#drachenlance

Crouching on the deck of a moving ship required a certain amount of balance that Fiona was blessed to possess. When the world shifted and gave, tipping the vessel over the rolling push of wind, she shifted her weight from one side to the other as a thick length of rope dangled in her hands. She liked traveling. And when she traveled, she lent a hand where she could, but she didn’t know much about airships. She could feed a herd of chocobos without a fight breaking out. She could replace a wagon wheel and lead a horse to water. She could read a map upside down and drunk and not end up miles in the opposite direction the next morning. Knots, though. She knew how to unlace a fellow’s trousers and a lady’s corset -- and sometimes, the other way ‘round -- but those were simple little flimsy things.

The captain of the vessel stared at her, amusement sparkling across his face like sunlight over  wager. He watched her struggle with the rope for another torturous minute before taking the rope out of her hands with an amused, “That’s, ah... not th’way.” Fiona’s shoulders sank forward in defeat.

“You said it was the easiest one, yeah?” Her knuckles dragged against the deck, arms tucked between her muscular thighs. Still, she moved with the pitch of the ship, watching Bastien as he demonstrated the knot -- first, quickly,  then much more slowly to show her how to properly construct a clove hitch around the nearby railing. She snorted, frustrated more with herself rather than the captain or the knot. “Oh, fuck off.” Bastien’s eyebrows shot up. A laugh caught in his throat, but it spread to the monk watching him unravel the knot as easily as exhaling. She took a moment to bury the nervous chuckle into her hands before heaving a sigh, stretching her arms outwards, and holding open her palms for the length of rope.

“Alright, give it here.” The rope was heavy as it was rough. “Here’s hoping I figure the damn thing out before we dock, I guess.”

UNCOMMON QUESTIONS FOR OCS AND THEIR CREATORS

29: Do they usually live up to their own ideals?

From a purely outside perspective? It definitely looks that way. She holds to her pacifism very strongly, along with her belief that all races should be treated equally and properly, regardless of what country/city-state/region they are from, their gender, or their personal beliefs. She will tend to, heal and want to befriend pretty much anyone she comes across, from a fellow Adventurer/Wanderer, to a Garlean soldier, to any of the ‘Beast Tribe’.

Chanai squinted his eyes. Equal sorts suspicious as he was drunk. “Is that s’pposed to be a trick question? Tsc,” he sucked his teeth. “Who are you, really? Do you know? Like, really know? Without-- this,” a hand gestured between them and the garments the other wore. “Have you sat down with yourself to find out lately?”  It was hard to tell if he was aware that he reached for the wrong cup to down the rest of its contents from or if he was aware that it belonged to Lance himself. There was something of a kindness to refill it back to the brim and neatly return it to its owner. “I’m’don’t really know, sometimes, though.” he slurred with a thoughtful hum, resting his chin in the open palm of his hand. “‘T’s hard keeping up. We get wind up in life one thing at a time ‘n’ we don’t take the time to see, or if we do we don’t like what we see. Untreated trauma gone too long, another vice because it hurts too much to deal with it and feel through. I may not quite know who I am, really. ‘M’still figuring it out, still learning and acquainting myself, always. But I know one thing.” Lidded rubies narrowed subtly in determination. 

It was three days until K’bahsa managed to fall asleep, after he’d said his last goodbyes.

Three days that he laid awake each night, his eyes stared open and upward at the ceiling as he could not help but notice how godsdamned silent the village was now. There was so much less chattering these days, so much less. Three days since he last even bothered to consider Rhalgr’s name as anything other than a fucking burden, since he ate anything proper, since he’d said a word to anyone that wasn’t a broken record platitude from the mouth of an exhausted man.

He had hoped, admittedly, that he would have been able to sleep for a day, that perhaps succumbing to the exhaustion would finally let him rest and it would be that - rest. This, of course, ended up being a pipe dream, as all things tended to be, and every few hours he awoke with a start, with the thought that things weren’t the same, with a voice ringing in his ears that was gone, gone, gone.

The second time, he lets out a choked sob, the third, he weeps until his eyes decide to stay closed; the fourth, he is grieving. He is grasping at his chest and hyperventilating and praying and hurting so deeply he feels his ribs had been cleaved asunder and it was all spilling out - and he is alone.

Or, he thought he was alone.

Light fills the room as the door opens, and she comes in, all tired and weary herself, with her hand extending to rest soft upon the bend of his spine. “Bahsa,” she says quietly, between the man’s wracked sobs, “Bahsa.” He doesn’t answer, can’t quite find the air to do it, and she just falls against the bed, her hands sliding gracefully along his frame until she hoists him in close, forcing him over her bent knees at the edge of his sheets; it is only now that wide, blue eyes stare helplessly at the ceiling, and then, at hers.

“Ruti. I--” He chokes, eyes blinking rapidly as if it’d make the tears leave, “Did I wake you, Ruti? I’m sorry.”

“Hush.” She says, her hand pushing back his bangs and taking some of his tears with him, as this man, this grown man, hiccups plaintively across her lap. “I was already awake.” It’s the truth. He knows it’s the truth because she lost them, too. How selfish was he, to think he alone carried this burden?

How selfish would he continue to be?

“I can’t-- I couldn’t--” The rambling threatens to big and she silences him with a press of her fingers to his lips. He stares blankly up at her, like she had stolen his very voice right from him. His chest rumbles, quakes like he wants to keep crying, but as she leans over to kiss his forehead, he just finds himself falling back asleep.

“We all miss them. Miss him. I know, I know. Rest, Bahsa.”

NSFW Headcanons (A - Z)  

C: Given how Alun gets clingy during sex, she often prefers to be together with her partner as they climax. Be it either have them inside her as they cum or the opposite with women, to get her partner to writhe and come undone by and on her tongue - there's something more pleasurable to her in climaxing together and inside. K: When it comes to kinks, there's a lot that she still needs to try for herself and get with on more experienced partners, but it's been a habit to get on Edging herself which leads her to enjoy Orgasm control too - bringing her own nature of a more submissive person, she'd also enjoy being dominated; granted that her dominant partner would have to earn it out of her, similar to a struggle for power despite her being aware of where her position already lies in. F: Alun prefers to be closer to her partners, she likes to be able to look at them, to feel their bodies close, to be able to hold, grab and scratch as she needs - so she prefers positions that enable all of that, like good ol' missionary. But it doesn't stay on only that one - she only needs someway to look/hold, she won't refuse a position where she can't do those things, which can be interesting if her partner wants to tease her some and not allow it.

"Estinien, this is my darling brother. And on that note, I think we have an addition to our team. I refuse to let anyone else have him." It's settled, just like that.