#deleterious

Deleterious

[Adjective]

Definition: Harmful, often in a subtle or unexpected way.

Solita held on tight as her chocobo's feet thundered over the landscape.

She was furious at the situation. She was furious with herself. She felt stupid, and it was only her own fault.

The naturalist!

The effect of that damned naturalist had been subtle, insidious. Solita had kept a close eye on her. She had been careful with the information she had doled out to her, kept an ear open for any rumors that surrounded her, had listened whenever she had come back excited about some discovery or new learning. She had been so convinced that the woman was a risk, that she was hiding something nefarious, that she was going to be a problem, that she completely blinded herself to the truth.

She had become blind to her own self, failing to listen to her own intuitions, ignoring the reality of the woman.

Zoissette Vauban was a well meaning, earnest, curious idiot.

Nothing more. That was it. She was not here for profit, she was not here to try and exploit the land, to try to defraud people, not here to run a long confidence game. She was exactly what she claimed to be.

And now, Solita's passive negligence had put her in danger. She had trusted Solita to provide enough information to guide her through these lands. Solita had been careful to follow the letter of their agreement, but not its spirit, and now it may well be the fell spirits of this land that would lead to the fall of the naturalist.

The real shame of it was that Zoissette was a useful woman. The Scions had learned much from her work, and she was eager to go about it. Solita could have nurtured a very different relationship with the woman, possibly even developed her into a member of the coven. Instead, if Zoissette survived this, she would almost have to drop her as a client.

Perhaps she would be amenable to a new contract. Starting over as though a fresh client, and allow the mistake to be overlooked.

And perhaps Bealsar would turn over his town, Louisoix would make a triumphant return, and Thancred would stop mooning over that school mistress and just ask her out already.

There were other more immediate problems. Solita cast about, clinging tighter to the chocobo saddle while she sunk herself gently into the Weave, feeling it whip by her as she tried to turn her sight outward, further, to catch any sign of the naturalist, while also keeping a wary eye out for any cerul rheums. This area of the ceruleum fields were dangerous, with fiends that were drawn to the energies of the area, scattered open shallows in the ground where the stuff came to the surface, and the occasional fire as one ignited for some reason or another.

A flash drew her sight. A loud bang. A rheum, ballooning and popping, possibly splitting into two. And a flare, cerul catching, casting its light high into the night. She hauled around, and brought the chocobo to bear. As they got closer to where she thought she had seen something, she drew her staff, and readied it, pulling on Weave, waiting to face whatever she saw there.

They were close, now. She thought she could see Zoissette Vauban.

She definitely could see a spirit. A ghostly spectral form with a purple aura, sharp and stark in the folds of the Weave. As they approached, it turned towards them, and she saw its eyes flash into purple orbs it as it brought its hands up. Tendrils of energy flowed off of it and its skirt - it was wearing a dress- flared out.

Solita barreled off the chocobo saddle, and rolled as she hit the ground, bringing her staff and her power to bear.

"Mistress!" the ghost called out, placing itself between Solita and Zoissette. Zoissette spun around, bringing a gun to bear.

"Solita?"

The Weave crackled around them, waxing with power being drawn, already flexing from whatever had happened previously. It was the thickness of the air before a storm, lightning in the wings of the clouds, power eager to be wielded and released.

The ghost's hair and form were wild, but it was not attacking Zoissette. In fact, it had materialized in the real, and small hexagonal shapes were appearing in the air wherever Solita pointed her staff. A shield of some sort. Of Pattern?

Solita looked to Zoissette, and held, looking for an opening against the ghost, but waiting.

Zoissette lowered her gun, and put a hand on the ghost's shoulder. "It is alright, Lavender. I know her. She means us no harm."

The tension held for a moment longer, but then the storm passed. Lavender lowered her hands, and she faded, leaving the material but remaining manifested. Only those sensitive to Weave would be able to see her, now, as her form became more ghostly, see through, but her outline and shape became more defined.

She looked like an elf. One with pale blue-gray skin, wearing a very old fashioned purple dress. The glow left her eyes, and she looked quite normal. Hovering slightly, feet above the firmament, but those eyes were unusual for a ghost. They were quite human.

Lavender inspected Solita warily, but folded her hands in front of her. Solita, her breath still hard, and her heart still pounding, slowly put her staff away, and stood up straight, regarding her in turn. The Weave responded, calming, the feeling of static in the air dying away.

"I saw a flash in the weave," said Solita. "I thought to investigate. Is all well?"

Zoissette nodded, turning away again, and crouching near what looked like thick ceruleum-coloured gel on the ground. "It is now. Here, look what I found. Some kind of rheum, but I do not think I have ever seen the type. It could shift form and mimic shapes, and I think it apparated from the immaterial."

"I assensed its approach and reacted accordingly, notifying the mistress," said Lavender, who was still keeping a sharp eye on Solita. "She was able to use her gun to dispatch it."

Solita walked over, slowly, trying to effect a casualness so as not to offend the ghost further. She peered over Zoissette's shoulder at the remains of the rheum.

"Cerul rheum," she said. "A risk out here after the misadventure of another naturalist. There are warding stones that are meant to keep them at bay, but we've not yet been able to replenish all of them. The particulars of those stones which have the correct properties and whence we might source them is a problem we have yet to determine the solution to."

Zoissette nodded, and pulled out a notebook, taking a few notes. Solita glanced over at Lavender.

"The ghost is with you, then?"

"Ah, how terribly rude of me, I apologize. Give me a moment to finish this here..."

Zoissette finished scribbling her note, then stood, and turned to face the two.

"Lavender, please meet Solita Grey, the seer who has been helping me with my research since we have arrived. Solita Grey, this is Lavender, my friend and constant companion. She is a ghost, one with a long history. She has been with the family for generations."

Lavender gave a curtsey in midair, and Soltia, after a moment, returned the gesture.

Zoissette let out a long sigh, and settled into the ground. "And now, after that little demonstration of hers, I fear I need to sit, rest, recollect myself, and probably eat something. I think I shall return to camp. Will you be joining us?"

Solita looked around, but saw no further threats.

"...I think I had better," she said.

Zoissette nodded, and after a few moments, got herself back up. As a group, they retrieved her chocobo which was some distance away, and over the next bell or so made their way over to where Zoissette had set up a bed roll, a fire pit, and some minor concessions to comfort out under the stars.

Solita was glad that Thancred had the presence of mind to always be prepared, and that she would have a bedroll of her own.

Assuming, of course, that she remained welcome.

Zoissette performed a few minor camp chores before slumping in a seat next to the fire. Lavender hovered nearby, keeping an eye out, but did glance over from time to time.

Solita settled to sit nearby, in the rare situation of being uncertain how to start the conversation she wished to have.

"I must admit, I am surprised to see you out here," said Zoissette. "You have never shown much interest in accompanying me on my field work, and such is certainly not within the scope of our agreements."

"Providing you with the means and information to accomplish your tasks is, however," said Solita. "And in that, I am here to correct a failure."

"Oh?"

Her stomach tightened. She lifted her chin, and squarely met Zoissette's gaze, looking directly at her own reflection in the other woman's glasses.

"I neglected to inform you of the full scope of the threats you would face here," she said. "I knew well that the warding stones had been damaged by a previous excursion, and that the full nature of the cerul rheums was yet unknown. You would have benefitted from that knowledge, and from having a Weave-worker such as myself with you."

Zoissette nodded. "Well, thank you, then, for coming out here."

"Do not thank me," said Solita. "The failure on my part was intentional."

Zoissette tilted her head.

"Why?"

No prevarication, no outburst. Just a simple question, cut to the quick.

It was near how Solita would have handled the matter herself, though with rather more heat.

She did not quail. That was not her way. She would face this, with honesty and truth.

"We have had incidents with so-called naturalists before. Might you recall our first meeting, where I described the actions I suspected you might engage in while you were here? You dismissed it at the time as sensationalist drivel."

Zoissette frowned, but nodded.

"I but told you the tales of those who preceded you. We have had trouble with naturalists before, and though I am not wont to paint with an overly broad stroke, the last one made a particularly poor impression. With particularly disastrous consequences. The consequences which led to the re-emergence and adaptation of the very cerul rheums, one of which you encountered tonight."

"You thought I might be like that."

"I thought you were. You had many of her mannerisms. A severe-seeming politeness, a genteel affectation. Particularity on matters to a fine and sharp point. A keen mind, and sharp eyes."

"I do not not even know what that is meant to mean."

"It means naught, but I allowed it to mean much. I was so certain you were a threat, that I refused to take you at face value for who you are. Even as you demonstrated, again and again, the inherent honesty and truth of your spirit."

Solita was angry. Angry at herself. Angry that she had let the situation get this far. This was idiotic. The actions of a woman half her age, and half again her supposed wisdom.

"I was a fool, and through my negligence, I thought to allow you to tarry forth, thinking you might come to a poor end, and I would at last be rid of you."

She took a deep breath in, and let it out, calming herself. It would not do to have Zoissette think she might be mad at her. "A dear friend had to point out my folly. And once I realized it fully, I traveled after you, to attempt to rectify it. Though it seems, I need not have bothered." She laughed a little. "Always prepared. In your care and in your intelligence, you were more than the match for the wilderness. But nevertheless, I have come here... not only to make up for my severe error in judgment, but to apologize.

"Lady Zoissette Vauban, I apologize for placing you in undue risk through my own negligence and malfeasance. I promise you, I shall not allow such to happen again."

Lavender hovered close to her, frowning at her, and swept around her slowly, menacingly. "We might leave her out here, mistress. She was so keen for you to fend for yourself. We could let her do the same." She stopped in front of Solita, and grinned broadly at her, baring her teeth. Solita just looked back flatly at her. "I do not doubt her chocobo could be encouraged to keep us company instead."

"No. Leave her alone. It is okay, Lavender."

Lavender turned her nose up at Solita, and with a 'hmph!', floated back to hover closely, protectively, near Zoissette.

"I accept your apology. Thank you," said Zoissette. "And thank you for coming after me."

"You would thank me?" said Solita, incredulous. "I have confessed to seeing to your end. Surely you should be upset. Angry."

Zoissette watched the campfire for a bit, before reaching up, and taking her glasses off. She rubbed idly at their lenses with a cloth, before closing them, and just holding them in her hands.

"I should be. Maybe. I do not know. Maybe I should get mad, or yell about it, or follow Lavender's advice and leave you out here without supply, but I do not want to do any of those things. Would it help anything?"

"No. I suppose it would not."

"Then I am inclined to accept your apology and you at face value. There has been no harm done. You have treated honestly with me, save for this singular omission, and made no attempt to harm me directly. You have made a mistake. That was an error. But you did not compound it by ignoring it, or running from it. You faced it. And you tried to correct for it. I find it hard to be angry about that. Tired, maybe. Disappointed? I guess? A little... let down, I suppose."

She should leave that alone. She should accept Zoissette's graciousness, and exit the conversation as gracefully as she could manage, spend the night, and then terminate their agreements and return to Stonewood.

"Let down?"

"We worked well together. I liked that. Other than this one incident, you have always been forthright with me. Blunt, but I like that about you."

"We might still yet."

Zoissette looked over at Solita. Her eyes were studying Solita. Inspecting her.

"Perhaps... we begin again," offered Solita. "This time, I shall leave my preconceptions behind, if you will forgive me my transgressions."

"Okay."

"... okay?"

Zoissette nodded.

"You might ask for guarantees, or for more favorable terms. Though I know I am the one who offered it, I must confess, it was in haste. I did not expect you to accept it so readily."

"That would defeat the purpose of starting over," said Zoissette, now watching the fire. "I am willing to accept your proposal, but only if it is a clean start. For both of us. Deal?"

"...deal."

"Then we have an accord."

Lavender huffed, and rolled her eyes, but after a moment, she bowed her head. "As the mistress commands, I shall follow her lead."

She meant it. She really meant it, Solita realized. Zoissette was willing to sweep past all this, to ignore all that had happened. She was either hopelessly naive, or the strongest woman for malms around.

"You are too good for Stonewood," said Solita.

Zoissette looked up at her, sharply.

"No."

Her voice was deep. Her tone flat. Her words dark.

"I am really not."

The fire continued to crackle into the desert night, as Zoissette unfolded her glasses, and put them back on. Her eyes once more hidden from the world. Solita could see the reflection in the lenses.

"Well," she said, well after the ensuing silence had made its weight felt, "If it is all the same to you, I think I shall turn in. Shall we set up watches?"

"No need. Lavender?"

Lavender bowed, and floated up a little higher, to get a better view of the surrounding area.

"Well," said Solita, feeling unusually awkward. She got up and retrieved her bedroll, setting it up and laying down on top of it. She faced away from the fire, looking out into the night.

"Good night, Miss Vauban."

"Sleep well, Lady Grey."

Today's Walking Photo: I guess it’s that season again. This is an insect trap placed here by the Oregon Department of Agriculture, and a quick foray into the interwebz told me that it is mostly likely meant to ensnare the dread gypsy moth. Those total jerks “are serious pests in other parts of the world and could threaten Oregon's agricultural and horticultural industries, landscapes, forests, and recreational areas.” The trap was placed here on June 6th and I can tell you, thanks to my highly developed observational skills, that it has not yet bagged any bugs.

Deleterious

Adjective [FORMAL]

Causing harm or damage.