#no beta we die like Louisoix

[meximango]

Day 4 - off the hook - G - Cahsi/Y’shtola

Summary: Cahsi can do many things, but baking is not one of them.

Curse her girlfriend for her excellent hearing! And nose. Really, the smoke was quite an obvious indicator even if the explosion noises (she could not deny it) hadn’t given it away. Cahsi knew enough not to try to lie to the other. She went straight to appeasement. “I’ll clean up my mess, I swear!” 

“Cahsi, dearest?” Y’shtola called from the other room. “That had better not be the sound of an explosion coming from the direction of the kitchen.”

The tone was light, but a threat was hidden underneath, along with a pinch of exasperation. Cahsi was not allowed to do things in the kitchen, because she was prone to starting fires, even with recipes that did not involve a single flame or fire-aspected crystal. That voice sometimes sent a shiver down her spine in the best way, but not right now. 

A sigh. “Yes, well. Please open a window to air the place out for now, at least.”

“Aye aye, miss Rhul!” she sing-songed in response and saluted despite nobody being around to witness it. As Cahsi was getting the window unstuck, her girlfriend padded into the room. When she turned around, Y’shtola was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. Expectant.

“Well? What was so important that you had to try cooking at--what times is it?”

“Umm…” Cahsi glanced at the chronometer on the wall. “One bell until… midnight.” She shrunk down and mumbled a little at the end. It wasn’t really that late, considering the night owl tendencies of the two miqo’te, but still. Cooking at that time, especially when one was known to be a disaster in the kitchen, just didn’t make sense.

“Yes, that. It’s far past suppertime. You know our friends would be glad to help you during daylight hours, if there is something you wish to make.”

“Would it help my case if I were to say that I wasn’t cooking, I was baking? And also that I was doing this for you?”

By Y’shtola’s face, it seemed that idea did not occur to her as a possibility. Her girlfriend was often prisoner to her whims and impulsive nature. She hadn’t really thought much of it, as she’d found Cahsi doing weirder things at later hours numerous times.

“For me?” she repeated, because she did not know how else to respond.

Cahsi nodded enthusiastically enough that Y’shtola could hear it. “Yes! It didn’t turn out, but I hadn’t wanted to wait. You mentioned having the urge to eat rolanberry cheesecake at least three times this past week, and I haven’t been able to find any at the marketplace nearby. Trust me, I sent out my best retainer for the job. The nearby restaurants don’t sell it, there isn’t a bakery nearby…I thought maybe this time, if I prepared extra well, I could do it. I could bake you something without disaster striking.”

Cahsi laughed at the light teasing, giving her a squeeze and nuzzling into her shoulder. “That sounds perfect.”

Needless to say, that hadn’t worked out.

But the idea was rather sweet. As sweet as rolanberry cheesecake, which Y’shtola wanted both more and less than she did before the mention of it. The burnt rolanberry smell permeating the kitchen wasn’t the most appetizing.

Y’shtola was not immune to her girlfriend’s charms. Her thoughtfulness was one of them. She ushered Cahsi into her arms and away from the smoky kitchen to instead sit together on the living room couch. They could let it air out a while and cuddle instead for now.

“I believe if you practice, anything may be possible. I’m sure the culinarian guild of Limsa Lominsa would be delighted to have you as their pupil.”

“Hmm, maybe. So… I’m not in trouble?” Her tone was hopeful, and there was already a purr rumbling in her chest. Then, more repentant, “I really did do it for you. I wanted it to be a surprise, and I just couldn’t wait any more.”

“I know, dear. You’re off the hook for the kitchen destruction this time. I still expect you to clean up, but I am pleased that you thought of me and wanted to make me happy. You succeeded there with the gesture alone.” She dipped her head to plant a quick kiss to Cahsi’s cheek. “Perhaps we can find some alternative dessert to partake in tomorrow together. We can make a trip of it, leave it to the professionals.”

[meximango]

Day 2 - bark- G - Cahsi + Vaile

Summary: Cahsi's first time meeting Vaile.

Cahsi had been wary of him, justifiably so, and downright terrified the first time they’d met. 

The thing about Vaile was, he tried so, so hard to be intimidating and off-putting, but he really only succeeded with people who hadn’t gotten to know him beyond a cursory, skin-deep glance.

It’s the getting there that was the hard part. 

Both of them were young and scrawny and full of so much rage and fear--a potent combination, the potential for inflicting so much hurt. She’d barely started adventuring at that point, had less control of her magic than him, his powers honed and refined from the pure desperation of survival. Hers obtained from books and boredom and a need to find purpose in life again. 

She’d been outmatched, back then. And still, the humble adventurer found herself escaping death’s jaws. Where there was a will (and luck, and the mothercrystal’s blessing were certainly boons), there was a way.

The first time they met wasn’t graced with so much a conversation as a heartbeat’s notice before a scythe lodged through her arcanist’s tome, which she’d used as a shield in a moment of stupid brilliance. She was still getting used to the tingle the echo brought, the sudden signals that warned her of danger, whether to  sidestep or take something head on. She hadn’t had time to dodge, but blocking, well. Throwing her weapon up in front of her face had worked. Sort of. 

Left without a weapon, her carbuncle fizzled out with a sad chirp, but it’d worked to disarm her attacker at the same time. The blade stuck (a magician’s tome was far sturdier than any normal book, and its aetheric balance getting disrupted in so rude a manner had caused it to lash out at the offending weapon), and as Cahsi gripped onto her former spellbook with a strength that came from adrenaline and twisted, her attacker was left with naught but his own surprise, hands grasping at the air. 

His expression had been unfeeling, cold, nearly bored when he first struck (which offended her, truly, especially as her mission had been to talk to the group she was sure this guy was from based on his attire, yet here he had been, taking a swing at her with no remorse. She’d been so sure of her demise for that one moment, not a word to be shared between two strangers, just a quick stab and run).

But when she’d taken his scythe in her own hands, the book still stuck on the end, his face instead morphed into fury with a flash of something else. Not scared of what she might do, no. Something worse, unexpected. Something like relief. Like something bad and possibly irreversible might happen to him, and he would welcome that outcome.

She took pity on him, in the way she knew how. Channeling the tome’s frenetic aether toward that which pierced it, through and out, she guided it into the scythe, destroying both it and the book in the process. Nothing but sparks and cinders and smoke. It would have looked heroic and impressive if it hadn’t burnt the hell out of her hands in the process, the yell she let out as much from pain as it was intended to scare him into backing off. Her gloves covered the damage well enough, anyway, and she had the gift of accelerated healing. She’d be fine soon enough. At least nobody would be returning to the lifestream today, not if she could do anything about it. 

It was terrifying, mostly because she recognized that look from her own reflection in the mirror not that long ago. Maybe still, at times. After the Calamity had taken her family, and Theia most of all, Cahsi had. Well she had not turned to unsavory deeds, but she could easily imagine a universe in which she had. It was a blur, those first few years, could barely call it living. She’d turned to skin and bones and studied her tail off to become an arcanist because at least it was something to fill her time. Theia would have found carbuncles cute. It kept her mind from deteriorating. And since adventuring, it had started to get better. She was still cold, still distant, wouldn’t wish to admit it out loud, but she had come further along a path that felt right compared to this assailant in front of her.

Not that she knew it, couldn’t have at the time, but Cahsi had crossed paths with this redheaded man during his darkest time. Just a young midlander with a patchy beard, freshly healed scars, and eyebags covered up with smudged eyeliner. Back when he’d found himself running around with a gang of thieves who just couldn’t give up on the days of piracy, no matter what Merlwyb decreed. He’d shed the blood of innocents and he likely would again. He was lost, found, and then lost again. 

She leveled him with a glare that gave the impression she wouldn’t give him what he wanted, not today. He was going to live, by her grace. He was going to see that not everyone retaliated violence with more violence.

Despite the urge to hurt her that she’d seen in his gray and gold eyes, he’d given up quickly enough. She got the feeling he’d attacked her as an instinctive lashing out, to protect himself, but that he didn’t truly wish to hurt her.

She’d let him go with a hastily, sub-par crafted scythe (there was only so much she could do when her main skills were with goldsmithing, after all). He hadn’t thanked her, but he hadn’t tried to attack her again either, and his frown had been less angry and more tired, neutral, so she’d counted it as a win. 

She still didn’t trust him, would be a fool to trust a would-be murderer so quickly and wouldn’t for many meetings to come, and he obviously felt the same, but there was something there. That tiny seed of kinship she could feel trying to grow and nurture itself. There was a man who was broken and angry like her. Maybe, just maybe, they could figure out how to be less angry and broken with one another’s help, instead of drowning in it. And maybe she didn’t want to do that, comfortable in her sorrow. She was still deciding. It was easier to keep people away, hurt too much to get to know someone. Who knows what this stranger wanted, anyway. They'd likely never meet again.

They’d talked. Purely business. She’d been sent on a mission, after all. He’d snarled and he’d threatened and he raised fists a few times (they tussled, briefly, but her stamina and recovery was better, and she outlasted him until he was a panting, tired mess pinned down by her sharp knees in the dirt, and he’d finally relented to being civil about things, glares ineffective against her.) He was more bark than bite, even in that first meeting. Once he was without weapon, the murder attempts stopped completely, no matter how angry he looked or sounded!

She’d gotten the information she needed about the group of pirates he belonged to, he’d convinced her she owed him for destroying his scythe (which, again! He tried to kill her with! But his gang of bad-doers were going to try to kill him for giving up their intel, for failing them, and how was he supposed to defend himself without a weapon, his death would be on her hands--).

She refused to think of him as interesting. Infuriating,  yes. Too much like her, too close to home, maybe. She hoped he’d turn away from the life he’d gotten mixed up in, hoped that when she reported back to the yellowjackets that they would take care of that gang and that redhead would somehow escape, reform, or at least live. 

That wouldn’t be the last time they met, but it would be their most hostile encounter. One day, Cahsi would be used to someone trying to kill her on their first meeting, and she would learn to roll with it. A regular occurrence for the Warrior of Light. It was something new and exciting at that point in her journey, though, and not something she could forget (and therefore would needle and tease the man relentlessly about it, eventually). One day, she would learn that his name was Vaile, and that hers was Cahsi. One day, they would consider one another comrades, as unbelievable as that would have seemed that first meeting.

And one day, one day, years and years after hardship and pain, it would happen. It would.

After that first meeting, he was simply ‘the angry redhead with the scythe that tried to kill me’, a pirate who didn’t seem to belong in that role. He was someone she hoped found a purpose, a way to help people more than hurt them, somewhere to fit in and belong and feel cared about enough to want to care for himself. 

She hoped it for him as much as she hoped that for herself.

[meximango]

Day 1 - envoy - G - Mogren + Altani

Summary: Mogren thinks about how Altani has to lie for them.

--

“I don’t want to do this, Mogren. What if they see right through me? How can I get out of this?”

“Well…” The moogle’s pom swayed to and fro as they thought of other options.

Swish.

Swish.

Swish.

“I'm sure you'll do great, but the obvious alternative, kupo, is that we tell them--”

--”No!” was the squawked out reply, quicker than a flap of Mogren’s wings. She offered no further verbal argument, but the glare told them they would do best not to contend with her. 

Sharp, forceful, final. 

Their friend would not allow even the idea to pass through  either of their lips. Their fluffy little body was fit to burst with the affection that swelled at that. So protective, even at such a young age!

They’d come up with the plan together after much brainstorming. Days on end, and this was it. Altani was going to fool her village into believing she could communicate with the dead, the next chosen medium after a dry spell of several generations since the last had passed.

All so Mogren could go on hanging out with Altani without rousing suspicion. Befriending a member of a beast tribe certainly wouldn't do, after all. Moogles weren't supposed to exist anymore, the thing of myth.

The villagers’ sharp hearing and superstitious nature had taken Altani’s half of their conversation out of context, and come to some very wrong conclusions, which, in the end, was all the best for Mogren. If the child were deemed the next inheritor of the gift of spirit-talking, then Mogren could be written off as a simple ghost. A far-past, distant relative that Altani had befriended when coming into her nascent powers. They could stay hidden, but still converse with their friend, the village none the wiser to the truth and accepting of Altani running off to play with the dead. 

It was a lot of pressure to put on a child who hadn’t even gone through puberty yet, though. A risk and a secret that would only collect weight as the winters pass. All of it for the sake of Mogren, for their continued friendship. Selfish, really. They’d been told to stay hidden from society, and they had! For the most part. One au ra child excluded, of course.  They had been the one to muck it up, helping the girl out after she'd saved their fuzzy butt from a gruesome fate by some wavekin. Should've left it at that, disappearing and letting the girl believe it was all her imagination, instead of luring Altani into friendship over the past few seasons, and then convincing her to keep up conversation even as they got too close to the village and they knew how risky it could be--

And now this kid was paying the price. 

She had never blamed them, not once. When the village rebutted every of her excuses and insisted on their own conclusions--a new priestess, such cause for celebration! Finally we may converse with our dead loved ones and receive the wisdom of generations past!--she had gone along with it rather than reveal the true identity of the person she’d been speaking to. The forbidden friendship.

Altani’s friendship had been delightful thus far, and Mogren could imagine it only strengthening over the years… They had big plans! To teach her some instruments, how to tell the best stories, how to hold her alcohol (a ways off from that one, but Mogren was patient)... if their current plan worked first.

They would do everything in their power to make sure Altani passed the trials her village elder put forth to determine if her powers were true. She was going to become a formidable medium, even if it involved weaving lies faster than a lominsan pirate could chug a pint of ale. 

“It’s the best chance we’ve got, kupo. I’ll help you cheat!” 

Altani sat back, letting out a loud sigh. “Never really done that before, y’know.” She liked to go through life with her own strength, her own skill. The idea of cheating at something to win made her feel icky. Not as icky as of the idea of Mogren getting caught, attacked, or at least banished from ever seeing her again, though. She couldn’t bear that!

So she’d surely get over cheating and lying, she had to. It would get easier with time.

“I’ll do the heavy lifting, you just have to memorize the answers.” A simple execution for sure.

Reconnaissance had revealed the tribe's elder had a scroll that was passed down from leader to leader for decades, revealing the process for appointing a new priestess. Among those notes were the guiding questions that would offer proof. Facts about the long deceased that nobody alive would remember anymore, but were recorded for the sake of this test. Answers Altani would know if she could actually communicate with the dead.

She laughed, perhaps the tiniest bit of manic energy tinging the edges. Maybe it really would be that simple. Remember what to say. Pretend, like it's a game, and not a job interview for life, one that would change her village's view of her forever and determine if she could keep her only friend or not.

“Right. It's just studying for a test. The final exam of ‘Envoy of the Dead: an Introduction’, and one I’ll pass with flying colors. No big deal!” The forced optimism was so strong it circled back to sounding panicked. Her grin looked scared rather than self assured, must be why Mogren flinched.

“We’ll have to work on that confidence of yours, kupo. But that's the spirit!” A lot of practice. That’s all it would take. No big deal indeed. Mogren would drill those answers into her until that scroll was memorized from beginning to end.

After everything, they’d get through it together, just one of many trials in their life. Something they could look back on and laugh about one day. 

[meximango]

Day 8 - shed - G - Estinien + Altani

Summary: Altani asks Estinien a question about his scales.

--

“Hey, Estinien.”

“What.” Unlike his companion, he didn’t pause in his workout routine. One word responses were common enough for the elezen even when he wasn’t trying to catch his breath (not that Altani would point out that his breathing was heavier than hers had been, despite their similar routine--that would just make him grumpy). 

“I have a question.”

“Mm.”

“A curiosity, really. Just been thinking.”

The slightest huff of laughter with his exhale, but he held his tongue. “Aye?”

“Well, it may be kind of personal--”

“Fine! I just wanted to know, seeing as you’re shirtless right now…” Her head bobbed up and down in time with his push-ups. Staring.

“Just spit it out, would you!” She was normally so upfront and bold with every word that came from her mouth, ‘personal’ or not. Skirting around a topic was putting him on edge. 

The push-ups stopped, the dragoon folding up into a kneeling position. He’d lost count anyway.

(Where in the seven hells was this going? Estinien was not a self conscious person, he cared not what others thought of him and would do as he pleased. After the first time Altani walked in on his workout routine while he was shirtless, he didn’t see a point in wearing one if they were going to pump iron together, was all. It was a matter of bodily comfort and routine. No other reason.) 

Before he could snap at her to hurry up before the sun set and rose once more, the au ra reached out to smooth one hand along his shoulder, tracing deliberately and delicately--so much gentler than he thought the warrior capable of, honestly, he’d sparred with her enough to know how even her friendly touches often overflowed with unintended strength--over the scales there.

“...And?” Get to the point, please. 

“Well, your body went through some changes after the whole Nidhogg…thing.” Thing certainly was one word for it. He would have sufficed with nightmare as his term of choice. 

He tried not to think of his time possessed by that great wyrm too much, the physical traits that merging brought forth, forever marking him. The dark scales adorning his body in odd patterns were the most obvious effect. The largest patches were on his shoulders and along his spine, smooth, glossy, unmistakable and  impossible to ignore. 

Oh. Right. 

The nerves were dulled in those locations, except where the edges became skin again. He felt the pressure and heat of Altani’s hand, but not much more.

Her brow furrowed in thought for but a moment before reverting into a smile, eyes focused wholly on the scales as her hand continued its wandering path. Estinien did not shake her off, not even when his instincts told him to lean away from it like he did all else, to keep his space. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to. He was not a fan of Nidhogg’s marks, though they humbled him and were as much part of him as his pointed ears now.

But to have someone touch them almost--if he didn’t know any better--not just casually, but reverently, was…not unpleasant. He may even go so far as to admit it felt comforting to be touched casually, not a hint of pity or judgment on her face for his past mistakes.

“They’re pretty, you know." Nearly a whisper, Estinien wondered if he'd heard correctly and  blinked. She continued on like an afterthought, as though she hadn't hit him upside the head with such words. "You may not want to hear that or think so, but they contrast nicely with your skin and are a mark of strength and mental fortitude, of what you’ve survived and gone though. You've overcome so much and changed for the better… '' From her soft tone, still nearly murmuring and so unlike her usual boisterous self, Estinien wasn’t sure if Altani was even aware she’d said those words out loud. She seemed mesmerized with continuing her gentle pattern across his scales. 

It must be a mistake, hearing them say that, made his ears burn. 

He knew they found scars to be beautiful, in general. Always had, ever since he met her. Altani appreciated the beauty found in those ugly, aching marks, a telltale sign that someone had gone through hardship and made it through to the other side--whether from a great battle or a simple stumble, it mattered not. It was proof of living, and wasn't that magical? Perhaps her history with the dead gave her this outlook. She'd proudly showed off their own scars and the stories that came with them nearly every time she visited the tavern. She liked knowing others’ stories too, would make up songs that would rival any bard’s spirit if only she could sing on key.

But still, to give that same appreciation to scars such as these, not the stitching back together of flesh, but rather a transformation into something that was not quite elezen and not quite great wyrm--it was different. It shouldn’t have applied. It was too much attention on himself.

He cleared his throat, trying to hide his embarrassment and snap her out of her stupor. 

It worked, and Altani blinked slowly a few times before lifting her gaze away. She gave a sheepish smile and removed their hand (a relief, but part of him wished she would have continued). She seemed perfectly content, as though she had not just called Estinien pretty while petting his bare torso.

Then: “Do you shed?”

Well, that certainly was a turnaround, the whiplash effectively ridding him of that blasted blush that had threatened to travel down his neck as quickly as it arrived. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, that was the silly question I had for you! I have scales, you have scales. I shed, but do you?”

There was the Altani he remembered. Blurting out awkward questions without batting an eye. No tact at all. "Why wouldn't I?" He replied without really answering. 

"They're magical, yeah? You weren't born with them, so I was wondering if they acted more like a permanent glamor or behaved like my own. So. Do you?" 

"Pass."

"Wha--hey! Come on! It's just this would explain why you're even grumpier than usual sometimes." Her grin was smug, knowing, as she leaned in. How irritating. "The itch is terrible, right?"

"Is that supposed to convince me?" The holding back info was payback for her flustering him earlier. Served her right. He really didn't care about her queries, wasn't offended. He was used to it. 

“How about this, then: pretty please, with dried squid on top?”

“Oh, are you offering? If not, then try again.” Using his favorite snack against him was a low blow, but had she had any on herself, they would have already offered it.

“Maybe next time, if you’re good.” She winked. He almost, almost broke at that, but no, he had perfected his cool, unimpressed stare over the course of years, and he would win this (whatever this was).

When he didn’t rise to the bait, she continued. “What about my qualifications, then? I’m an expert at having scales, and all that entails, just so you know. My intuition tells me that you shed.” Even for an au ra, Altani was absolutely covered in them, having more scales than normal for her kind. If anyone could be an ‘expert at having scales’, it was her.

“Oh? Never would have guessed.”

She laughed at that, enjoying his sarcasm. He finally let himself smirk in response.

On and on they bantered, workout routines long forgotten. 

Knowing her, she'd probably offer to peel the dead scales off for him, next time he went through it. A bonding ritual of sorts. She seemed the type to find it satisfying, her expression told him as much the one time their paths had crossed as he’d been caught peeling from sunburn.

Eventually, he'd answer, and maybe then she could offer tips to handle it more gracefully, because yes. He did shed. Of course he did. And it was an awful time when it happened, especially his back. He felt no better than an animal the first time it happened (and each subsequent recurrence, truth be told), rubbing at his back with his spear of all things. From slaying dragons to shedding scales. Oh how far he'd come… 

He would not be opposed to it, if she pushed enough. As ridiculous as it sounded, he nearly looked forward to it. Altani made him a fool like that.