#joshua treegarden

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

#4: Reticent

[One year after fleeing Ishgard.]

Laura kicked the door of apartment so hard it banged against the wall. "Here we are, home sweet home. Don't mind the mess, I ain't had time to tidy up." She stepped aside for the boy, watching him take slow, cautious steps inside.

Though she had promised his brother, finding Joshua someone who would take him in was harder than she expected. Everyone had an excuse or other: too fragile, too sickly, too high maintenance, too duskwight. Those who did want him were worse, and that was how Laura Treegarden gained a charge.

Though shorter than most trips, the journey from Mor Dhona to Limsa had changed him: He hadn't spoken much, but now he was downright reticent; jaw clenched, lips pursed so tightly it looked glued shut, and she was certain the light had gone out in his eyes on the boat ride. "I'll get ye a bed tomorrow, just sleep on the couch for now, ay?" A tower of binders clattered to the ground. "Paper's quite soft when ye get used to it, heh."

He did not laugh. He huddled at one side and stayed there, hugging his knees and stared straight into a corner.

She was not prepared for this at all. Where did one even begin to take care of a teenager, let alone an Ishgardian fugitive? "Joshua," she started, scratching her head, "I know this is a lot for ye to take in, and, well, I guess I'm sayin' it's okay to be mad. But life's gotta go on, and, and well, oh I know! We could grab some parchment an' quill t'morrow and write a letter t' yer brother-"

"No need." That would be the first words he uttered all week, and now she had an inkling of what he was thinking. "Ah, yer mad."

"..."

No sooner had she started to comb for ideas did the answer stare her in the face - a battered axe, chipped and dull, leaning in the very corner he looked at. "Ah, here's an idea." She grabbed it and held the handle out to the boy. "This here's m' old axe. Shoulda tossed it after I cleaved the skull o' the man who brought me outta Ala Mhigo - got sick of his ideas for me, y'see - but that's an old memory ye ain't interested in. Anyroad, ye take this axe now, and when yer angry at the world what done you wrong, ye hit something with it. Rocks, trees, maybe when you're older ye can aim for beastkin, I dunno. But it's a start. Go on, try it."

Joshua slowly looked up at the axe, then at her, slowly arching his eyebrow, incredulous at her terrible life hack. He would say, "What the fuck, lady," but he still had not grown out of noble Ishgardian upbringing yet, though it certainly took seed in him.

To her, it was progress. Any progress was always good. Her chest swelled with pride at a job well done. "That's a start, boy. We'll put some life back in ye yet."

[housedeaubemarle]

A House Call

(written with @escherstrange-ffxiv, without whom none of this would have existed in the first place)

Followed by 'A House Call: Epilogue du Oudine'.

~*~

"Sydney should be here," Joshua grumbles, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeve. 

"Probably for the best." Isillud thinks it wiser not to tell his younger brother of their brother's reply.

An hour ago:

Sydney's laugh was of a man who had suffered at the hands of House Aubemarle. It was long, sharp, and bitter. "HAHAHAHA good fucking luck," he said before the linkpearl fell silent.

Isillud's eyes narrowed at the fireplace, as if telepathically setting his brother on fire all the way at Radz-at-han. "Bitch."

"He could have given us some tips. I've never met the viscountess."

"Neither have I, Joshua." Isillud smooths his hair back, waiting for the door to open.

~*~

Marceaux, butler to House Aubemarle perhaps since the time of the Ancients, opens the door to two lanky Elezen gentlemen. 

The eye first takes in an absurdly beautiful face on the right, accompanied by well-sculpted - youthful - features on the left. Another second of scanning addresses the similar bone structures, Duskwight skin, points of ears, and builds of the pair before him. Yet a third instant notes the ruffles of cravats and shirts, unobtrusive cufflinks and neatly pointed shoes, while filing away for future reference, certain wrinkles in cloth that either point to a household without laundry maids or worse: untrained servants. 

“Our relatives, the Losstarots, are due tomorrow morning, Marceaux. We will not be home to anyone else till their visit is complete.”

“Very good, milady.”

He opens his mouth, just as the trained eye submits a fourth report: the pairs of eyes looking back at him - one impassive, one defiant - are shockingly green. 

“Good morning, gentlemen. Whom may I say is calling?”

Joshua straightens his back, clearing his throat and whipping out a card in between his fingers. “Lord Joshua Losstarot and my brother, Isillud. We are here to meet with Viscount Aubemarle."

The card is a crisp white card printed only with his name and a coat of arms. He looks as dignified and lordly as a young man due to come of age in 3 days (figuratively) can be. Isillud simply nods and smiles at the butler. 

Marceaux wordlessly and gingerly receives the tiny rectangle. He peers at it, absorbing that this is, in fact, the Lord Joshua Losstarot. Still holding the card respectfully in his gloved hands, he bows and moves aside to wave them through.

“Welcome, milords. If you would be so kind as to follow me, I will direct you to the Chantilly Room.”

He awaits acknowledgement of this, and at the briefest nod from Lord Joshua, neatly spins on his heel and walks down the hall at a moderate pace. He does not turn to see their reaction to the interior, though if one were to conduct an interview later, Marceaux would hardly dare suggest anything but satisfaction with the tasteful wallpaper of ivory striped with off-white, matching an elegant marble floor in swirling shades.  

The door of the Chantilly Room opens to, indeed, cream-coloured curtains, off-white painted walls and carpets of a darker grey-blue. Within, on a low table opposite a pale blue sofa, sits a full tea set. Along the walls are ornaments of various styles and sizes on sturdy shelves, while two painted lacquer screens stand at a corner. A gilded wall mirror completes the furnishing.

“Please make yourself at home, milords.”

Marceaux waits for a count of five, trusting their lordships to seat themselves comfortably, before he closes the door with a quiet thud. From the corner of his eye, he sees the barest whisper of a skirt and hears a stifled giggle.

He represses a sigh - and the thought that Lord Joshua’s brother’s reputation precedes itself - before quickly heading upstairs.

~*~

Being away from Ishgard for five summers has dulled their aesthetics towards interior decoration. Joshua shifts his weight, rocking back and forth on his heels. "How long do we have to wait, Izzy?"

Isillud glances at the decor, taking in the details as he walks past the ornaments, mentally placing them in their possible places of origin. "You don't ask, Joshua. You just sit and look around. Gives you an idea of what to talk about." He peers at some. "Hingan teacup. Gyr Abanian charm. If they don't travel, their friends do."

"How do you know they didn't buy it?"

"You don't buy a single teacup, Joshua." 

Joshua points to a row under the gilded mirror. "What about that miniature fan and those dancing figurines then? Took their friends long enough to realise what they liked?"

Isillud glances at the mirror, sighs, then sinks into the couch.

The wait isn’t as agonisingly long as Joshua anticipates. Barely two minutes after Isillud sits, the door opens again. 

“Good morning, my lords.”

The woman offering her greetings is tall and fair, dressed in a blouse of soothing dusty blue with gauzy bishop sleeves, and black trousers. Waves of shiny, dark brown hair have been woven into neat braids, then pinned into a singular tidy bun; bangs frame either side of her face. Clear grey eyes crinkle above a pointed nose; lips coloured an inoffensive shade of cameo pink form a warm smile. 

She stretches out a hand towards Joshua first, as is correct etiquette.

“I am Oudine de Aubemarle. I suppose we could be called cousins of sorts.”

Joshua straightens his jacket before taking Oudine's hand and barely touching his lips with it. "Joshua Lo-" he is interrupted by Isillud's cough. "-Joshua de Losstarot, a pleasure to meet you Viscount."

He steps aside for his brother. Compared to his, Isillud seems smoother, like he trained his entire youth for this moment.

"Milady." Isillud's baritone voice is like silk brushing across her hand. "Will your mother not be joining us?"

Oudine blinks. It hasn’t been that long since she’d received hand kisses as greetings, surely. Is she so accustomed to shaking hands on business that gallantry has become a surprise? 

Focus, Oudine.

She keeps smiling. “She will, in just a moment. Her toilette requires a little more attention, seeing as the sons of her longtime connections are here.” Oudine gestures to the sofa. “Please, do sit. The staff will bring some light repast by and by, so we will have to contend with tea first. I hope red tea is to your taste.”

As her guests sit, and she picks up the teapot to pour, she continues. “If you don’t mind me saying so this quickly in your visit, hearing of your reinstatement was personally gratifying. I’m glad the Holy See is making what amends it can, though perhaps,” she looks up at them, noting the arresting green gazes of both brothers. “Such hurts will take a longer time to heal.”

"I shan't lie, it's equal parts relief and resentment," Joshua replies. "We can't even give a proper funeral for our parents and grandfather, but at least we have our home back." He shoots his brother a pointed look. "Not entirely, but I'll take what I can get." 

Idillud picks up his teacup and inhales once before sipping. Leaning back against the sofa signals to Joshua he has no intention of carrying a conversation - he's only there to supervise the lord-in-training, nothing else - and so Joshua continues. "I do confess my surprise that you are the current viscount, milady." Joshua's voice is markedly younger, and with youth carries a tone of eagerness instead of nosiness. "I thought it would be your brother."

This is not a question Oudine has heard for a few years now. She takes a quick glance at Isillud, apparently absorbed in his tea. Is this the usual pattern? The older brother hanging back, the younger taking the lead? Then again, knowing what they do of Sydney, perhaps House Losstarot must needs rely on its youth. And youth, Oudine knows, requires training. 

“I’m sorry to hear of your parents and grandfather. It is… difficult, when one does not have the chance to say the goodbyes one desires.”

She gestures invitingly to the sugar bowl, lifting its lid.

“As for Remont, let us just say it has long been an unspoken understanding in our family that birth is not necessarily the best judge of headship. My father’s passing was perhaps the culmination of that understanding.”

She smiles at the young man in front of her. For a moment, she remembers her younger brother as he had been ten years ago, though perhaps Joshua has more palpable vitality. 

“I think, in that, we have something in common, Lord Joshua.”

“And what would that be, my love? Is the head of Losstarot too an insouciant younger brother?”

Oudine nearly drops the lid. She whips around to see the Dowager Viscountess herself standing in the doorway, attended by Marceaux. She is shorter than everyone present, but commands a presence that could even match the likes of Count Charlemend de Durendaire. Smooth, very pale blonde hair that borders on white is neatly put up. A wan but clearly inquisitive smile sits on her slightly wrinkled, but still clear, face, matched by a raised eyebrow. Two hands fold atop her cane, topped by a handle in the shape of a finely carved Hornbill head. 

“Mother!”

The brothers stand and bow respectfully to the Dowager. “Viscountess," they greet, though only Joshua continues. "It is good to see you well." He keeps up the smile, waiting for the Dowager's response, while Isillud tugs his gloves up, checking that he is still wearing them.

The Dowager reaches out, not towards her visitors as Oudine had, but for her daughter. Marceaux has already melted away, shutting the door.

“Well as can be, praise unto the Fury,” she says with a sigh as Oudine dutifully takes her hand and escorts her eight steps forward to a sturdy chair near the sofa. “Remember not to get old, young men - it brings too many inconveniences.”

She sits, waving at them to do the same. Then silence falls, awkward and spiky, as the Dowager seems to read the Losstarots’ very souls.

“Hrrmph,” she says at last. “Whatever he believed, at least Cletienne's eyes outlived him. And you,” she nods at Isillud, “I see la incomparable again in your face, so clearly you have your mother to thank for your looks. Though your reputation is entirely your own.”

There is a slightly louder clink of porcelain, as Oudine turns from where she’s pouring a fourth cup of tea to give her mother an inscrutable look. The Dowager, sitting upright in her chair, returns an impassive glance, then turns back again to her guests.

“Well, Lord Joshua? You’ve not answered my question. Or perhaps I should seek answers from another authority on the subject, eh Lord Isillud?”

Isillud's cup rests on the saucer with another audible clink. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out from it; Joshua starts instead.

"Isillud is well aware that his reputation would not bode well for the house; hence why it was agreed upon that I should bear the title." The younger man flashes his brightest smile, "We are much alike in that we have overstepped our more-deserving siblings to wear our mantles, Viscount." His tone dances lightly over the sunbeams spilling through the windows.

Isillud doesn't look at the pair, merely smiles as the lanky man leans into the sofa, crossing his hands on his lap. "Hmph," he softly laughs, snow white eyelashes fluttering shut.

Joshua's shoulders relax, sloping just enough to be noticeable. "You must be curious about what we've been up to over the last five summers, we would be glad to indulge your questions."

The Dowager shows no sign of relenting. “Ah, so the answer is no. Insouciance isn’t quite the description. Dear heart,” she says, looking at Oudine who has continued to drop two lumps of sugar into the delicate cup she holds. “Your brother’s carelessness evidently is an idiosyncrasy of his own. You are to be sympathised with, it seems.”

Oudine mumbles a form of non-committal reply, simultaneously giving her mother tea, and delicately removing the walking stick for the old lady’s convenience. 

Clearly, this was no longer the Viscount’s game. Though, to be fair, it hadn’t been from the moment she’d handed her mother the Losstarots’ formal letter of introduction a few weeks ago. Oudine glances again at Isillud, looking for some kind of solidarity between older siblings. 

There is none to be found. The older brother appears to be fully meditating on the merits of some otherworldly matter. It is a shame, thinks Oudine, she can’t bring herself to do the same since her mother has started speaking to Lord Joshua again.

“Is there possibly anything more dramatic than the antics of the Warrior of Light and the Scions?” asks the Dowager, carefully stirring her cup. “Did you too ride a dragon overhead into Ishgard, guns a-blazing so to speak? Do tell us from the beginning; we are all attention, Lord Joshua.”

Joshua's laugh isn't of a carefree boy - courtesy and restraint swaddle it. "If there are I'm afraid I wasn't privy to it. My story is simpler than that: Taken under the wing of a trader, I simply learned the ropes of her business. Aside from the usual cargo she offered safe passages to refugees seeking to flee the Garlean occupation, when she abandoned it after Ala Mhigo and Doma's liberation I simply abided by her decision. There are other trade avenues to pursue after all." Joshua is less careful with his tea, even a tiny slurp echoes in the room. "Crude, but it pays the bills for now."

Isillud leans forward, nudging his cup towards Oudine. "May I have more tea, milady?" When she refills his cup, slender gloved fingers brush against hers when he lifts his cup.

"Joshua needs to learn. He will be fine. Breathe easy, cousin." Emerald irises rise to her eyes, almost glowing with a divinity that vouches for him.

His cousin wonders when he had the capacity to notice her unspoken pleas for help. She decides to question it later. The intense gaze and silken touch on the hand are distractions enough (and suddenly, Oudine reaches a deeper understanding with her brother).

“If it’s learning you both sought here, then you won’t leave disappointed,” she murmurs in reply, though as she returns to stand behind her mother’s chair, her posture is slightly more at ease. 

The Dowager on the other hand, sips calmly as Joshua recites the undoubtedly summarised adventures of five years. 

“My, my. Refugees from the Garlean occupation, Ala Mhigo and Doma. Your youth belies your profound experiences, young man. And the delicacy you’ve offered in your storytelling is appreciated but unnecessary.” Her dark brown eyes go straight through Joshua. “Pray tell what your trade entails currently. Aubemarle claims acquaintance with any number of lesser houses that deal in commerce, though we ourselves do not have such businesses.”

Behind her, her daughter quietly shifts her weight; the ease dissolves from Oudine’s spine. 

Joshua's smile tightens, eyes set straight at the Dowager. He clears his throat.

"A variety of merchandise from the east. Thavnair, Garlemald, Dalmasca even. The trade routes are perilous and there is no shortage of demand from these nations." Sip. "I simply bring people what they want for a fee, I should be glad to give you our current catalogue should you wish." The legal catalogue is what goes unsaid in his explanation.

The Dowager tilts her head slightly. “‘Bringing people what they want for a fee’. What a simple explanation it is. Have you considered a different career, Lord Joshua? Perhaps a writer for one of our illustrious newspapers? Some of their pieces are so concise, they do the exact opposite of their express purpose: to inform the public. You would do perfectly, I shouldn’t wonder.”

A knock on the door interrupts the plummeting social temperature of the room. Marceaux silently glides in, bearing a tray full of small plates. Upon them are refreshments suited for a mid-morning interlude with distinguished guests: pastries that do not flake, but can be savoured in two bites, eclairs that aren’t overfilled so as not to embarrass enthusiastic eaters, finger sandwiches that make for dignified chewing.

(Thank the Fury for small mercies, thinks Oudine.)

The butler sets the silver tray down, right beside the teapot. The Dowager’s nod sends him gliding back out of the room.

“Do help yourselves, my lords,” says the Dowager smoothly.

Joshua laughs but the heat within tightens around his gut. He's running out of options to please her, and a choice reply remains at the tip of his tongue only because Isillud would likely kick him off the sofa if he said it. The introduction of desserts has done nothing for him, for he is mentally flipping through a notebook about what to do during social situations like this. Unfortunately, the book is still fresh and blank.

He turns to his brother only for him to notice two things: Firstly, Isillud has seen Marceaux. Secondly, the glint in Isillud's eye.

No, oh no you don't-

Isillud doesn't take his eyes away from the door long after the butler has left. He plucks an eclair from the plate and without so much as looking at what he's doing, places it at his lips and sucks the cream from the hole with no pretense what's on his mind.

Joshua's world crumples in on itself. If Isillud does not hide what's on his mind, neither does Joshua with a mortified expression on his face. He does the first thing he can think of to snap his brother out of his reverie: he elbows him really hard in the ribs. It works - Isillud jolts back to the room, blinking innocently at Joshua.

"What?"

Oudine de Aubemarle, with the seasoned practice of someone who has been trained to ignore that which couldn’t possibly have occurred in the drawing room of a highborn Ishgardian house, immediately speaks in her modulated, pleasant tone. 

“It is good, isn’t it? Though he is our own cook, I must personally recommend Mr Ofanleitasyn’s creations. Lord Joshua, perhaps you might like to try a sandwich.”

She walks forward swiftly, picking up one of each kind to place on a small plate, then turns back around to the Dowager. 

“I myself requested Cook to prepare these, Mother. They’re your particular favourites after all.”

The Dowager’s lips had already parted, perhaps to deliver a homily against the obvious dereliction of the world outside Ishgard and its regrettable influence on wayward young men. Something in the look she receives - hidden from view of the Losstarots - makes her put her lips back together and nod.

“Thank you, my pet. Such thoughtfulness,” she says, and even gently pats the Viscount on the cheek.

Oudine turns back, places two small sandwiches on a plate and offers it to Joshua. The smile that accompanies it, she hopes, would read as an apology and encouragement. 

He must and will learn, yes, but the older sister in her cannot help herself.

Joshua whips over to the plate of sandwiches. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before mustering weakly, "Y...yes, thank you." He shoves a sandwich into his mouth, breathing heavily through his nose. If he cannot say anything he might as well have something in his mouth for it.

A second of watching his brother's reaction later, Isillud shrugs and takes a dainty bite from his eclair. "A Roegadyn, then? How long has he been in service?"

“Oh, ever since I can remember, quite frankly,” says the Viscount. She looks to her mother, who hands the younger noble her still-full cup of tea. Oudine silently puts it back on the low table, and proceeds to pour a fresh, hot cup. 

“Mr Ofanleitasyn has been with us these last 30 years or so. One of my late husband’s many flashes of brilliance,” says the Dowager, the tone just ever so slightly more conciliatory. “He may be a Roegadyn, but his abilities produce thoroughly Ishgardian fare.”

The dark brown eyes of the lady gleam as she continues with, “If memory serves, your mother  quite enjoyed a variant of Dzemael Gratin he made once in the past. I believe she was carrying your eldest brother at the time, and so could not attend one of our dinners. Seeing as it was her first pregnancy, she could not help but be cautious. We had a dish delivered over to her, and she returned a most gracious note of thanks.” She pauses a moment. “La Incomparable had excellent taste.”

The Dowager receives the new cup of tea from her daughter with an arched eyebrow. There. Happy? It seems to say.

Yes, returns the answering smile of Oudine.

Chewing slowly, Joshua blinks at the story. "Huh, I didn't know that. Did you know that, Izzy?"

Isillud doesn't answer; he narrows his eyes at the Dowager, lips thinned into a single line. Her words have stirred him though he clenches his fists and says nothing.

It felt like a slap, that this woman of distant relation would have a vivid story to tell of their mother. A reminder of their place: If only she knew what has become of her children. One a swindler, the other a harlot. And you dare show your face around Ishgard? For shame.

Isillud finishes his eclair and wipes his fingers on a handkerchief. "Come, Joshua. We have tarried enough."

"Huh? But we just started-" The look on his brother's face shuts him up. "Thank you for your hospitality. It was a pleasure meeting you both, we shall call upon your house in the near future."

He gives a quick bow and jogs after Isillud, who doesn't even bother with niceties as he heads for the door.

The Dowager silently watches the rapid departure of both young men with unexpected calmness, even having the presence of mind to set her teacup down on the table. 

Beside her, Oudine is less able to control herself. “What-”

“Oudine.”

She looks at the Dowager, surprise - and since they’re alone, some hurt - in her face. “Mamma?”

The old lady reaches out, and instinctively, her daughter clasps her hand.

“I know I promised never to interfere in your dealings as Viscount. But I ask you to trust me when I tell you: do not run out to seek an explanation from them, at least for the present. Will you, dearest?”

Oudine purses her lips. Part of her is itching to do exactly that - to demand an answer, if not resolution, for this abrupt end to a visit she had had every intention of helping along. People she trusted had warned her, gently, about the possibility of these being impostors, of interlopers stealing the noble name of Losstarot, and the resulting connection to the Aubemarles. They had asked her to be extra cautious, knowing that the current Viscount de Aubemarle was inclined to see the better side of others, sometimes wishing to be right, rather than knowing she was right. She had wanted, dearly, to prove them wrong, to be able to say - firmly - that the new head of Losstarot is genuine, and that their claims are true. She still does.

The other part - the one which has seen her mother work what could only be magic on the dizzying social circles of Ishgard’s lesser houses, which has witnessed the Dowager Viscountess call on, and call out, rival houses no less powerful or influential than they, without batting an eyelash - makes her grip her mother’s hand tighter.

Finally, she asks, almost demands. “Did you tell that story of their mother on purpose? Did you aim at Lord Isillud?” Neither woman hears the front door of the house slam shut. The rooms are too well-built.

“If I aim at anything, which I will pretend to understand for the moment, logic dictates I ought to aim at the head sitting right before me,” says the Dowager. “No, dearest. My intention had been to give those boys a memory they could not have had; a keepsake now that they must step into their elders’ shoes.” 

She looks back at the yawning doorway of the Chantilly Room. 

“I forget that the young - especially young, “resentful” prodigals - may not look as kindly on memories as those of my age.”

After a moment, the old lady frowns. “House de Aubemarle can only claim to be far relations. There are others who are closer cousins, in higher places, and with even more accounts of the Losstarots as they once were. Lord Isillud will need stronger armour. And more flesh on his bones, if he intends to remain in this city.” 

Oudine cannot help wanting a complete diagnosis. “And Lord Joshua needs…?”

Her mother snorts. “Time. And more polish in his address.”

Oudine shakes her head, before realising what the Dowager had said. She takes in a deep breath, releases it. “You were listening outside the door when I first entered the room, weren’t you?” 

The Dowager makes no answer, merely returning the grip on her daughter’s hand. The Viscount can only sigh, and finally sits down for the first time since she’d welcomed the Losstarots to their home. 

Still clinging to her mother’s hand, she says consideringly, “You believe them to be real then. They are the long-lost Losstarot sons, now returned.”

The Dowager looks surprised. “Of course, dear heart. No charlatan worth their salt would have stormed out so violently.”

A wave of tired regret washes over Oudine and she closes her eyes. “Then we have given offence to our own. And it involves their mother.” She opens them again to stare at the ceiling. “How on earth can we make amends?”

“My sweet girl, ever forgiving. Thus is the discourtesy already forgotten.”

Oudine lets herself frown, obviously and deeply frustrated, at her mother. It’s been a very long morning, no matter that the fiasco had really only lasted for all of fifteen minutes or less.

The Dowager smiles. “You are Viscount de Aubemarle. You will think of something. Besides,” she nods at her daughter. “You have their calling card, do you not?”

Oudine slips her free hand (it’s also annoying how she doesn’t even want to let go of her mother, despite everything) into a trouser pocket. She pulls out the innocuous white card Marceaux had given her, and stares at it.

“...hmm.”

As the Viscount thinks and plans, the Dowager leans forward towards the table. She picks up an eclair, snorts at a thought that has just occurred to her, and takes a delicate bite.

~*~

It is three days later, when there is a knock on the door of the Losstarots’ residence.

Ser Drouhont, Temple Knight-turned-steward, all of 7 fulms (possibly more) and pitch black skin opens the door. "Good morning. Whom shall I say is calling?" The wind whips his long hair about, thankfully long and heavy enough that it doesn't obscure his face.

Before this very impressive figure stand two Elezens, both in the livery of House Aubemarle. The darker skinned one wearing a small pair of gold-rimmed glasses on his face bows respectfully. The grace of his movement is unhampered by the neatly wrapped parcel in his arms. Beside him, a very lovely black-haired maid with dark eyes dips in a polite curtsey, a clearly laden basket despite its cloth covering, in hand.

“No one, sir. We are only here to present my lady Viscount Aubemarle’s compliments, and seek your goodness to deliver them to your master,” says the bespectacled footman in an even tone.

"My masters are unfortunately currently indisposed, but I would be glad to hand it over to them."

The footman bows again. “Thank you, we are most obliged.” He offers the brown paper parcel, secured by twine, to the steward first, before taking the basket from his colleague to hand it over as well. “Good morning to you,” he says with a last bow. The maid curtsies and follows the footman’s lead to go. 

They’ve only gone a few steps when, right before Ser Drouhont closes the door, the maid turns back to call out with a brilliant smile: “Don’t ignore the box at least! It’d be a terrible waste!” 

Drouhont hooks the basket on the crook of his arm, watching the servants leave with a confused look on his face. Within the house, Joshua leans over the banister halfway down the stairs. "Who was it?"

"Compliments from House Aubemarle with a reminder to not ignore the box." He looks at the twine-wrapped parcel with the same impassive face and flat tone. "T'would be a waste to do so." 

That makes the younger elezen curious enough to take the parcel off Drouhont's hands and set it on the dining table. Drouhont puts the basket nearby, turning the cloth over to reveal its contents.

"Let's see what we have here…" Joshua muses, unfolding a blade from a pocket and starts cutting the twine.

"Oh-"

Joshua stops. "What?"

"Twine can be reused…I could use it to wrap my paintings…"

Joshua simply stares at his steward. He should be used to the man's airy comments by now but he was unpredictable when he wanted to. He shakes his head and continues demolishing the wrapper to get at the contents within.

Brown paper crinkles and rustles, falling away to reveal a perfectly square but good-sized, black, lacquered box. On its lid, a spray of flowers blooming from a shapely bough, made of inlaid mother-of-pearl, grows from the bottom corner. Closer inspection easily reveals that the box is made up of three layers and the mild sweet fragrance of baked goods begins to waft upwards. A thick looking packet sits against the box, along with a thinner, lighter envelope. On both, small wax seals, no doubt from a signet ring, bear the crest of House Aubemarle.

In the basket’s case, its contents are less enigmatic. Fresh fruit of various kinds sit within: Coerthan and mirror apples, La Noscean oranges, Lowland grapes, Pixie plums, even a few lemonettes. There is also a singular pineapple, most of its spiky crown carefully cut off for convenience. In the midst of such vibrant colours, the stark white of a small card stands out.

Not even Joshua can resist the allure of freshly baked goods. "She wasn't kidding about her cook," he says as he picks up the packet and envelope, using the blade to pry the seal open.

Meanwhile Drouhont removes the fruit from the basket and sorts it into an artful arrangement, mumbling to himself, "A fine still-life subject for a painting…Master Joshua, there is a card inside here too." He passes the card firmly held between his fingers to his lord, who now has three things to read.

The thin envelope contains a single-sided letter with the crest of House Aubemarle emblazoned in the top centre of the page. In other words, the official letterhead of the Viscount. The handwriting beneath is neat and evenly spaced, flowing in black ink.

-

To Lord Joshua de Losstarot, head of House Losstarot, & Lord Isillud de Losstarot,

I give greeting to my cousins both, and present our apologies for this late letter.

To come straight to the point, we ask forgiveness for treading upon sacred ground without care. While it is not lost upon us how hollow that may ring after what has transpired, please believe that it is meant sincerely. 

What we should have conveyed that day, but did not, is simply this: words do not suffice for how your house has suffered great losses, in many respects. House de Aubemarle has no power to bring back what was, but we will assist - if you are willing, and should need it - in building what will be. The accompaniments to this letter are more concrete tokens of our friendship.

I hope we shall meet again in future, in more fortuitous circumstances. Belatedly, and truly, we welcome our cousins Losstarot back to Ishgard. 

Yours sincerely,

Oudine de Aubemarle, Viscount Aubemarle.

-

Out of the thicker packet comes a small collection of papers and stiffer cards of varying sizes.

One of the cards is an elegantly decorated invitation. The space for recipients has been filled in by hand: Lord Joshua de Losstarot and Lord Isillud de Losstarot are requested for the pleasure of their company at a formal ball at the mansion of House Maintigny in a month’s time. Lady Oisinne de Maintigny is to be addressed should they accept or decline the invitation.

Yet another invitation, on a marginally smaller card but no less elegant, also requests the pleasure of the lords Losstarot’s company, this time at a musical concert, intended to showcase the talents of the newest protege of the Dowager Viscountess Philomene de Aubemarle. It is to be held at the Saint Llafymae Rooms in a fortnight, with acceptances or declines to be addressed to her ladyship at the Aubemarle manor.

Much smaller in size are four narrow tickets. Identically printed on them are admittances to the latest theatrical sensation of Ishgard, Cant and Candour. The tickets read that they are specifically for box seats on any night while the play is performed.

A folded note comes next, unsealed, so it can be opened to read, in the same ink and handwriting as in the longer letter: ‘The Viscount Aubemarle presents her compliments to the manager of the Lightfeather Proving Grounds, and with great pleasure, wishes to make known to your goodself my lords Losstarot, newly returned to Ishgard. Kindly make them welcome at the usual box whensoever they desire.’  

Yet another sheet of paper similar in thickness to the note contains the simple name and address of Etoilier at the very top. Underneath the letterhead is a message from its proprietress who is delighted to know that their chance meetings in the past could be continued in a more formal fashion. Etoile Wintour reassures her lordships that new suits will be ready in good time before the Maintigny ball, and invites them both for fittings in three weeks. Though there is not much fear there since she already has their precise measurements. She presents her compliments and looks forward to their appointments.

And lastly, the smallest of the ‘accompaniments’ is a white business card. Upon it is printed ‘Marlstone Chocobos’ with an address in Ishgard below it, and another address in Tailfeather on a third line. Flexing it under the light reveals an embossed off-white crest in the upper right corner, that of House de Aubemarle. When turned over, there is a third handwritten message, in the same neat handwriting and the same black ink: 

For any reason, if you are ever in need of a fast bird, bring this to the Marlstone office here. If in Dravania, seek out Remont. You will be given one of our finest, no questions asked, no charge. - O.A.

Once the detailed contents of the packet are perused, the last small card from the fruit basket is almost comical in its simplicity. The writing is in brown ink, and a cursive script far different from all the handwriting earlier. The message is brief:

You’ve only just begun. Eat, then fight.

Joshua shuffles through the cards growing increasingly perplexed. "Oh gods, there are so many events; do these people not do anything except socialize?!"

"That is indeed what they do, Master Joshua," Drouhont answers, carefully stacking the apples into a 3D pyramid. "Networking is very important in Ishgardian high society if you wish to remain relevant. Even a soldier of middling rank is expected to be present at the Forgotten Knight once a week at least."

"Drouhont, I can't attend all these on my own." He fans out the theatre tickets. "There are four tickets here and I don't appreciate music as much as…" His eyes follow the stairs, "Him."

"It matters not which Losstarot attends…only that one does." Drouhont frames his arrangement with his fingers, moving a fruit an ilm to the right to adjust.

"In case you have forgotten," Joshua's voice rises. "The other Losstarot is currently drowning in self-pity with only a blanket to maintain his modesty."

"You seem certain he'll always be crushed by the weight of the expectations he's failed, milord."

The younger elezen sighs, turning his attention to the box. He opens each tray to find out what's inside.

The first layer is a jigsaw puzzle of pastries: danishes, butter croissants, apple tarts, jam tarts, even a fig pastry or two to complete the picture. All have been made specially to fit the size of the box, and to be eaten in a single bite.

The second layer opens up to heavier stuff: currant scones give off a delightful scent of butter and sugar; slices of mille-feuille are artfully dusted with fine sugar and cocoa powder; a row of simple pain au chocolat sits with gleaming golden-brown skins.

The third and last layer is filled with nothing but eclairs, covered in chocolate icing.

Joshua twitches visibly at the tray of eclairs; he considers pushing it aside and bringing up only the first layers but changes his mind and slots the small card from the fruit basket among the eclairs before closing it up and lugging it upstairs. "Drouhont, bring the fruits up- on second thought, do as you like with those."

He kicks the door open; the crow roosting at Isillud's head caws in surprise and hops up to the headboard. Etienne turns and raises his eyebrow just slightly. Joshua Losstarot puts the box loudly on the side table and roughly yanks his brother's shoulder over to face him.

"Wake up, Izzy. You have a society to impress."

Isillud stares blankly through dull green eyes. Joshua removes the last tray and puts it in front of him. "See this? The dowager acknowledges you. Mother would've been proud." The crow tilts its head at the baked delicacies, plucking an eclair and gliding over to Etienne's work desk to pass to him.

Joshua grips his brother's chin between his fingers; the Fury lives in his voice, in the determination writ across his face. "You want expectations to live up to? Live up to the lord of House Losstarot's. Live up to mine."

╔═════ஓ๑♥๑ஓ═════╗ 

        end 

╚═════ஓ๑♥๑ஓ═════╝

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

The Rerise of House Losstarot

Location: Light | Zodiark | Empyreum 4-52 Text box: FFXIV Dialogue Overlay

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

#20: Hamper

"I need something for an event."

Etoile flicked an ear to the door but didn't look up from her pattern draft. "Where, Garlemald?"

"Wha- no! You haven't even-"

"Your matted fur collar is shedding on my carpet and you're tracking snow from your boots." Etoile sighed as her tools clattered loudly on the table. She wrinkled the nose at the grey Elezen. "What are you, some bodyguard?"

Joshua's eye twitched. "Merchant."

"Most merchants dress slightly better-"

"It's been a while, all right?!" He snapped. "What've you got for an Ishgardian debut?"

"Ahh, now we're talking." She sauntered to a rack packed with costumes. "Something that says you're not a fop. You know what you're doing despite your baby face and schoolyard scars."

The viera was really getting on Joshua's nerves. "Something that won't hamper movement." His teeth gritted so hard she could hear the grinding.

Etoile draped a few pieces over her arm, picking up a pair of boots. "Good thing younger Ishgardians are a bit more fashion-conscious after the war ended. You've picked a good time." She practically flung it at him. "You DO know how to button a vest, don't you?"

-

He hated to admit he looked good; he showed it by saying nothing.

She pinned the last seam and patted it in. "A little off-white so nobody loses you in the snow, less black so you don't look like a Garlean, and if you need to duel someone over the course of the ball you can just remove your coat."

He nodded.

"And for the love of your chosen deity, comb your damned hair."

He reached for a pocket under his armour and dropped a heavy pouch of gil. She crossed her arms. "Very generous tip."

"It's not a tip. The extra will be for my knight. I'll bring her in tomorrow."

-

Etoile's Glam: Seamstress | Eorzea Collection Joshua's Glam: Garlean Officer | Eorzea Collection Venue: Eifawyb Draperies

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

#13: Check

The deacon handed the envelopes to Isillud. "Please check that the details are correct before signing."

Isillud blinked and squinted through the reams of text - the simple contracts he drew up for jobs and the legalese in the letter were two vastly different worlds - at least the words on his contracts were larger.

He made a mental note to commission a new pair of reading glasses as the words sharpened:

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕳𝖔𝖑𝖞 𝕾𝖊𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝕴𝖘𝖍𝖌𝖆𝖗𝖉 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖞 𝖚𝖓𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖞 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖋𝖊𝖗s 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖙𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖔 𝕷𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕴𝖘𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖚𝖉 𝕸𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖆𝖉𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝕸𝖚𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖐𝖆𝖒𝖕 𝖉𝖊 𝕷𝖔𝖘𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖔𝖙, 𝖊𝖋𝖋𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖘𝖎𝖌𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌.

Joshua 's eyebrows arched as he read along. "Looks good," he said, handing over his signet ring.

Pressing the ring into wax didn't feel like vindication; Isillud imagined a noose tightening round his neck. But this wasn't entirely for him: Joshua deserved the life he was denied. Or so he told himself.

The deacon rolled up one copy and handed the other to the pair. "Congratulations, Sers, and welcome back to Ishgard."

Joshua took it with a gracious bow (at least he remembers his manners). He tapped Isillud on the shoulder. "Shall we?"

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

(FFXIV) OC tag game

Favorite OC: Escher. He's FFXIV OC prime. The one who got the ball rolling. The versatile one who does all the idiot things that others are too cool/nice to do.

Oldest OC: Ireul. She first appeared in Ragnarok Online. The original F2P Korean 2.5D MMO grindfest with incomprehensible 'plot'. She's always been my go-to when games require an avatar until FFXIV because we all know Square Enix is good at good-looking men.

Newest OC: Thilivern. The poor underused bun bun boi.

Meanest OC: Joshua.

Softest OC: Jules. Skittish and anxious gentle giant Au Ra.

Most Aloof/Standoffish OC: Isillud, but it's a stretch. He looks aloof and is mostly courteous but he warms up quickly (because he has needs).

Dumbest (Affectionate) OC: Isillud. High EQ yet caused part of a building with kids in it to collapse, AND accidentally summoned crows to maul a nameless person. Man needs to think a little further.

Dumbest (Derogatory) OC: Escher. You have to be a certain level of stupid to drink alcohol to show someone what intolerance looks like despite knowing you are.

Smartest OC: Also Escher if you're talking book smarts.

Horniest OC: Isillud, hands down. I mean, I created him to practice ERPing...

OC You’d Bang: Rossignol. He looks like the sort who knows how to treat a lady right.

OC You’d Be Best Friends With IRL: Ireul. But wait isn't Ireul your MMO avatar, you ask? Yes; if I can't be best friends with myself how I can be best friends with anyone else?

Got tagged by @biff-adventurer after I made this, so uh. Here you go!

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

#27: Hail

Ishgard, before the 7th Umbral Calamity.

Count Edmond de Fortemps beamed at the mother and child, "I see young Joshua is able to join us for service today."

"His health allowed it, Fury be praised." The boy needed no prompting to bow to his elder and superior with a smile. "Thank you for your concern, Count Fortemps."

Count Edmond nodded; Joshua could feel his mother's approval radiating behind him. "Will you someday join your brother in the choir too?"

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly. My brother's talent for music is his and his alone." He felt proud of himself for avoiding pronouncing Isillud's name in public; the mortification would keep him inside for moons.

His mother patted his shoulder. "Isillud should hear Count Fortemps's praise himself, don't you think?"

"At once, mother." His scowl was partly hidden under his hand on his forehead - bad enough it was rude to stand on the pew to get a better view. He saw his brother staring down a dim corner. What is he looking at?

Joshua gave his brother's sleeve a hard tug. "Izzy. Izzy!" He hissed, "Mother wants you over-"

Something in Isillud's expression stopped him. In the future he would know what it implied, perhaps even ask what would fill him with dread and discomfort. But now he was a child, and children existed to be seen and cooed over.

Isillud blinked back to the present, and wrapped his fingers around his. "Very well. Where is she?"

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

#20: Anon

Isillud loved his brother, but like all brothers also wanted to shove him off a cliff.

My dearest brother, I hope this missive finds you well.

He found himself leaning towards the latter more often lately, it made him wonder why.

Enclosed is a sigil of a Thavnairian house. The family of a Rasalas Kala left on an airship that burned and crashed in the Cieldalaes isles.

Perhaps it was the way Joshua had grown up. Who would blame him, a sickly boy of thirteen summers abandoned to a smuggler, given an axe to work out his anger? Isillud was responsible for that.

Rasalas was thought to be the sole survivor until he was not. His sister Suria remains at large. I was warned not to provoke her, but was not informed why. Something is afoot, but I am preoccupied with another matter and cannot attend to it.

It mattered not that Joshua said he forgave him. What mattered was that he had failed Joshua. And for that he would do anything even if the demands were unreasonable.

I am currently unable to pay for your passage, but I promise to compensate you next we meet.

That's why he was on a boat to Yedlihmad on his own coin, to ask around about a person he had no idea about, let alone what they looked like. He had to, even if Joshua told him to dig up Witchdrop for the bones of their family.

Send Sydney my regards, if you do see him.

He was certain Halone would absolutely forgive him for holding Joshua's head under water though.

I await your answer anon.

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

#5: Freetalk (#1)

(In order to take a small break + talk about the stories in fiction form to qualify for the challenge, FFXIV Write Extra Credit days will be a modern AU where the charas from the last batch of stories are actors at a round table interview. Obviously it’s all indie, who’d cast these chaotic clowns for a blockbuster?)

-

“Hi and welcome to another episode of Reel Eorzea! Today we have four actors with us to talk about their latest projects, a series of short films portraying the normal lives of adventurers! Without further ado, let’s begin! First question for Escher: You wrote, directed, and acted in your film, did you feel it was taxing to take on all three roles?

Escher: “Well that’s the reason my film is mostly monologue. I talk to the camera so that I don’t have to hire someone to play the Serpent officer. The dinner scene was recorded on my tomestone mounted on a tripod in the actual FC kitchen. Tia’s a little shy but we managed to persuade him to act out the scene.”

“And it’s quite the scene too, you can tell from the passion in his voice and gestures! How close is the story to real life?”

Ireul: “He’s actually been sleeping in the gazebo.”

Escher: “She’s right.”

Ireul: “I checked.”

Escher: “I’m doing it for the funding.”

Ireul: “He absolutely is.”

<They fistbump and laugh>

“Next we have Isillud in ‘Aberrant’, a quiet drama about a young man’s struggle. That film wasn’t really something you’d associate with the word, wouldn’t you say?”

Isillud: *pushes hair from face* “I think it does. ‘Aberrant’ is defined as ‘departing from a normal standard’, and - unfortunately - the young man’s excessive sexual promiscuity and the number of partners he’s had would be considered deviant, slutty even. It’s not something our society is keen to admit yet. Even without that, his self destructive behaviour would definitely be considered aberrant, but whether we see him take steps to walk away from it remains to be seen.”

“Articulate as ever, you never disappoint <3. Ireul! There’s been some discussion on social media that ‘Scale’ would be considered racist? How do you respond to that?”

Ireul: “Internalised racism, yes. I come from a background where fair skin is an indication of good living because it means you don’t have to toil under the sun. Unfortunately it extends to people who are naturally dark skinned; having media tell you repeatedly you should be fairer because ‘look at how beautiful they are!’ while selling you skin whitening products. It wrecks you man, absolutely. I like how ‘Scale’ plays out like a parable to that, and I hope everyone watches it and take the film’s message to heart.”

Escher: “If you used skin whitening products, what colour *would* your skin be?”

Ireul: “Beats me. Something like Isillud’s, maybe?”

<Everyone thinks about this for a while in silence>

Escher: *squint* “Yeah no. You keep being you.”

“Last but not least, we have Joshua Losstarot in his debut, ‘Baleful’! Firstly we at Reel Eorzea would like to congratulate you on joining your family’s acting legacy! Do you feel any pressure from the expectations?”

Joshua: “Thank you! * bows* Yeah, it was, Izzy told me not to look at twitter for three months! It was tough but I’m grateful, looking at all the comments like how I’ll never be like my dad or Izzy was a little less painful when I was looking at it from a distance. My family’s been really supportive and giving me tips to improve, and the whole experience was fun! I’m just looking forward to doing more!”

“Do you feel like you’ve any similarities with your character?”

Joshua: “Uh...we look the same? *laughs* I dunno!”

Isillud: “Joshua definitely isn’t coming of age in three days. *smile*”

“Isillud, are you concerned that your fans might start speculating now that you’re committed to your character, a young gay male Elezen finding his place in the world?”

Isillud: “Hardly. My wife thinks it’s hot.”

Escher: “Wait, you have a wife?”

Isillud: “Why wouldn’t I have a wife?”

Joshua: “She’s really cool, she bakes brownies every Sunday.”

Isillud: “In fact she’s started considering pegging.”

Ireul: “That’s awfully specific.”

Joshua: “Pegging, is that like croquet?”

Escher: “Ooh I know this, I saw this on the internet: you grab a coat hanger, see, and then you hold the hanger part-”

Ireul: “@A@!!! CUT THE TAPE!”

Isillud: *covers Joshua’s ears*

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

#4: Baleful

"Step aside soldier, I'll take this one."

The legionnaire looked almost apologetic when he stepped aside for his superior. Joshua straightened his shoulders, standing close to the crate. As an Elezen Joshua was tall, but the Roegadyn officer towered over him, studying every ilm of him for something to pick on. At times like these he would take a deep breath and recall the three lessons his caretaker taught him.

"1. Garleans wield intimidation like a secondary weapon. Stay calm and make eye contact but don't be defensive."

"Good afternoon, Centurion. Just bringing a shipment from Dalmasca."

The solder slowly circled the crate, hands behind his back. "Dalmasca? What else is left in that desert that we haven't removed?"

"Mostly fineries - silks, pottery, artwork." And people fleeing your oppression, like the mother and babe under the crate's false bottom.

"You seem young for a transporter." Having someone breathing into his face was unpleasant, but he soldiered on with a smile. "I come of age in three days, sir."

He cocked an eyebrow at the comment but said nothing. "Open the crate, I want to see what's inside."

With a quick nod, Joshua unlatched the crate and lifted the cover open. Shapes and squares wrapped in swathes of rags, crumpled paper and silk rolls packed in between gaps. Enough to hide the breathing holes, but not entirely. Wouldn't want them to suffocate.

The centurion nodded, making small sounds of approval as he ran a finger around the edge of the crate. "I'm going to have to impose higher duty for this. Luxury items, you know."

"2. Everyone - even the good ones - has a price. It's just a matter of how long it takes to find it."

The young Elezen put on his most genial tone - he hated it, but business was business. "Of course, of course. I don't have the extra money on me at the moment, but perhaps if you took one of these in exchange...?" He swept his hand across the crate, keeping an eye out for the legionnaire. The Hyur stood a few fulms back, wringing his hands at the crate with worry painted all over his face. Joshua kept up the smile, hoping the conscript would understand his silent message. I'll get your wife and child out. I've done this before.

The Roe's hand hovered over a stout urn. "This should do-"

And at that exact moment, a baby's gurgle filled the air; though cut short, it was loud enough to notice.

"What was that?"

Joshua's smile froze. Shite. He side eyed the crate and back to the officer. A loud sigh, and he raised his hands in mock surrender. "All right, the secret's out. I'm smuggling cats."

"...Cats."

"The Dalmascan Hairless. It's getting popular in Ul'dah. Desert sand and air aren't good for cats with long fur, after all." At least the cat was real. He hoped the man wasn't too up to date with popular pet trends.

"...And where are you storing these cats, inside the urns?"

He could almost leap in joy at not having to make up another lie. "Yes. They can't quite climb out of it, you see. Would you like to see them?"

"Perhaps. But I'm more interested at what's under this crate." The Roe's triumphant grin twisted like a knife to his stomach. "Don't think I haven't seen the old false bottom trick before, I wasn't born yesterday like you."

Joshua's smile tightened. "Of course, of course. Best you open it yourself. Can't trust me springing a trapdoor on you." He stepped aside, leaving the crate to the mercy of the centurion. The conscript looked fit to burst, rooted to his spot in fear. That one may or may not be of any help, but it was best he did the job himself. Hand creeping behind his back, his fingers curled around the handle of the jambiya behind him, slowly unsheathing it as he slid to the side of the officer's non dominant hand.

"3. It's not a crime if nobody catches it."

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

#26: Freetalk (#4)

(In order to take a small break + talk about the stories in fiction form to qualify for the challenge, FFXIV Write Extra Credit days will be a modern AU where the charas from the last batch of stories are actors at a round table interview. Obviously it’s all indie, who’d cast these chaotic clowns for a blockbuster?)

-

[Joshua and Isillud sit at a table with a tablet on a stand.]

Joshua: Hi! Last week we asked you to send in any questions you have for us for our final Free Talk session, and everyone really pulled through! We can't wait to answer your burning questions tonight, Izzy will you do the honours and read the first one?

Isillud: *nods* First one is from a... 'Bunny Muffin'. They ask: "Isillud, how long can you hold your breath?"

[Isillud blinks twice at the tablet.]

Isillud: Fifteen.

Joshua: Minutes or seconds?

Isillud: *deadpan* Times.

[There is an awkward silence.]

Isillud: After that I can never hold my breath ever again.

Joshua: ...Next question is from Olyver: "Do you like Joshua's development in the story? How do you feel about him becoming a villain?" *thinks* Hmm...it's pretty challenging to get into his character since he looks innocent but has manipulative thoughts. I think I actually like it, it's always nice to play a bad guy, you know? A little bit of flair, evil smirks all around, yeah it's definitely cool.

Isillud: That explains why you always felt sorry for the bad guys when they were defeated in movies.

Joshua: And I didn't even need to see a psychologist to figure it out.

[A crew member hands them an envelope. Someone mentions off screen they've checked it for anthrax and that it's safe. Isillud flips the top open.]

Isillud: *reads* "Dear Joshua, love you so much! Counting down the days till you come of age! Love, Kimiko." Oh, there's something else in the enve...lope...

[Isillud has a very perplexed look on his face. Joshua leans in to peek at the letter.]

Joshua: Oh that's creative, she's drawn a picture of a clock on her chest, where are the hands pointing to- are those nip-

[Isillud wads up the letter with one hand and throws it over his shoulder.]

Isillud: We're done here, goodnight.

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

#27: Benthos

CW: Possible 5.x spoilers

-

When Joshua stood at the shore looking out to the sea, he was not prepared for what he saw.

"Well, shite."

Debris and broken pillars jutted out from the surface, the occasional wave crashing against them. The remnants of a cobblestone pathway formed a dotted line from a rocky outcrop to an empty point out in the middle of the ocean. Out there surrounded by crumbling towers, a whirlpool swirled in its confines; languid, but visible enough to warn the daring and dumb.

"That church sank to the bottom of the Valnard way, way before you were born," a voice chimed behind him. "If that's what you're looking for."

The young Elezen sighed, his shoulders slumped. "It is, yes."

"What for?"

"Call it tracing my lineage." He wondered if he could use the bridge remnants as stepping stones. But what then?

"I'm certain your ancestors will have taken whatever they wanted before it sank."

"Except the Gran Grimoire."

"Except the Gran Grimoire. That one sank with the cathedral."

His ears perked at the new information. "Do you know what happened to it?"

Joshua could hear the teasing in the voice. "Unfortunately I'm not that worldly nor old. Sorry."

"None needed, thank you for the-" Joshua finally saw the owner of the voice - a snow-white male Viera pale as death - and wondered if his time had come. "-help."

"You're welcome." The Viera's smile seemed too serene, the sort that people saw before they were brutally disemboweled and left to die in a heap of their own internal organs. "Thilivern Muscadet."

"Musk...rat?"

"Muscadet," he corrected. "And you?"

"Ah." He nodded, mouth turning to cotton by the second, "Joshua Tre-Losstarot." Out here sandwiched between Resistance and Garlean, there seemed no reason to hide. "Y-you're quite far from home, aren't you?"

Garnet-coloured eyes stared through him. "Home is where the Wood is."

Joshua blinked, and frowned. "I hate to say this, but home is at least fifty malms behind you."

Even Thilivern's soft chuckle was ominous. "Not anymore. The Wood is stretching its legs." He balanced his spear on his shoulders, looking out to sea. "I am to go to the edge of the border and stand guard."

"And how will you know when you've reached?"

"The Wood will tell me. You know how it is with voices; it only speaks when it wants to," he turned to Joshua. "Don't you?"

"How-" And then he saw it: the enigmatic smile clothing him like how the Dark clothed others. Pure as freshly fallen snow covering a rock, luring unwitting fools to death or a concussion if they dived into it. "-Yes. I suppose so."

"I thought so." He replaced his spear into the holster strapped to his back. "I must be off. Take care, Joshua Trelosstarot," he said, strolling off in the direction of Dalmasca.

Joshua lingered, letting his boots sink into the soil as the ocean breeze whipped through his hair. As he stood a strange sound rose from the center of the whirlpool; almost a moan, a choir of clamouring souls.

"Welcome home."

But he was certain it was only the wind.

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

#18: Devil's Advocate

It cannot be called second sight if it's omnipresent.

In this tiny tavern everyone has darkness on them. The barkeep, swaddled in it like layers of blankets. The pale Viera next to me: though her intentions be kind, darkness makes bed in her hair. Wait, there was one: The girl who handed out chicken nuggets. Though she seemed familiar I couldn't remember where we had previously met. She was perhaps the only one who wasn't like the rest, if there are more like her I've not had the luxury to meet them.

The point being everyone is tempted, and the dark paints them accordingly. How many would fall for the right price? How much would it take? What would you do if you could see what I see?

If someone had told me I would miss you a year ago I would have scoffed. Now as I listen to how the owner of the Inari Inn rammed his head into a wall and fell into a coma I regret not having a notebook to record for posterity. You would chide my carelessness and hold me accountable for a favour.

It's not long before the dust settles and I'm left with a half-full glass of apple juice, a basket of chicken nuggets, and more information that I know what to do with. One of the more boisterous patrons - a man with half his face painted blue - finally parks himself at the hearth, silently staring at the roaring fire. Firelight doesn't mask the darkness emanating from every pore of his body - he lives for it. There's little to crave if one just submits every time.

I'm tempted to leave him to his thoughts, but I too am human. We all fall to the allure of doing whatever the damned hell we want. The difference is what we fall to.

Legacies eventually fade, Ahji'sae Zhwan. If you won't hold it, I'll claim it for myself.

"So, an investigator, I hear?"

-

Locations mentioned:

- Blue Boar Tavern [Carrd] - Inari Inn [Carrd]

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

#9: Friable

cw: LONG. Like 1000 words long.

10 seconds for Lord Losstarot to open his mouth.

"Young master! I've been looking for you!" Atelloune might have been old but her grip was tighter than iron.

"My apologies Atelloune, I was-" The maid dragged him home sprinting. "There's no time - keep your head low if you see any Temple Knights," she hissed.

-

8 minutes to reach Losstarot Manor, matters gone south.

She practically shoved him through the servant's entrance; as a child it was nothing, but with his newfound height he hit his head on the doorframe.

There was no time for apologies. The house was in chaos.

Two servants at the fireplace threw stacks of parchment into the flames. Several others dashed about carrying this or that, his mother directing them in the middle of the room.

"Isillud! Good you're here," His brother Sydney clapped his shoulder and spun him around, "Go check on Joshua, make sure he's dressed warmly and ready to leave."

"Wait, leave? What's going on?"

Sydney's face darkened. "Father announced he's throwing his lot with the Dravanians." He pushed Isillud to the stairs. "Inquisitors will come soon, go!"

-

Isillud hissed as he tripped on the last step and banged his shin, cursing his growth spurt. Of all the times to happen. He limped to their shared bedroom where Joshua stared at a bag, clutching a book. "Izzy, do you think there'll be time to read when we're fleeing Ishgard?"

He rubbed his shin. "Wherever we're going will have new books, Joshua. Have you packed?" He ran a mental checklist of things he needed and how much time they had left.

The boy pushed the pack to him, "I've packed for us - clothes, medicine, bandages. Syd gave us gil, mama gave us food and drink...Have I missed out anything?" He gave the contents a quick look and removed a set of clothes to change into. "I know it'll be cold, but don't bring the fur coat. It'll be heavy if we need to outrun any Temple Knights. Yes, the cowl is a good choice."

His Scholasticate robe hit the wall and fell into a crumpled heap, never to be used again.

-

Gone in 6 minutes, farewells unsaid.

Their mother's shrill protests echoed through the house, stopping them in their tracks.

"Unhand me, do you KNOW who I am?! How dare you treat a lady with such disrespect?! I TOLD you, my sons are not home! My husband is the heretic, arrest HIM!"

The butler beckoned to them from Lord Losstarot's study. Inside, he pulled a book and a bookshelf slid aside to reveal a narrow stone-hewn stairway. "This leads to the Firmament. Your brother bid you meet him in Gridania." He handed Isillud a torch. "May Halone keep you safe."

Joshua took a lingering look at the doorway before following.

-

Ishgard's lords had long promised to rebuild the Firmament, but an excuse or other always came up - another dragon attack, not enough hands, not enough funds. It lay ruined, an empty promise to win a seemingly endless war. Now the rubble gave them a chance to hide from the skeleton staff of sentries.

The last sentry at the exit looked too long at their direction. Suddenly he waved, beckoning them close. Before Isillud could speak the watchman pushed a clump of yak hide into his palm.

"Your father is a righteous man."

Isillud narrowed his eyes, and headed out to the snowfields beyond to discard the hides at first chance.

-

4 hours through Coerthas, the brothers fled.

Joshua hugged his knees, drawing his feet away from the river bank. "We didn't get to say farewell to mama."

Isillud was trying to sit straight under the bridge...and failing. He resigned himself to discomfort, his head pressed against the top of the bridge. "We'll get a chance," he lied.

Joshua sidled up to his brother and sniffled. Isillud wrapped his arm around his brother's shoulder.

The sniff became a sob, which became a hiccup, which became several gasps for air. Isillud rummaged through the bag, unwrapping a pack of tablets. He passed one to Joshua along with the waterskin. What would happen after the medicine ran out? Would they be able to find an apothecary? One who would accept their order? What happened if the gil ran out?

His ears twitched: the sound of snow and twigs crunching under steel boots. He drew Joshua closer, shrinking into the darkness at the side of the bridge. "Breathe normally. That's it. It's going to be all right. You're going to be all right," he whispered, a night prayer he was no longer sure The Fury heard.

-

Isillud's geography wasn't the best, but he was certain they were not in Gridania. Crystal spikes weaved and twisted, reaching for the magenta sky above. Surely no inquisitor would venture this far.

Joshua slept on his back, their bag slung in front of him. Finally his awkward, gangly form had some use. Adulthood didn't sound so awful anymore. Yet to come of age in uncharted terrain, alone and lost, the future now frightened him for a different reason.

Figures ahead in the gloom were too blurry to make out. Friend? Foe? The ground pulled out from under his feet before he could consider his choices, hearing only a woman cry, "Oh bollocks!" and some blobs jogging towards them before he fell into the darkness, welcoming him with outstretched arms.

-

And so in 1 day House Losstarot fell, doomed by its head.

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

Reunion

“Joshua...”

“You look well, Izzy.”

“...don’t call me that. I don’t deserve your love; not after what I did 5 years ago.”

“We were fleeing the Temple Knights. Alone, destitute, helpless. You sent me away with her to keep me safe. I could never hold it against you, brother.”

“I’m all right now, Izzy. Thank you.”

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

About - Joshua

{𝓑𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓬𝓼}

Name: Joshua Treegarden (Joshua Corrinne de Losstarot)  Gender: Male Age: "I come of age in three days.” Species: Ishgardian Elezen Zodiac: aquarius / aries / cancer / capricorn / gemini / leo / libra / pisces / sagittarius / scorpio / taurus / virgo / unknown Abilities/Talents: Negotiation, mostly.

{𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵}

Alignment: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / evil Religion: Ishgardian Orthodox Sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath Virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience  Languages: Ishgardian, Common Family: Two older brothers, one of whom is Isillud. His parents and grandfather are missing/presumed dead. Friends: He’s working on it. Zeir Xethinfa is his best friend. Sexual Orientation: heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual  / asexual / unsure / other (antisexual) Relationship Status: single / dating / engaged / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced Libido: sex god / very high  / high / average / low / very low / non-existent

{𝓟𝓱𝔂𝓼𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓵}

Build: twig / bony / slender / average / athletic/ curvy / chubby / obese Hair: white / blonde / brunette / red / black / other Eyes: brown / blue / green / black / other Skin: pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / very brown / other [grey] Height: under 3 foot / 3-4 foot / 4-5 foot / 5-6 foot / 6-7 foot  / above 7 foot Weight: under 100 pounds / 100-150 pounds / 150-200 pounds / 200-250 pounds / above 250 pounds Scars: Two scars, one along each side of his cheek. Facial Features: Freckles Tattoos: -

{𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓸𝓼𝓮}

Dogs or Cats?  Birds or Hamsters? Snakes or Spiders? Red or Blue? Yellow or Green? Black or White? Coffee or Tea? Ice Cream or Cake? Fruits or Vegetables?  Sandwich or Soup? Magic or Melee? Sword or Bow? Summer or Winter? Spring or Autumn? The Past or The Future? 

Taken from @istolin​, feel free to gank!