enchanted-conversations

The air in the house is different today. Still cold, still foreign and dark, but there’s a hum of activity. Servant’s feet drum a steady, swift beat against the deep blue carpets as they make for rooms or studies or labs with instruments or papers or files or books. Men in long, white coats clink vials together, against metal, into mouths that shake and tremble. The screaming barely reaches Saint’s ears, though. 

The Miqo’te is beneath the house, surrounded by metal walls and floors that send a dull vibration with each step. His jacket isn’t enough to shield him from that foreign cold down here, his breath a cloud that rushes past as he makes for an open door. 

He’d been summoned. Like a dog. With cryptically vague instructions, as he always was, but this air, this house, the room he now paused in the threshold of… 

Like James was readying for something. Moving all the chess pieces into place for a game only he knew they were playing.

Saint squared his shoulders and walked to the metal table in the center of the too dark and too quiet room. Woolf stood at one short end of the long table, carefully eyeing him with his naturally narrowed and unflinching gaze. They hadn’t spoken since he’d forced Saint into the ring on the opposite side of the basement and brought the Miqo’te’s natural instincts back to the forefront.

Good. Saint hadn’t forgiven him. Likely never would. 

Bastard.

“Ah, good,” came a purr which caused Saint to snap to attention. James had come in behind him. How long had he been there? “So you do still come when called.” Closer now, the Hyur’s steps near silent. 

Metal against metal clangs into the room to his right and it takes everything Saint has not to snap his attention to it’s source, to see what it is James had brought with him. Instead, his instincts stay locked on those too quiet steps, their trajectory.

Screeching finally causes him to flinch as James takes whatever he’d set down and starts dragging it with him along the table’s surface. It stops when James stops opposite of Woolf and Saint’s ears unpin from where they’d snapped against his head. Woolf was smirking.

Saint settled his attention on his father and the familiar blackened helmet that rested under his thin, pale hand. “It’s time to suit up, boy. Somethings coming, and I won’t have you wearing anything less than the best.”

Teal, almost deep green eyes shift from that helmet to James and back. No wonder his new commission hadn’t seen any progress in weeks. “And if I refuse?” He already knew the answer, but it was a game at this point to ask.

“Then I retract my offer.” The helmet was thrust from beneath James’ palm, where it once again slid across the table on an almost unnatural wind, making more unholy noise as it did so. Still upright, still staring at Saint with blackened slits that had once earned him a title, it stopped within arms reach. “So do as I say, and suit up.”

The curl on the Hyur’s lips cause his own to twitch, ready to bare teeth and snarl for the vice Saint had found himself in. False gods, he was so stupid. Instead, he grabbed the helmet off the table and turned for the door.

“My son,” James cooed, “always the diligent fighter... Your sister would be so proud.”

Saint slowed to a stop, slowly glanced over his shoulder. He knew as he met James’ smug expression which sister he’d meant. Knew wrath had hardened every line of his face thinking about the body they had never found. “Do not speak of her again, Bekker, or I will let the beast you’ve created rear it’s ugly head.” This time he let himself sneer, then walked from the room. 

[ Coffee & Tease ] - July 2nd

                               Coffee & Tease - A Lingerie Cafe

When: Friday, July 2nd @ 3PM Pacific 

Where: Balmung, Lav. Beds, Ward 8 Plot 21 

Details: Adults Only! We’re a brothel, thank you. 

              Menu & Rules, here.

“Whatcha doin’, Graves?”

Saint had just set down his tomestone, it’s face still lit with the last message sent to one “Handsome Spook”, when he turned towards the hallway and his sister. “Drinking tea, apparently. Upon recommendation. Wanna try a sip?”

Extending the still steaming tea cup, he watched as his sister barreled past. 

Okay fine, apparently not. 

With Saint leaning against the counter, Tyler was forced to hop over his outstretched legs to get…wherever the fuck she was going. To his side of the kitchen and whatever interesting thing awaited her on the island counter.

Suspicion narrowed his sharp, teal gaze as he tracked her, even as he bent over his cup, blowing the steam away in quiet breaths. With the ease of a thief Tyler snatched his tomestone off the counter, it’s face still bright. 

Mid-exhale he could only sigh her name before the flash went off. Blinking, Saint frowned. 

“Did The Advocate recommend it?” Her little fingers were already zipping across the keys.

“Tyler, what are you doing? Give it back.” He reached, she spun away, and he missed. He’d somehow managed not to spill the tea.

“Mine now,” Tyler chirped, now safe on the opposite side of the kitchen.

“Tyler, if I have to set down this tea I swear to every single one of the Spoken’s false gods I will make you regre—” 

The tomestone set back onto the counter with a clack. Tyler’s form took up a space beside him, a grin on her face. “You should introduce me sometime. He seems nice.”

For a moment, Saint’s mouth hung open, unsure of what to say. He was nice but he was also…unsettling. How did someone introduce The Advocate of Ishgard to their younger sister without her pissing her pants?

He snapped his mouth shut, leaned forward enough to shove his tomestone back into his pocket—far out of the reach of his sister—and opted for the one response that always worked best when he was left without an answer. 

“Maybe.”

S-smol!

Tadah had settled down into his camp for the night with only a campfire and a bedroll, too exhausted for more. Shedding the better part of his armor until only his undershirt and pants were left, he’d found the closest rock which had been exposed to the day’s rare sun and reclined. Sighed. Threw his head back and stared up at the stars, poked by darkness—the clouds from today’s rain, clinging to what life they had left. 

Subconsciously, his fingers found the bracelet at his wrist, worked the cool white gem between his fingers. “Hooo, how I grow tired without you. To be so far removed from the Spoken without you as my willing buffer…” 

A star shot over Thanalan and slitted pupils watched it go. No joy or wish to be had. 

He might have made one if he thought he had any hope…

Perhaps the Viera today had been right. He was shutting down, had been shut down for awhile. Only driven along by curiosity and loneliness. How else was an old Drake meant to die?

He was no Midgardsormr, nor Nidhogg. He didn’t want to be.

Lifting his heavy head he peered down to the bracelet. “You would be livid too, to see me so. ‘Where is the wicked tongue I fell in love with’ I can hear you say. Not gone, just…tired, my love. For having spent so many years with you, to spend so few apart should be nothing and yet…” 

Tadahiko lifted his wrist, placing the gem of the bracelet flush against his forehead as he closed his eyes. 

“I have not given up, Anna. I am coming. I swear it.” 

Willing his magic to life, aether streamed from his temple and into the gem. A steady, violet stream of magic that snapped into the bracelet, caused it to glow briefly before it again fell dormant. Waiting for it’s rightful owner.