the-collectim

[the-collectim]

[the-collectim]

I hold wounds that won’t mend...

~Sable Djt-snerta~

Don’t get close.

Patient, comrade, acquaintance.

Whether war or time, they all were ghosts.

The notes were shrill on the violin that evening. His hand throbbed under its wrap and the physical therapy of that instrument that he’d taken up for years seemed even more arduous than normal. The burn on the back of his hand, the old aches that threaded from hands all the way up to shoulders, nerves affected far more beyond where those old scars marred his arms. The limbs were free of the bracers in the safety of the clinic.

 Don’t get involved.

It’s why he’d chosen to wander instead of staying in one place.

It was easier that way to just conduct business and move on.

Did it mean he cared any less about any patient that crossed his path? No. He’d give full effort. But linger at their bedside? No. Not unless they were as alone in the world as he was.

 The disjointed tune stopped as Sable went to pick up his nearby glass of red, the bottle half-empty next to it. Already he was a bit sloppy on his feet but that didn’t stop him from upending the bottle and filling it to the brim once more, red sloshing over the rim and onto the reclaimed wood of that table. At least he didn’t waste a drop drinking like it was water from a canteen in the middle of the hot Dalmascan air.

Eyes squeezed shut, headache beginning to thud on that left side once more. No no no, don’t let thoughts wander there.

 Hands that knew every ilm of his body taking his chin in a harsh grip, the grin unlike anything he’d seen on the man’s face before. All those years together, fighting together, bleeding together. The gentle instruction on how to splint a bone, identify infection; large hands that could both wield a greatsword and yet hold a war-orphaned babe so gently.

The cruelty on that familiar face as he’d held the broken Viera up by that chin, limbs messed and mangled and limp at his sides. Mocking dripping from every word.

It had all been a lie. Every single moment of it.

 The glass was emptied and his head only pounded more. The violin clattered angrily to the floor, fortunately mostly cushioned by carpet before the Rava fell into the nearby armchair. Eyes squeezed shut and he rested his head in one hand, the precariously tipped drink in the other.

 The screams.

Smoke.

Fire.

Mortar shells that made his head split open with their thunderous roars.

 That ear was ringing. Wine spilled over pale carpet as he squeezed his hand over that left side, pinning that deaf ear to the side of his head to try and make it stop. Oh, he was going to be sick.

It was going to be a long night. 

[the-collectim]

"I’m right here, Ehnri...I hope this is alright.”

[the-collectim]

.:FFXIV Write 2022:.

Saranqerel “Sari” Qalli - The Songbird & The Hawk

1. Cross

9. Yawn

11. Makeup

19. Turn a Blind Eye

20. Anon (AU)

23. Pitch

Natori Ritsuka - The Shadow & Quill

2. Bolt

4. Solstice

14. Attrition 

22. Veracity

25. Pieces

Shimohi - The Nogitsune Horishi

3. Temper

21. Solution

24. Vicissitudes

Shima Rikiya - The Smiling Shateigashira

5. Cutting Corners

Suiren no Hokusai - The Fire-soul Kannushi

6. Onerous

16. Deiform

29. Fuse

Siyue - The Jade Rabbit

7. Pawn

18. Glass

Suiren no Kaede - The Ghost of the Maples

7. Pawn

13. Confluence

26. Break a Leg

30. Sojourn

Nijaz Surefoot - The Sable Dancer

8. Tepid

17. Novel

27. Hail

Mitsue Torioi - The Sharlayan Healer

10. Channel

28. Vainglory

Weiss Veil - The Searcher of Stars

12. Miss the Boat

15. Row

~~~

I almost made it through this challenge without missing one single day…but I floundered in the end and had a few late entries. ;-; But at least I did every single one!

[the-collectim]

.:Prompt #30: Sojourn:.

Kaede didn’t need sleep. Perhaps one would view it was being fortunate in that regard but it wasn’t always the case. It meant that when something weighed on the ghost’s mind, it weighed /forever./ There was constant pacing about his maple tree, many stones thrown into the ponds (spooking some passing guests), and too many thoughts running through his head.

It was peak time to make his decision if he was going to do it. The thinnest of veils between the spiritual world and mortal one lingered only for one more moon. A blink of an eye for him. That way, if he did mess up, perhaps there would be enough of a thread for him to not disappear into the afterlife. No, he wasn’t ready for that. But after all his essence had been through, the former noble still fret over something going wrong.

What in his life, and afterlife for that matter, /had/ gone right?

What if he tried to push to this next step in his new beginning and failed, lost to everyone? Even the kannushi and disciples unable to bring him back?

Kaede bit at his lip, looking to the shrine, the building gently lit in the midst of the growing dark of the evening. He didn’t want to leave...there was too much here that he’d fallen in love with. A warm home, friendly faces, acceptance...

But one important piece of that was moving away from him...at least it felt like that.

...it was worth it to risk for that. Yes. There was no going back.

[the-collectim]

.:Prompt #27: Hail:.

The weather was certainly something he still wasn’t used to here in Sharlayan. One of that was the early emergence of winter weather far beyond anything in Thavnair. Heavy grey skies that did not yet release snow but a cold rainy mix that left walkways slick and plenty of academically-inclined noodle-armed men and women falling on their rear ends. 

The problems were always quickly resolved with proper application of spells and aetherial devices to thaw out the stone but there was always a delay based on how long the weather persisted. Fortunately Nijaz was quick on his feet, even as unfamiliar on ice as he was. An awkward slide down just in time to find cover under the covering near the docks near the dedication to Thaliak. He shivered, holding the plain black cloak close and pulling up the hood to keep his sable ears warm. 

A wince as the heavy rain turned to something much heavier and destructive, sending all types scurrying for cover. Usually in rather comical slides. That would explain why everything on this island was made of stone! The hail rained loudly down overhead as the Rava had to settle on waiting out the storm.

Funny how everything lined up to his tumultuous moods as of late...

[the-collectim]

.:Prompt #24: Vicissitudes:.

It was a weird thing to sleep without worry. It had taken the nogitsune a few days in this new bed in Natsumi’s house to be able to do so. The other tattooist had said there were protections aplenty upon her shop and, though at first he was apprehensive, it seemed to be a true thing. Or, else, his enemies decided not to trek all the way to Eorzea for some revenge.

The drink had turned him down this path, striking out without thinking where usually he’d just weather whatever came, keep his head down. But frustration had reared its surface, self-preservation dulled by the potent youkai-made sake. Maybe it was the emergence of his fourth tail; happy birthday, he’d wryly sung to himself. 

But enough was enough. Tired was he of slinking about the underworld of mortal and spirit alike, trying to pick through crumbs on the path towards Haru. Tired of relying on others for help, it came to nothing. He’d do it like any other of his race and act like the devilish creature people assumed his black fur meant. 

For now, he slept for hours and hours upon end, curled up in those borrowed sheets in that borrowed bed in that borrowed loft that a friend had been so gracious to lend. Of all the shite he’d set himself on course for, it was still surprising to earn a friend’s help. That, at least, he could be grateful for.

...it was his turn to pick up the take out today...shite.

[the-collectim]

.:Prompt #26: Break a Leg:.

He never understood that phrase. Perhaps it was something new, something that hadn’t been used back the days that he still walked the earth as a flesh and blood thing. When he’d heard X’sehya use it one day and passing, he’d just stared. Fortunately the miqo’te was keen enough to pick up in that stare from under the maples and strolled over, much to Kaede’s disdain.

This one was too loud for him. Too energetic. Too...perceptive.

Still the blond performer had explained the odd turn of phrase, its origins, and why it’s often used. A pat to the ghost’s back, which Kaede made yet another face, as X’sehya turned to head off to one of his many odd jobs, giving a backwards wave. 

“Break a leg on your upcoming performance!” was the joke as he departed through the gate.

Which left Kaede sitting there once more thinking of /how/ that one seemed to always know what was going on in everybody’s heads.

[the-collectim]

.:Prompt #21: Solution:.

(Warnings for violence.)

Shimohi wasn’t fond of the drink, surprisingly for one of his kind. Often he took out his frustrations through his art, filling up a sketchbook or two instead. There were days, however, that he did just say ‘fuck it’ and imbibe. It was one of those days...mostly because it marked three hundred years on the mark that he’d lost his precious friend. 

How many leads had he followed, rooting through ghost market after ghost market, shrine by shrine, and ruins after ruins? Nothing and nothing, no matter how much blood and sweat he shed trying to find leads, it all led to nothing but more pain and despair that he couldn’t find Haru.

His forehead rested on that tattooed arm up on the bar, sake jar loose in his fingers of the other hand. The murmurings about him were murky things in a variety of tongues. After all, he was in a ghost market tavern. All types of things were patrolling the local watering hole, especially with the equinox’s approach. It was all far away.

A small growl left the usually passive fox as he was bumped into, earning laughs from whatever had been passing by.

“The kit���ssss got bite!” came the slither of something like serpentine, accompanied by a few more taunts.

Normally...he’d walk away. It wasn’t worth it. But his fingers curled in the sake jar’s braided cord.

And he swung. 

The jar exploded into ceramic bits on impact, knocking the crowing uwabami off his coils and showering the others nearby in drops of the drink. Golden eyes glowed in the dim tavern as his fangs bared.

No, he /wanted/ this fight.

His fist met one youkai’s skull, shattering that jaw, teeth clattering to the stone floor. The dark kitsune-bi chased most of the patrons out, the fire creeping along flesh and furnishings alike, much to the poor squat-like bartender’s flailed panicking. 

That new fourth tail fanned out behind him as he just went blind, taking whatever hits he took and giving them right back, a lot more punch in that slender form than one would expect. Bone and flesh gave way under his bloody knuckles as he kept beating into whatever form was currently pinned beneath him. The squishing sounds filled the emptied tavern as he went to each of the downed hecklers, kicking and beating every single one until their faces were nothing but mush.

Shimohi had not gotten away scot-free, already feeling where bruises would be forming in the morning. His hands throbbed, a white shine of bone over his knuckles where skin had broken in his vicious assaults. Breath ran harsh and ragged in the dark where only those golden eyes could be seen.

No, he was done being passive and sneaking around. He was now a nogitsune adorned with his fourth mark of power. No more slinking about. If he had to burn down every market he’d come across to get answers, he would.

It was funny how easy it seemed with that approach, he chuckled wryly at the thought as he stood, wiping his busted lip, only spreading that mixed ichor over his face. Don’t depend on anyone but himself.

What a simple solution.

[the-collectim]

.:Prompt 18: Glass:.

His steps were silent things, feet bare as ripples radiated across the pond from where his toes landed. It was pitch black around him, just the stars and the big red moon above him. It wasn’t his favorite shade of his home, Siyue was a fool for the classic white or silver.

But it was a special occasion and he had to honor it. His naked form, as dark as the water he stood upon, sparkled in sync with the stars above. Moonlight colored hair hung loose down his back as he smiled up at his Mother Moon.

The water stilled when he did, the surface nothing but black glass, not even reflecting the imagery above. The quiet...it made him smile as he closed his eyes. It was like being suspended in time here in the middle of this lake with not even the creatures of the night as company. 

It reminded him of home. But that also reminded him of why he loved his time upon this star. There was so much life, vitality, curious things. 

It was never still unless something forced it to be. 

Here at this equinox where he could most strongly feel the pull of his home... Did he regret leaving at times? Yes. But was it worth it? Very much so.

However, on these special days, he could reach out to his home and relish in the stillness of his being here in the quiet.

[the-collectim]

.:Prompt 17: Novel:.

It had been a fine balancing act over these last few weeks. For Sai’s sake, Nijaz was doing his best to be civil with Renko. It was for good reason, the man hadn’t slighted him one bit, quite the opposite!

It was his own damn insecurity. Renko was an established academic even things hadn’t gone the way he’d planned. What did Nijaz have in comparison? Fans that came out to see his weekend dances at Mehryde's Meyhane? And even those days were long gone, left behind at the place he called home.

An intelligent well-learned man against some dancer.

The choice should be easy for any wise person on who to choose. And it nagged at the back of the sable Viera’s mind constantly. In response, he’d taken to carving out his small part at the Noumenon. Stacks of books surrounding him as he sat on the floor, back to the wall and simply read. His meager collection couldn’t compare and so he did his best to lose himself in what he could.

Renko had endorsed his entry into the Studium next quarter and now it fell on Nijaz to figure out what field to specialize in. Despite all his excitement and determination to acquire a higher level of learning than his impromptu self-education, now he was frozen in what to do. And thus he pored himself into tome after tome of so many different subjects that they all blended together. The dancer would fall asleep, a book on his chest, and be left to himself. At first that had seemed odd but then, after observation, it seemed that such a thing wasn’t uncommon here and the wandering mammets didn’t mind one bit. 

So he slept, spectacles fallen down his nose and a novel detailing the study of beast tribe origins and differentiation still clutched in his hand but fallen against his body.

[the-collectim]

chinese hanfu by Qiyiii

[the-collectim]

.:Prompt 15: Row:.

Weiss was a man that didn’t like to dirty his hands, at least the conventional way. It was much more fun to leave less intelligent men confused by words and chasing their own tail with inaccurate leads. With his role of a fortuneteller on the side of acrobat for the Twist of Threads, sometimes he may not have been morally pure when handling /some/ breeds of customers.

The rude. The selfish. Ones that couldn’t admit that their hands were stained, even if they’d never been stained red.

It was a bit hypocritical, he realized with amused irony.

But Weiss also didn’t let most things affect him to lead to a tussle. He grew annoyed or disillusioned now and then. But for the most part, he felt he was above most trifling things that set off bar fights or street brawls.

Now...that belief was on the ropes as he continued to observe his dear ringmaster flirt with that random rather unfortunately looking man in the corner. Maybe an illusion or two wouldn’t hurt the hyur....

He could wait til the man departed and the power of that old deck could haunt him down the dark roads of the troupe. Not for the first time did he wonder why he was endowed with the Philia deck. Such relationships that the type of love entailed were hardly commonplace for the Veena.

But he could still have some fun stalking that would-be lover of his dear ringmaster into the night.

[the-collectim]

.:Prompt #13: Confluence:.

The koto’s sung was quiet over Suiren Shrine’s grounds. Autumn was moving in even if Kaede’s home always wore the red gold of the maples. Shuubun no Hi approached which meant his privacy would be trampled by guests. How long before the ghost would have to appear from his tree and shoo wandering patrons away?

Pale, delicate fingers picked at the strings without thought yet still elicited a haunting melody; something lost and wandering. Fingers that would never wear callouses. Fingers of a young boy lost to war and tragedy centuries ago. He’d watch another season past and still be timeless.

How many children had Kaede watch run through these gardens and grow, seemingly every time he turned his head? The adults were harder to notice but he noticed small things, more tendencies than physical. 

How Hokusai had calmed, how he smiled more in the presence of his husband and little ones. 

The two physicians in their constant coming and going’s, the closeness that grew and an affection that some may miss, especially with Mitsue’s constant scowl but spoke in the way that he walked close to Mashuel.

The loud arrival of Vani, Sari, and their family, the parade of lil ones in tow. They now lived away from the grounds but their presence was still a constant thing.

The only ones that Kaede could resonate with were the other immortals; the jade rabbit and dragon. Those ghost-blooded twins, the elder coming and going like the wind itself. Occasionally the snake and crow. But even then, the snake had a little one of his own now, even as reclusive and protective that he was. 

And W’ehnri had grown. When had it happened? They had looked almost identical in age upon first meeting. Now he had to look /up/ at the once-frail Seeker when they talked. Even when W’ehnri visited with daily treats to the ghost’s offering plate and took a knee (perhaps out of some consideration), the space the other took up seemed....bigger.

What did he do?

A discordant sound rung across the grounds as he rested hands over the koto, gritting his teeth. He knew his existence was an odd one, even among spirits. A lost soul taken in by a great auspice and blessed with her fire and form. Lost to his own aramitama and put to rest by those of Suiren. And now he was simply a ghost tied to a specific item to a specific place, having to rely on others to leave the shrine’s gates. 

Mori had told him there was a chance...that he could alter his form. Hasu-dono’s energy and the constant offerings allotted him enough power to do so. But...it was frightening. What if he messed it up? It wasn’t like...playing an instrument! What did he do, just close his eyes and something ghost-y happened? What if he messed up? What if he ended up fading away to the Lifestream?

...it was terrifying. 

But if he didn’t.../he/ would be gone the next time Kaede turned his head.

And he didn’t want that...not one bit.

[the-collectim]

.:Prompt #12: Miss the Boat:.

It was a full house tonight at the Twist of Threads but, then again, Ul’dah was always a bountiful stop for the troupe. When the dark tent accented with silver and sky blue was pitched not far from the main gates, people had lined up, both repeat customers and new faces. 

Weiss watched the trapeze act with a frown on his pretty face. Every movement, every transition... Rose was talented but the ever-critical Veena had still been loathe to give up his spot as the star this evening. Unfortunately, he had no choice, one arm in a sling from a rough fall a few days prior.

Veil, his performer alias, was always a star act for the troupe. Beautiful, flawless, picture perfect in both solo, double, and even triple acts flying through the air. He was harsh on himself and others, demanding perfection. How hypocritical. He sighed as the lights dimmed, signaling a shift to the next act. 

He’d let himself get distracted during rehearsal, spotting the ashy grey tail of his ringmaster wrapped up far too close to a patron as they talked in the shadows of the audience seating. He and J’mhene were hardly exclusive but it did catch his eye right in the middle of a transition, missing the bar and falling to the safety net below used during practice. It had stopped the worst but had knocked the breath out of him and tore something in his shoulder. Fortunately they troupe had excellent healers on hand but all wounds simply needed time and rest.

Distractions. He leaned against a post, dressed in his ‘casual outfit of a loose but tailored shirt with tight pants and heels that would make any woman envious. Weiss knew he was a good looking man and he hardly hesitated to showcase it in his attire. Idly, he held up his deck from his vest pocket, the silver filigree bright against the dark cards.

One of seven decks. One of seven relics that roamed the world.

Since his performer aspect of life was temporarily on hold, it was time to return to the primary goal of his current existence. 

Where were the other six?

[the-collectim]

.:Prompt #8: Tepid:.

The arrangement was certainly something that took time. Sharing a space with Sai was normal, that had been their arrangement for years back in Thavnair in that small upstairs apartment. But there was now a third party in the midst. And this wasn’t his territory.

Renko didn’t deserve his ire, on some level Nijaz knew he was being unreasonable. But every time he looked over at the Sharlayan, he /knew/ that the grey Viera had interest in Sai at one point. Even if nothing had happened...

Fingers tightened around his fork as he ate, sitting at a table at the Last Stand overlooking the ocean. He was eating an uneventful meal of a salad with some fruit along with a glass of water. Coin needed to be saved and he needed to stay fit, especially if a sedentary life of study was ahead of him. 

Sai kept assuring him that coin wasn’t something to worry about. That his exercise wasn’t anything to worry about. That he should keep dancing. That maybe he could still use dancing as a source of income.

But no, Nijaz refused. He’d gathered himself to make this journey to pursue a new course of life. There was a love of dance that he appreciated but that wasn’t his main course in life. Not anymore. He wanted to learn. He wanted a respectable profession. 

So not only was he struggling to adjust to his new life of academia, there was that temper that brewed just under the surface of the sable Viera that he didn’t even know existed until he and Sai had officially become lovers. Sisters...the passion between them as they’d first admitted long-standing crushes to one another and found peace was something for the storybooks. But now...

The change of environment. A roommate. A /competitor./

Poor Sai had bore the brunt of being caught in the middle, that passion smothered down to barely lit embers as Nijaz had struggled within himself to accept the changes. They hardly kissed anymore and that was only because Sai initiated the soft action. The intimate touches, natural gravitation to one another, sharing a sleeping space...

It had all turned into something lukewarm.

Had this been the right decision to uproot from a place he’d called home for years? Could he change?

He rested his face in his hands, glasses pressed against his nose in the most irritating of ways. 

Maybe it had all been a big mistake...

[the-collectim]

.:Prompt #7: Pawn:.

“So are you going to tell me what has you in a mood, lil one?” the jade rabbit teased as he floated there, leisurely leaning back in midair as he moved his piece on the board, the black go stone being placed.

“I am in no mood,” was the terse reply from the young ghost who sat more conventionally on a cushion, arms crossed over his dark robes as he watched the move. After a few moments, he moved his own.

They’d just started their third game with Kaede claiming no wins against the much older smiling creature. Of course, that meant the ghost felt like had a bone to pick to prove himself.

“Yes, you are,” was the banter back as Siyue rested his chin on his knuckles, amusingly watching the other’s reaction. “Every since the summer matsuri. Did playing princess for a certain cat--” “THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS!’“ The words loud and sputtered out. Pale cheeks flushed not from blood, but from a reaction that his body said /should/ happen. His corporeal form had become more and more life-like over the years, most not even able to pick up that he wasn’t among the living. These reactions were among some of them.

Giggles were hidden behind that delicate hand as keen amethyst eyes peered out from under moonsilk bangs. It was far too easy to manipulate this one. It was rather adorable. Fingers, long and slender with perfectly manicured nails, rested on his next piece after the flustered youth had made his hasty move.

Honestly..../far/ too easy.

Siyue hummed as he rocked the piece back and forth in its place, not lifting it. “You are that age and he is most definitely so. There is no sh--”

“Are you going to make your move or not?!” Kaede kept his gaze to the board, hands clenched in his noble’s robes he’d worn since the day he’d left the living. Petal-pink eyes didn’t deviate, just waiting to call out the rabbit for lifting the piece and putting it into play. 

“I’m thinking! ♪” was the singsong response. Long legs crossed and uncrossed again as he hummed. 

Ah, it was a shame. With proper guidance and concentration, things could change for poor Kaede. Ghosts could alter their forms, after all. Was it fear that kept him from doing so? The kannushi and others had certainly mentioned it by now.

Alas, it was always a sad story when one of the dead and one of the living fell in love.

Siyue sighed heavily, earning a glare from the pale boy across from him. “You need to at least curb your anger, sweetie.”

The black stone was placed, the jade rabbit firmly on his way to another victory.