now she was doubting him? “You came to me, lady, and I know that place ain’t right...” He was right, she knew this, but if her friend was there... “Perhaps we should check if Ser Hanlois is there...he was supposed to meet me, maybe the people in there got a hold of him?” She was worried again.

“He’s a knight, right? He can take care of himself against some street rats.” His eyes scanned the area. Another shadow. His pace quickened, causing a yelp to escape from the woman’s lips. Before he could get too far, a body of armour stopped him in his tracks. “Ser Hanlois! Oh, thank goodness.” “What is this low-life street rubble doing with your hand, my lady Adeline?” The knight glared down at Maximiloix. He hadn’t noticed that his grip on the noble girl’s wrist had moved to her hand instead; he let go suddenly with a flush of red in his cheeks. “He was helping me, Ser, apparently the address here is wrong - the apothecary must have moved since.” “Is that so? And how do you trust him, he is like to take you somewhere unpopulated to slit your throat.”

“I would not!” Maximiloix could not stand being thought for a criminal, especially by a knight. He stepped between the woman and the knight, as if trying to protect her from him. But the smell - Furymint? No, it covered a musky dust, the smell of rotting wood and dead flowers. He was the one in the building, following them. But why? He didn’t wish to think on it. “You’ve been in that building, you can say that its empty...so the other one is this way. Good day.” He grabbed Adeline’s wrist again and whispered to her. “Please keep moving, he doesn’t give me a trustworthy aura.”

A plated glove shoved him back as he tried to move past the knight. “Unhand my lady, or face consequences rat.” His grip only tightened; the threatening demeanor of Hanlois caused his muscles to tense. Before he knew it, that plated glove came at him, knocking the wind from him as it made contact with his stomach. A knee knocked him on his arse quicker than he could catch his breath. “Ser Hanlois, please, he means no harm!” “Quiet, girl, his kind always mean harm to anyone of your stature - we go back this way.” The knight shoved Adeline back towards the abandoned building.

Until now, Maximiloix never asked for strength from anyone other than himself. But, the Twelve had seen him met by a woman of strength and beauty - Menphina’s breath gave him a sight of love that he had never seen before. Nymeia spun this fate that he wished to see through. He would never pray to Althyk for another chance, and oh, Halone, grant him the strength he needs. His knees shook as he stood up, he had never fought before, he was terrified for both himself and Adeline. “Mm- Madam...please...don’t follow him, he knows it’s empty...” He wasn’t sure his words made sense, but he still rose to meet eyes with the knight.

Hanlois stepped heavily towards Maximiloix, each clatter of the plate boots made him tremble more. He could die here, an armoured knight against an untrained youth, then...he wouldn’t have to find himself with responsibilities if he did. No more thinking, no more insults. Either way, he couldn’t lose. He was nervous, he began reciting a prayer to himself - he didn’t even know any prayers, yet he prayed. He had always been afraid of pain and death.

Oh, Fury, grant me strength. Grant me courage and steady my hand. Guide my actions to see me live, or guide me into your halls. 

He held his own much better than he had anticipated; the knight acted first, attempting to send another plated glove to Maximiloix’s stomach. He used the dexterity of not wearing armour to dodge, then he tried to attack in turn. Regrets. He harboured regrets for that decision. His knuckles cracked as they made contact with the armour; he wished he knew something about fighting, but he knew nothing at all. That disadvantage had him on the ground again after another hit by the knight. He couldn’t even see straight.

“Sir? Sir, are you awake?” He could hear a woman’s voice rousing him from what he hoped was a dream. When his eyes opened, it was obvious it was not. Adeline was beside him, patting his hand gently. Off by the buildings was the unconscious body of Ser Hanlois; she gave him a beating of a lifetime. He was embarrassed by his display, but thankful that Adeline was not as helpless as she appeared. “I...I am, aye...” “Good...I’m glad, thank you for your warning. ‘Twould seem that Ser Hanlois was not as...qualified for his job.”

Maximiloix sat up slowly with his technical savior’s help, offering a smile. “I’m sorry...I didn’t mean-” “It’s okay, it really is...now, why don’t we get to that apothecary, hm? You could use their aid as well.” “Thank you...” He had never seen such kindness from a stranger, much less one of noble birth. She helped him to his feet with a smile of her own. “How rude of me, I am Adeline Galeaux - I don’t believe I got your name.”

“Maximiloix...oh, uhm...Voilinaut.” “Quite a mouthful, but such a wonderful name.” Twelve be praised, his life actually started to turn up for once. He made it a point to show his thanks at any time he could visit a cathedral.

Lesson Number 37: “Faith is what makes man, even if they pray to nothing, it gives them the strength to do things they never thought to.”

[zanaakhabila]

Zana Drabble #2:  Bloody Past

FAIR WARNING:  Disturbing content below.  I’m hiding it behind a read more because I know there are those among you who don’t want to read this kind of thing, so I’ll hide it and give you a hug instead.

It involves a lot of things that might make people uncomfortable, so read at your own risk.  It gets really damn dark and shows that our favorite knifey flirty nymph might not be all that together as she seems.

Read and review if you want, or leave a note on where I could do better.  Hugs will be provided after the story.

Four Years Ago...

The Siren's Throat – Captain's Cabin

“I have customers down there who are going to start fucking rioting.  We barely have enough grog to last the damn leg, much the follow-up trip up the coast.  We will be fucking lucky to get to Limsa on what we have left, and that stuff is goddamn fish-piss.  And you're telling me we have no more gil to stretch the supply for the whole trip?”

The aging captain just offered a leer as he looked at the young woman standing in front of him, her hands planted on the desk.  The dress she wore emphasized her bust, and he appreciated the view- that was easy to look at, instead of the absolute stormcloud that was her face.  In the end, though, she shifted, and that gaze over her chest ended.

“You make do with what you have, girl. You always have, and it's one of the reasons you still have a job.  It's not my fault you couldn't find a better deal on your things, like the rest of the crew did.  We'll last.  You have to make it right for the customers.  That's your job, and it's why you're still around.  I hear old Luntwafson is downstairs... he's got plenty of gil, and I know he's fancy on you, Zana. Maybe if you just did me a favor and sat with him for a while and let him get his jollies, maybe he won't mind pitching a handful to you in exchange?  Then you can get good grog in Limsa, but maybe also do me a favor, hm?”

One Zana Akhabila, aged eighteen. Best-performing waitress and cook he had on the Throat, and by rumor one of the most shameless behind closed doors. Not that he'd ever gotten a chance to spy.   She'd recently taken to dying blue streaks in her hair on the advice of her friends.  She'd been calling herself 'the Lominsian Blue', almost as a bad nickname, but it had stuck among the other girls and porters.

And currently, she was nothing short of extremely pissed off.

“...no.  Fuck you, you old, rotten sahagin ass. I will not put my body on the line to come and cover your fuckups because you'd rather fill your own goddamn pockets again and buy yourself and your friends goddamn boxes of antelope tenderloins while the rest of us live on goddamn mole jerky and cheap booze!  We're lucky to get enough fruit down there to keep our teeth and you're up here feeding fucking chocolate-covered strawberries to your little whore?  Without us, you don't HAVE a goddamn crew to feed you or the rest of your scumbag-”

“Shuddup, you little hyur bitch.  You signed the paper.  I practically -own- you.  You are mine until your twenty-fifth birthday- which might just get pushed back a year or three-”  He smiled, showing off some of the most rotten teeth she'd ever seen.  “-and need I remind you, you need the money.  How else are you going to keep little M'sheera and M'rana from following in mommy's footsteps?”

As he looked upon the raging typhoon that was Zana's face, he could only imagine what that face would look like once she'd just seen things his way and become like his other girl, the one who got bathed in silk and covered in the best food, all because she shared his bed.  Hell, he even imagined her face upon his girl's, late at night, while he knew the others were having their fun downstairs.  But someone was always watching, and it was never her turn- apparently the Lominsian Blue was just too damn popular among the young ones.

So if he couldn't have her... he'd hear second-hand.

“...you go anywhere near my little sisters and I will personally feed your guts to the nearest pile of slime that could eat them!”

That had been the explosion he'd been hoping for.  Usually, the quickest way to get her to agree to anything was to threaten her sisters.  The eldest had went ahead and followed her mother into the business- to one of the best higher-class places in Limsa- but after having her followed back home, he learned of Zana's two youngest sisters- twin half miqo'tes.  All he'd had to do was mention them, and Zana... suddenly went along with everything he wanted, to a point.  Cut her pay to spread the food budget?  Agreed.  Have her work another shift so he could fuck one of the girls for a bribe?  Agreed.

“You look beautiful when you're angry, little Zana.  Why not come express some of this rage creatively, hmm? My bed is open, and I can guarantee that all I want is one taste of the Lominsian Blue... you do that, and I'll make sure you have-”

That.. had been the breaking point.  The point where he finally realized he'd pushed her too far- because suddenly he was seeing an oncoming fist lunge right at his face- and then crash right into it.  His nose bent to the side, and the impact had even him- a solid roe sea captain- seeing stars.  He'd trip over his own feet, fall over the chair, and then faceplant into a punch bowl full of grog he'd been saving for later.   By the time he got to his feet, clothes soaked in the stuff, she was on her way out the door.

“Eat shite and die, slugfucker.  I quit.  Fuck your contract, you'll never find me.  You never found Lucilla, or V'Lopra.  You'll never fucking find me.  I'll make sure of it.  And if you do?”

The hem of her dress went up, to show something he knew had been there- a pair of knives, one at each side.  The Lominsian Blue had a bite.

“I'll carve you like a Twelve-damned fish and gut you like a trout.  You or whoever you send after me.”

With a final swish of her skirts, she was gone.  Out the door, and in about eight bells, out of his life.

“Ooooh, no, girlie.  You don't get away from old Porsefsin that easily.”

Regaining his seat, and wiping his face, he began to think.  There was a reason the two who had “escaped” had never been seen again... and he was ready to possibly make it three.

Even if it was the Lominsian Blue herself, nobody crossed his line.

 ********************

Storming off down the passageway, Zana fumed and just tried her best to keep her cool.  Just one more shift.  Then she was out.  Out, away from this whole, crappy goddamn life.  Twelve take the bastard and stuff him down Leviathan's gullet ass-first.  She was done with this life. Being used as a goddamn playtoy, seeing how much the captain could push her, just how far he could get her to sacrifice- the going to bed hungry, and cold, because they couldn't eat the food left over from the kitchen- what if the customers woke up and wanted more? Better they eat mole jerky and lemons, instead of the hot stew that usually went out.

Her sisters would understand, and there was plenty of work out there. Even if she had to leave Limsa and go elsewhere, there would always be more work.  Gridania would be good, and well... Ul'dah had plenty of work, but could she get there?

“Zana! Hold up!  I just heard, did you really sock him?”

That was from another of the serving girls, who had just run up after hearing the commotion.

“Uh-huh. I'm getting off in Limsa.  I can't do this any more., Tisea.  He's skimming out our gil and making our lives hell.  He's making it so that we have to let them do what his old crusty buddies want just so we can keep running so he doesn't have an excuse to dock our pay.  I can't keep doing this.  My sisters deserve better, and I can get that elsewhere.  You guys all come with me!  Please!”

“...we'll see, Blue. I have a family to pay for, and you know these contracts are iron-clad.  I... I can't leave them in the lurch like that.  I refuse to let them starve... I can't go.  I think you're on your own. I can't do that, not even for you, Blue.  At least stay the night tonight, and give us one last one?  For the memories?”

At the idea of that, well... Zana calmed down a bit.   If there was one good thing intimacy did for her, it calmed her down to the point where she could think clearly.  Maybe after she got through the day, with that to look forward to, it would calm her down.  Menphina bless, sometimes relief was spelled o-r-g-a-s-m.  Not that anyone would prescribe one of those.

**********************

Of course, it would have to be her area that got slammed, and fuck that fishback humper, she knew exactly why.  Every person who could fit in the section, ended up at one of her tables, and she was running fucking ragged.   Seven spills, five pinches of her ass, one swat to her tits, and some strange lalafell told her he'd give her fifty grand to... play her infant son.  With all that entailed.   Ugh.  She shook her head and tried to clear that one out of her head.  The other girls suddenly found themselves with things to do, and could only watch as Zana was run ragged by every person in her section, each of them changing their orders, spilling drinks, and generally making her last shift an utter and unbelievable hell for the girl.

And watching it all, from his table, girls on either side, was Captain Porsefsin, watching and laughing as Zana ran like a madwoman, trying to get everything taken care of.  

“HEY, LASS!  ANOTHER TABLE OF SIX JUST SHOWED UP!”  

Shut him out.  Just don't react.  If you react, he's going to just give it worse.  Smile, be happy, it's almost done.  Think of tonight.  Think of hands touching you, think of grinding against your friends, think of four porters on you at the same time.

“Hey, slut, I spilled my drink!  Clean it up and bend over when you do it! Let's see that skirt go!”

Think of all the time you'll have tonight.  Just igno-OW!

She lashed out with a slap, only to have someone catch her hand and press dirty, stinking lips to her cheek for a sloppy kiss before she was able to pull away.

Her hands drifted down to her daggers, but clenched instead.  

Calm down, Zana.  Calm. No stabbing yet.  Find something when you get back to shore and take it out. Don't give in to temptation here.

Think of your sisters.  Always think of them.

Extracating herself, she worked her way back to the kitchen and collapsed against the wall, looking miserable.  She just leaned against the wall, trying not to cry, but it was goddamn hard when it felt like the whole damn boat was against you.

“Uhm... the captain's order is ready.  A full antelope rib dinner for him and each member of the crew.  He also said no breaks and you're on cleanup duty tonight.  Solo.  Sorry, Blue.”

That was from one of the other girls who worked in the kitchen, and she noticed how each of them were keeping their heads down.  It was official, they knew she was leaving... and had decided to stay.

She was on her own, and the whole ship knew it.

“...screw you guys.  Screw all of you.  He'd not have a damn crew without you, and he knows it.  I'm fucking done with all of you.  Go find someone else to play with, I'm done.”

She heaved up the first two platters, and began to bring them out, trying to concentrate.  This was easy.

Bring the food out, put it down, and they'll be busy eating.  That gives you peace, and you can get some of these other drunk assholes out of the way.  Just get through tonight.

The racks of ribs were well-received, and she went about her business, finally clearing away a number of tables and prodding them to go somewhere else.

Years later, Zana would proclaim that this was where everything went to the abyss.

The door to the passageway opened, and in walked what she thought was an overstuffed man wearing a moogle costume- but instead, it turned out to be an actual, over-stuffed man.

Porsefsin stood up in greeting, knocking over his drink, and welcomed the newcomer with a hearty yell.

“Korsenki, welcome, my friend!  Glad you could make it on board- come over and sit down!   ZANA!  GET YER SEXY ASS OVER HERE!  Here, you'll love her- the Lominsian Blue I've been telling you so much about!”

Just relax.  He's fat, that means food.  Just relax, smile, and take his order.  Good Zana. Just relax.

“Hmmm... she doesn't look like much.  I -do- like her hair, though... get me food. Then come back here and wait on me, girl.  Get your act together, and perhaps I will not simply add you to my staff.”

...add me to his staff?

She wandered on back to the kitchen and picked up a platter of ribs, and brought it out, setting it and then pouring a cup of the best liquor for the captain's guest.  Then, she went off to the side and stood.

“No.  You kneel beside me, girl.  Until I call for you.”

“Do it, Zana. Half the crew would kill to see you on yer knees.  Why not give them a little treat, hm?  Seein' as it's your 'last night with us', hm?”

Well, yes, it was her last night.  Why not humor him for a change?  She got down on one knee and waited.

“...she can be taught.  That increases her value somewhat.  Still somewhat scrawny, though.”

...value?  No.  Oh no.  Nonononononononono..!

“Girl.  Go get us a bottle and a pair of glasses.  We will toast this deal.”

She was off like a shot.  To the kitchen, where someone pressed a bottle and a tray with glasses into her hand, and then shoved her out the door, only to have the galley door slam behind her.

“...sorry, Blue. We love you. Be safe.”

Then the lock clicked behind her, and Zana knew she was alone.

“Girl.  Bring the drink.  Now.”

The snap of fingers.  Oh, that bastard.

He was selling her. Selling her off to his friend and she was never going to see anyone again.

But still, she dutifully brought the bottle, and set it down.  She worked the cork out, and popped it for them, a pale, frozen look on her face.

“I told you, girl.  You mouthed off one too many times, and this is what happens. The others went the same way.  Nobody escapes yer beloved old captain, girl.  They just go away into another kind of world.  Do say hello if you see them, hm?  If your mouth isn't stuffed full of someone's manhood, hahahahahahahh!”

No.  No. N-

An arm, grabbing her around the waist. Her skirt being pushed aside- and then probing, muscling her underwear aside, and then-

GetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutofmeIdontwanthispleasenopleasenonononononoNO!!!!!

She kicked her legs.  She started to scream, she squirmed, even as his fingers probed her.  Finally, he withdrew his hand and checked his fingers.

“Serviceable.  A bit of training and I bet she could take a pair of roegaden.”

Zana saw red.  No. This was not to be her life.  Never.  No.  No. Not for her.

Her hands went to her sides.  Slipped under the hem of the skirt, and then they were in her hands, flashing in the light.  Her face turned to a rictus of rage, and the white-hot passion looked for a way out.

It found one.  The blades slammed forward, seeking flesh.  It would have to be a stab, her rage and fear wouldn't be satisfied by anything else.  

“KNIVES!  THE BITCH IS ARMED!”

The edges bit into the merchant's chest, and there was a squirt of blood.  Red blood. Glorious red blood.  It was so glorious to hear him scream out, to be penetrated just like he had her-

“YOU LITTLE SLUT! I'll break you for this!  I'll have your body in chains and break your mind!  You'll be a shell of your former self! I'll make you happy to please whatever I put in front of you!  I'll make you the centerpiece of my collection!”

The merchant reached across the table, trying to seize her.  She couldn't have that.

She pulled back her knives, took both hilts in a stabbing motion, and plunged them down.

The thud they made as they impacted the tabletop and impaled Korsenki's hands to the table was loud enough to make the captain jump out of his seat, and the merchant screamed in pain.

“I QUIT, SHITBREATH!  FUCK ALL OF YOU!  LEVIATHAN TAKE YOU!”

With that, she was running.  Running for her life, for her sanity, and leaving most everything of hers behind, which wasn't much.  If they wanted to abandon her like this, well...

She reached the side of the ship.  The coast was speeding by, and she could see Limsa from where they were.  It would be about another hour by ship, but another three by foot.

The shallows looked deep enough, so she looked back, and jumped over, landing with a splash in the water below, before swimming towards shore to vanish into the underbrush.

Never again.  She'd never put herself in that position again.

***************************

Current Day

??????, Back Alleys, Limsa Lominsa

“...you found her.”

“Aye, my friend. Four years it took, but I know exactly where your little prize is hoisted.  She's staying in Ul'dah, under the thumb of the Bandee Pakshee.  More than likely followed her mother into the trade. Speaking of which...”

Papers were slid across the table.

“Rest of her family's still here in Limsa.  There's no way we can get at her if she stays there, nobody has the goddamn balls to mess with her bosses.  Things happen to those people... but we have the advantage, don't we?”

“My good captain, this plan will work.  It will bring my Blue to Limsa, and once she is there, out of the reach of her friends, I will whisk her away to her deserved life.  Just poke her like that... and she will come running.

She always did have a soft spot for her sisters, as you said.”

A hand slammed down upon the papers.  It had a nasty wound in the top of it, one that had never healed quite right.

“If the little Zana wants to play with knives, I have a man who will... happily... oblige her.”