Choose Your Path

Life was fleeting. He understood that better than anyone might give him credit for. He saw so many of the same faces of an evening that whenever one went missing, it was noted. Sometimes they had a function and they’d turn back up the next day with smiles and stories. Sometimes it was the lockup and they’d shuffle in months later, desperate for the first drink of freedom. Sometimes it was sickness that kept them away and a friend or two would relay well wishes. But sometimes they never came back. He was alone in the bar now, cleaning up after the usual rowdy evening. His eyes drawn back time and again to a stool that had been unoccupied much of the night. Bereft of it’s usual owner. Another Tia, a brown-haired bloke with an easy smile and a winning laugh. A dock worker with dreams of his sweetheart and a cottage by the sea. A plot of land and a few wee ones. None of that was to be now. A snapped rope. Some toppled crates. That was that. Izzy understood but it didn’t make it any easier. He set the now dry glass up next to the others and moved to start stacking the stools. He paused when he came to that stool, smiling as he lifted it. “Goodbye lad. May yer sojourn through tha lands beyond be brief.”

No. It was just the acceptance. The peace. It grafted itself onto his soul. It gave him a moment. Like a safety switch. He could just breath in and smell the air and that would settle him for just another few moments. Sometimes, the situation resolved itself in the space of that breath and life went on. If not...more of the usual he supposed. But it was nice to have that choice now.

The weather had changed. He stood there under the awning, listening to the hailstones ricochet off the tiles of the roof. His broom was in his hands and he relaxed, watching the sight as the ground turned white with all the little balls of ice. It battered leaves from the trees and the last vestiges of the summer flowers. Thankfully small canvas awnings had been raised over the garden, several members of the Shrine accurately predicting this event. The small autumn harvest was saved. An excellent thing considering the upcoming Youkai Feast. Eiji was finally going to attend this year. Nir had insisted and the onmyoji was finding harder and harder to deny his partner these small things. Even if he couldn’t tell a scary story to save his soul. He didn’t have to. That was the beauty of it. The others just appreciated his company and wanted him to join the fun. They might respect the danger he could become...but they also appreciated his good qualities. Like enjoying the beauty of the sound of hail.

His was a life of violence. Raised a mercenary by mercenary men, alchemically altered for strength and durability, he was what he was. He was surrounded by people with strange and incredible powers and yet he was the gate guard. Made sense. Most of those people were good. Honest. Decent. Leo was another sort of monster. He looked down at the man on the ground and shook his head. “First broken bone? Smarts doesn’t it? Sad thing is the folks in there are kind. They’d have given you the medicine if you’d just asked for it, you didn’t need to steal it. From a Shrine of all places.” He sighed as he stooped down, taking the bag of the man’s ill-gotten gains and lifting the wailing would-be burglar onto his shoulder. Slowly and methodically he headed back into the Shrine, trying not to jostle his burden too much. “Not exactly what they mean when they say ‘break a leg’ you know?”

He was a fixture behind the counter. As dependably regular and recognizable as the furnishings of the Drink itself. With sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms of painted iron. With a grin and a wink and a cheerful wit, Izzy knew the regulars by heart. Their limits and their orders. A point of pride to be everyone’s ‘professional friend’. A peddler of the ‘old medicinal’ and the loudest soloist of the raucous choir. When it was time for songs of bright cheer and bawdy fancy to be sung, he’d start them off. It brought people together in good spirits and good spirits kept both coin and libation flowing. But for all that, as well as he knew others, precious little was known about him. He’d seemingly come from nowhere. He spoke like a sailor but no crew knew him. He was covered from the collar down in ink but no artist claimed they’d put it there. He carried himself like a veteran but described battles no others had fought in. He had no answers for his mystery, the memories simply weren’t there. Only disjointed and disconnected snippets of a life he’d obviously lived the hell out of. Some folks called him a liar and that was their prerogative. But sometimes one of his stories could be coaxed out of him. When the fire burned low and most had gone home. When only the lost souls hunching their shoulders against the inevitability of the last call remained. Then, and only then, would he pour himself a drink with them and speak of the ghosts that haunted his mind. Those men and women, those unlucky and unhappy few who heard things that turned their guts to ice. None of them doubted the veracity of his claims. They’d console him that maybe it was better he’d forgotten. That there was a reason. Maybe they were right. But maybe there was a difference between a ghost forgotten and a ghost truly laid to rest.

A towel, two jars of colorful salts, a decanter of amber liquid, and a glass with one very large ice cube in it. All these objects were arrayed at the side of a tub full of water just shy of scalding. That was exactly what Izzy wanted as he lowered his sore body into the steaming liquid with a few flinches and a long groan. He tipped one of the jars of salt into the water, flicking his hand to dissolve it a bit. His nose wrinkled at the strong medicinal smell that wafted up, those crystal dissolving and clouding the water a bit. Nearly empty the jar was put back and he poured himself a glass of the liquid before sinking down deep as he could go in the water. The older he got the less he liked fighting. He was no young upstart anymore. True, he might not remember his age, but he knew it wasn’t young. There was grey in his hair if you knew where to look for it. The scars that weren’t totally hidden by the tattoos that crossed his dark skin, those weren’t the trophies of a young man. They weren’t left by childhood scraps. Not if his dreams meant anything. Flashes of wars that he didn’t wholly remember. Of the sound of rapid fire bullets as he charged out of the waves. As he vaulted earthen ramparts. As he lived in mud made not with rain but with vital essence. And the only solution he’d found to make the dreams stop was found in the bottom of a dozen bottles.

Two figures sat near a shrine in the maples. A fresh plate of candy offerings had been laid on the alter and they were sharing them. The youth who made them and the spirit he was giving them to, once childhood friends of a sort. But the miqo’te boy was growing up and the spirit was...not. Like a pressed flower trapped in glass, unchanging. The onmyoji sighed, leaning on his broom across the yard, watching them. “He’s growing up on you Kaede. If you don’t break out of that stasis soon you’ll lose him.” He glanced up at the sound of the chimes, the kami of Suiren’s subtle sign of presence. “No. I’m not going to say anything. Not yet. I think there’s still time for him to make the choice on his own.” By the time either of the youngsters sensed him and looked over, Eiji had vanished. Only the breeze ruffling fallen leaves remained.

A single bead of water, fallen from his hair, joined with it’s brothers and began it’s trek downward. It gleamed lightly and drew the eye across a body whos muscles made peaks, valleys, and low hills. Leo took good care of himself and it tended to get noticed. Especially when only a small lap towel kept his modesty from the rest of the onsen. He was huge. A sculpted mountain. A god of the gym. It wasn’t just bulk either, the kind of muscle put on by some Limsans for ‘manly’ competition. Leo’s body was purpose built and maintained. He was a guard, his body was necessary for his job. Show muscle had no place in that. So he closed his eyes and tipped his head back onto his neck towel. At least the stares had been brief and polite. Nobody had tried to approach him this time. Nobody had asked him if they were real. He almost wished they were fake, they’d have taken less time and effort to upkeep. The water around him swirled and his vivid blue eyes opened. That familiar figure settling in next to him, hand going to his thigh under the water. The raen could only chuckle at his partner. “What, no towel?”

The hecklers were back. The three raen sailors who, like him, had clearly been raised in Eorzea but now were stuck in Kugane. Three bored sailors who had nothing more to do with their spare time than come and poke at him. Mentally Leo started running through his exercises to curb his temper and get his thoughts in line. Counting the neat rows of cobbles in the streets. The number of flyers on the nearby market board. The red maple leaves that drifted over the fence. His own breaths. Anything to keep him calm as they made loud conversations full of veiled insults. Insults that could only have been about him. What had he ever done to them except his job? Come drunken to a Shrine, expect to be gently escorted out. It wasn’t like he’d hopped in a dingy and manned the oars all the way to Kugane just to seek them out and tip their ales into their laps! He didn’t even know their names! This was the height of stupidity, wasting their time and his. Fine, he’d just take care of it. “Hey!” The crack of his voice clearly startled flinches out of them and he continued speaking before they recovered. “If you want to start shite I’m off at sundown. I’ll entertain you then if you’re really that hung up about it. But if you’re dead set on a fight, get your damn affairs in order.” He made a mental note to borrow a med kit from the clinic. Just in case.

This was all Sai’s fault. Every bit of it. He loved two men. They loved him. But instead of a smooth confluence of affection where the three of them settled into a loving relationship...there was only hell. Only quiet suffering, bitter jealousy, and agonized peacekeeping. He was doing none of them favors by constantly trying to smooth things over. But staying sunny was the only way he could keep moving forward. Encouraging them both even as everyone felt worse. Brokering peace. Offering suggestions. Placating tempers and bolstering sagging moods. He wasn’t cut out for this. They were going to make him choose. And Sai had already made promises. Perhaps...therapy? It almost made him laugh, he was the last person to be suggesting that. But what other options did he have? Because either they were all going to come together or when they came apart it would be the end of them all.

He sat on the end of the pier, his back against the piling. One knee was raised, his arm resting on it. The other leg dangled off the edge, swinging lightly as he stared out over the waves. He pulled a flask from his pocket and took a mouthful of something warm, closing his eyes and enjoying the evening breeze as he tucked it away. He’d missed the boat and he had another hour to kill till the next departure. It didn’t seem like this was a popular time, he didn’t see the usual crowd. Indeed, he seemed to be all alone in his wait. Wasn’t that always the case though? Once the bar closed and the patrons went home the boss would make his way to wherever it was he spent his nights. Only Izzy was left to clean up and lock up. Only Izzy to shuffle along the paths of Mist toward his apartment or, like tonight, to seek a quick trip into Limsa. A little song to pass the time then. The courage brought on after another swig. He hummed a few happy, bawdy tunes that seemed to be swallowed up in the evening air. Fair enough, they were the kind of songs that were meant for many throats. For a deck drenched with spray and sweat or the raucous innards of a busy pub. He lapsed back into silence for a long few moments before a new song made it’s way out. It was a soft sort of song, carried out over the waves in his clear voice. It was a song that brought back too many memories. Too many bodies. Too much pain. But he sang it anyway.  ♪”I am a poor wayfarin’ stranger.”♪ ♪”I’m travlin’ through this world o’ woe.”♪ ♪”Yet there’s nae sickness toil nor danger.”♪ ♪”In tha’ bright land ta which I go.”♪ Refrain after refrain. A few minutes felt like a lifetime. The flask was brought out again at the end to wet a suddenly dry throat. A swig. Two. Then he stared at it for a moment before pouring the last drink out into the waves. “Ach...yer getting maudlin Killian. Pull it together lad.” Slowly he got to his feet, tucking his flask away as he gazed out toward the lights on the waves. The ferry had returned.

Ivory teeth gleamed in the late summer sun as the big raen let loose another jaw-cracking yawn. Leo was a man of action and while he’d never complain about the nice, safe, cushy guard job he’d landed it was hardly exciting. Oh sure there were constant strange happenings inside the shrine. The sound of foxes at all hours, floating babies, ghosts...he’d lost count of the things he’d seen. All business as usual for the man at the gate. But as the seasons changed Leo had to wonder if maybe he needed another hobby? Something to keep him engaged and occupy his thoughts. Something that wasn’t working out or studying. Maybe he should take up whittling? He was good with his hands and he always had a knife on him. He could just spend a little of his time here at the gate carving little figures. Another yawn, this one cut short. Three figures were slinking around the nearby market board. Troublemaking foreign sailors who’d come from Kugane. He’d tossed the lot of them out the day before when they’d shown up shitfaced and gotten in more trouble than they were worth. Perhaps he’d been a bit hasty lamenting his lack of action...

In a dingy bar beyond the edge of nowhere the reaper and his hound-like voidsent waited casually for one of the regulars. The other customers had given them both wide berth which suited Sai just fine. He was in a grim mood, his lovers were quarreling again and that had meant another night sleeping on the couch before he’d left. Ah, bonded life. When it was good, it was doubly sweet. When it was bad it was doubly sour. He chased his poor mood with a pint of something that could only have been imported. It was far too crisp and cool to be a local brew. He’d spent years serving in the Imperial Provinces and was used to the cooking and the drinking. Good for them honestly to expand their horizons. But that was just his savage opinion. A moment later there was a thump as the seat opposite him was occupied by the imposing figure of a pureblood Garlean. A bandanna covered his third eye and held his greasy dark hair out of the other two. They shared a stretch of quiet while a second pint was procured. The unspoken understanding that they didn’t talk until after they’d both had their first drink. “Red Sai...I never thought I’d see your scarred mug back around here. Last I heard you’d fetched up in Sharlyan and settled down.” Sai snorted. “Settled down, me? Are we talking about the same man?” He gave a cracked grin to the other before reaching into his leathers and pulling out a cloth wrapped bundle. He set it down on the table, sliding it toward the other. “How much can I get for that Marcus?” The big man flicked open the package and whistled through his teeth. He finished flipping the cloth open and held the object up. The light was gathered up by the facets of the dark stone, drank in and locked away. Marcus grunted, dropping the object back onto the cloth and shoving it back toward Sai. “The only thing you can pawn that off for is trouble.” Sai chuckled as he raised his mug to signal for a refill, the soulstone resting ominously on the table between them. “I didn’t ask what I’d be paid in. I asked how much.”

“You know you have nobody to blame but yourselves.” His voice was quite cheery and jovial, booming out from his chest as he carried a sack of coin in his jaws, slitting it open with a claw to let it spill out on the sand in a glittering heap. “Do you know how heavy coinage is? And to store it in sacks...you know that the sacks will shift don’t you? Why didn’t you use chests or casks? Why didn’t you transport bullion? You were just asking for problems if the seas got rough.” He perched on the splintered timbers of the hull, fishing out another sack from the glittering hoard within. “What a mess, what a mess. All tumbled together with everything else...you really can’t cut corners when you’re loading cargo. If you don’t balance and secure your load properly this happens.” The second sack was sliced open, adding the coins to the pile on the sand. With that, the coins had all been claimed from the ruined wreck, shimmering dimly in the light of glowing coral on the seabed. Sjarna flopped down, rolling about in the glittering gil, thrashing about and groaning happily. Like a horse rolling in mud, sending coins flying with sweeps of his tail. He was as happy as a child, even if he’d have to pack all these coins up and make sure they made it to their destination soon. For now though, he rolled onto his stomach and returned his gaze to the lifeless corpses of three Kugane sailors, caught in the twisted rigging of the wreck. “Ah well, something tells me you won’t be doing that again.”

His chest heaved. Warm sap slowly trickled down his cheek where the chaochu’s vital fluid had spattered across him. It dripped thickly from the scythe that was held before him, nearly connecting the curved blade to the ground. He drew in a long slow breath and closed his eyes, opening them on the exhale. Several of the large seedkin lay in pieces around him and the ground squelched as he shifted his weight. A dark shape moved between the bodies, loping over to him with the flowers he’d been commissioned to collect in it’s mouth. Sai took another deep breath and shifted his dirty scythe to click into the holding hooks that would secure it across his back. “Good boy Lugh, thank you. I’ll take them now.” His hand took the blooms from his avatar’s mouth and the reaper carefully stored them. A few sticky pats were bestowed to the skull-like head of the voidsent and he chuckled. “Well I feel better now! Renko’s right, all I needed to do was find a hobby.” The red-headed reaper was still smiling as he pointedly ignored the way his avatar cocked it’s head at him. They both knew this wasn’t the kind of hobby the other bun had been suggesting to help Sai with his anger issues.