#azrdrg

Cherry Garcia: a role model/inspiration headcanon. [[ @the-sultansworn-stationmaster mention! ]]

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It’s easy to say that the one and greatest inspiration is Raubahn himself. An all too obvious fact for anyone who has spoken to the man even once, as Pipin gives nothing by the highest of praises of his father at every given opportunity. He hardly goes a moment without mentioning his inspiration in some form or another!

But from another perspective, he too considers a certain retired Sultansworn to be that of a role model to his person. In far more quieter of terms of course, but their similarities are boundless. Papashan is a protector of the royal family and always has been. Left hand man and friend to the Sultana’s deceased father, a strong fighter and Sultansworn in his prime. A person who Pipin will occasionally find himself seeking the presence of when in need of advice and someone who understands his position… as well as knows the heart and mind of the Sultana better than most.

Papashan has basically lived what Pipin plans to be. The next generation of sworn protector to Her Grace and the head of both Immortal Flames and likely the Royalists before long. Though he has yet to take a seat on Syndicate given the requirements for doing so, he is still well on the way to having just as much power as the rest of them. Responsibilities that he would best learn from both his father and Papashan.

Though there are few noticed instances of them working together, the two of them worked together in quelling the Ul’dahn riots in the midst of the Calamity. Later on when Pipin returned in the wake of the banquet, he was quick to catch hold of Papashan and in working together, figured out the origins of the Sultana’s poisons and where they were coming from… as well as who was responsible.

If ever there is another for Pipin to follow the ideals of that isn’t his father, it would certainly be this elder stationmaster.

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Road Trip: a travel or escapism headcanon.

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Pipin adores being able to travel around and see the world. To see the sights he would otherwise never see at home, to experience cultures and meals that are often impossible to get one’s hands on without traveling out to said place or city. His time with the Immortal Flames has given him great opportunity to travel abroad and visit so many parts of Eorzea and the realm itself… and he still wishes to see so much more!

Now that he is stationed at home once more, he will take what opportunities are given to him. Should the Sultana be in need of visiting another city state or what have you, he will go along as a bodyguard. Should Pipin be invited or wish to speak with the other Eorzean leaders, he will more than happily visit their homes not only for friendly conversation, but also to enjoy his stay in unfamiliar yet interesting places.

Should he simply wish a brief reprieve from his work… he will oft leave past Ul’dah’s gates on chocobo back. Simply to enjoy the scenery and give himself a breath of fresh air of Thanalan’s breeze. Anything but remaining cooped up in the city for long!

The girl ran until she was out of breath, and eventually resorted to yelling to get him to slow down.

“Estinien! Wait up!” She waved, trying to get the dragoon’s attention. 

[ i will miss faerie and turtle ppl </3 also jenova ]

( ;-; I do feel bad for everyone who’s being separated from their friends and statics. This is going to be such a huge change to the game...

@azrdrg // FIFTY WAYS TO KISS SOMEONE.Randomised: 11. In joy.This got so long PLEASE FORGIVE –

       O’ Hydaelyn, why is it that you preserve those whose penance is forged in the belief of their demise? Broken bones cannot be knit in a day, nor can the grief of actions past.

         “Surely it is enough!” Ysayle argued, voice cracking against the might of the mother crystal as she lay suspended in a star-scape glittering around them like snow falling from the heavens. Mayhap she should have been overjoyed in being blessed with her grace, knowing that her actions had earned an audience with the goddess herself, but all she could feel was outrage thick on her tongue that swelled deep within her throat. She had weighed her risks; knowing her limits, her stamina and realising the truth. Ysayle was ready to die.

         “There is more for you yet, child of Eorzea,” she answered, their surrounds shifting to an atmosphere that was crimson and clouded with burning eyes piercing through the haze as beneath her she could see the Warrior of Light and Alphinaud struggling. But against what? It was only as the haze continued to clear that she saw the blood-bathed red and the grotesque growths upon his arm and shoulder. Estinien —— no —— NIDHOGG.

        Her hand extended, aching fingers placed over the top of Alphinaud’s own as if though her shade might manifest corporeal and aid him. Yet, despite the distance between them, the boy’s eyes looked up, realisation washing over his face with wide eyes. She smiled, for it was all she could manage.

        “Believe,” the voice echoed, vanishing amongst the cracking energies as Ysayle poured every ounce of energy she could into thwarting the beast whose rage was responsible for a thousand years of war. If this was to be her last duty, she would do it diligently —— it was all she had ever wanted.

        The eyes separated, Alphinaud and the Warrior of Light flew backwards, and red turned to bright azure as it swept over the battlefield and the rage of the beast dissipated in the denial of his power and subsequent death as he rose from the body of the Azure Dragoon. Ysayle rose to her feet, eyes lifting to the sky, and as she felt the sunlight beam down upon her face the world slowly bled white and cast her from that mortal plane. She closed them, ready for the end.

        Yet, when she awoke, she was surrounded by dragons.

       O’ Hydaelyn, what should one do when their purpose has been fulfilled?

         A miracle, the dragons hailed, and the mortals to whom Ysayle was well acquainted would be hard-pressed to argue. When Hraesvelgr found her bloody and broken beneath the floating lands of the Sea of Clouds, even he believed her lost to them. When she was brought back to Anyx Trine, nursed to health by Vidofnir, even she remarked at her luck.

        “What might you do now?” She asked, gait slow as Ysayle took her first tentative steps across the castle’s broken foundations. Yet, despite her pain, the elezen was resolute and did her best to obscure it.

        “Of that I am unsure. Mayhap I will find purpose in Ishgard.”

        “They would welcome you,” Vidofnir said, causing Ysayle to smile. “As would the Scions.”

         And they did. She saw the way they tried to hide their tears —— anger at her decisions lifting in the success and of her apparent ‘resurrection’. But there was once face among the crowd she did not see, and her question was answered to her shock.

        “Estinien still slumbers?”

        “We don’t know if he’ll yet wake,” they replied.

         No, she thought, surely Hydaelyn would not force such an exchange.

         Three days passed without the man awakening, and Ysayle’s visit was punctuated with Alphinaud draped over Estinien’s bed — salt yet lingering on his cheeks from where his tears had dried. She knew how much the boy cared for him; their trip across the Forelands was proof enough. But, as the door closed behind her with a light click, she spoke softly as to not surprise him. 

         “You should rest, Alphinaud,” she advised, footsteps laboured over creaking wood, accompanied by the cane she gripped firmly in her left hand. As the younger Elezen looked up to her, his lips seemed to move as if he thought to protest, before a sigh and a slump of his shoulders admitted defeat. She smiled as he lifted himself from Estinien’s bedside, eyes casting back like a child afraid they would miss the gifts of Starlight.

         “Yes, perhaps sleep is the best course,” he agreed.

         “He will not abandon you. You know this as well as I.” As embarrassed as he might have been at the truth in her words ( if the colour was enough to go off, it was quite a bit ) it was not enough to resist them. With a bow and a polite utterance of her name he left, knowing that he would be one of the first alerted if Estinien awoke.

         And she was alone.

         Pulling up a chair beside the Azure Dragoon Ysayle settled, placing her cane against the bedside table as chilled hands sought one of his resting upon the woollen blankets. His was warm by comparison, her fingertips tracing the callouses on his palm, and the lump in her throat was swallowed down to keep her strength. Who knew a man she once hated could worry her so deeply? Star-crossed, one might have claimed, and yet there was nothing to suggest such might or could change.

         As she sat there, pensive in her silence, there was a flutter of eyelids that caught her gaze; a shift of frame uncommon for someone locked in indefinite sleep. As her eyes widened Ysayle leaned over and spoke to him, her voice soft in the quiet.

         “Estinien?” His name earned her a grunt and another shift of frame, his eyes opening slowly and groggily to the world. They narrowed upon seeing her face, the hand in hers reaching towards her as if to ascertain that she was real. She allowed it, feeling the touch that was so uncannily soft when considering just how violent the man could be, and relief washed over her keenly.

         “You’re supposed to be dead,” he said flatly, prompting her to laugh. “The battle –”

         “I was dead,” she answered, leaning into the touch. “Hydaelyn saw it fit that I should yet live to bother you a little longer. Are you disappointed?”

         He didn’t say anything, yet Ysayle didn’t mind. It was better than a no, and he had to conserve his strength. For as much as there were things they had yet to say, she knew that now was not the time. He was awake; he was alive. That was all that mattered.

         “I should alert Alphinaud that you’re awake. No doubt my acceptance into the Scions hinges ‘pon him being the first to see you. Second now, but the boy has been worried sick.” Pulling away for just a moment ( was it fear or something else? )  fingers smoothed silver hair away from his forehead as Ysayle pushed herself to her feet, leaning over to press her lips against his skin and speaking plain her joy at his survival. After everything, it was not fair that they should die.

@azrdrg said:  “You’re staring like you’ve never seen an elezen before.”

“Well, that should be a clear indicator that I haven’t then, shouldn’t it?”

                     Reaver had been around a long, long time– But yet he had never seen anything quite like the man before him. Which, unfortunately for the other, was not a good thing. For now that he had found something new, he was going to want to manipulate and essentially bleed Estinien dry of everything he owned. Though, he did seem fairly powerful, so Reaver would have to be subtle.

soft angst | not accepting! @azrdrg

   his ears twitch at the words; his body immediately freezes. mismatched eyes slowly shift to the side, catching the dragoon in the corner of his vision as he begins to lag behind amid their stroll——what did he say?

   estinien, ever wont to chastise another for being victim to sentiment’s hold, actually vocalizing concern…? praise be to the fury, even if the words were as dry as much anything else the man ever said ! but he doesn’t allow himself to stand slack-jawed for too long, reflexively reaching for the elezen’s upper arm, as if failing to do so would see the man jump away, returning to elusive shadow.

   a wasted effort, though, as his hand almost immediately retreats back, conscious that it might just scare him off (rather, irritate him off) anyway.

   “huh, i wasn’t aware alphy’s condition weighed that heavily on yer mind.” he eventually deflects, letting his fingers grip at the fabric of his tunic, masking the thinning of his lips as his smile tugs wider. shoving his worries farther and farther into the pit of his chest, his crown shakes sheepishly, and shoulders roll in a shrug, “an’ i thought cid and aymeric tellin’ me ta be careful meant i was up a creek without a paddle, but if yer worried fer me, too…”

   he jests with his teasing, and his smile softens as he pulls a pink brightlily, not entirely unlike the ones he would’ve worn in his hair before, from his bag, holding it delicately between the pads of his fingers. it twirls ‘round and ‘round, like a dancer upon the stage, spinning and stopping and spinning again. “‘course, estinien isn’t estinien if he’s any different.” but estinien is different, he knows, and he, himself, is different. they both grew up——just in divergent ways. and so he breaks the somnolence, lifting his gaze from the flower to the dragoon, “still, thank ye. fer makin’ sure my head stayed on my shoulders. an’ fer helpin’ them with whatever they asked. ye didn’t hafta.”

   rolling onto the balls of his feet, uncaring for the triviality of permission or sneaking about, the keeper reaches up, and tucks the splash of pink just behind his ear, into long, white locks. “did ye ever get it?” he rocks back, straightening his posture as he grounds himself once more, “i left a dravanian lily for ye, like the one ye chastised me over on our way ta the churnin’ mists.”