To Athral’s apartment she sends a Starlight parcel of his own, having agonized a bit over just what to give him. The man remains an enigma in many ways though he be an open book in others, and she hadn’t desired to offend him by giving him something he hated... but one of the best things about Starlight, she thinks, is muddling through it yourself. And so rather than go to her husband for guidance, Ane had wracked her brain for many an evening before finally settling on the contents of this heavy box.

Various jars labeled in various hands thanks to her kindhearted students mark their contents as all sorts of traditional remedies found throughout Othard... and, perhaps, a few trade secrets from her own home village in Yama. Ointments for disinfecting wounds, balms to soothe irritated skin, and herbal-smelling pastes to hasten healing are just a few of their number, and rolls of clean linen bandages find their homes nestled among the glass containers. There’s a new whetstone wrapped in a soft leather case and bound with a dark cord, and a small hunting knife beside it tucked snuggly into its embossed sheath.

From up out of the parcel wafts the smell of food; smoked bacon and uncured loaghtan sausage are both packaged in loose cheesecloth. A small loaf of scratchmade herb bread comes paired with a little jar of fresh butter, and settled nearby are two small bags for keeping a hearty portion of roasted chestnuts separate from the candied pecans that tempted her sorely as she prepared them just last night. And finally in place of her typical tea offering, perhaps that thing that will be what catches his eye first and foremost, is a hand-corked bottle of homemade mulled wine. Ginger, orange peel, star anise, cloves, cinnamon sticks, and sour red wine have all come together into a warm, spicy concoction that she hopes he will enjoy... but hopefully not too much. Somewhere in the back of her mind she worries that he drinks to excess, but so, too, does she want to give him something he will certainly like. Not tea, no, but warming and pleasant all the same.

“Cut the crap. I know a dragon’s aether when I see it”, Athral replies without missing a beat, though his tone and smile remain sickly sweet. He reaches out and, with almost gentle force, pushes the elezen’s hand holding his drink down to the counter again before he moves closer. To the other patrons of the tavern it would look like some agressive flirting with how Athral pulls the other man down to eye level to whisper to him.

“I’m really not in the mood to start a bar fight today, but I could definitely use some extra gil, so how about we take this outside, mosshead?”

“Aw, geez..”

The hand Athral had pressed down on his own was pushed away with Galen’s free hand, the elezen not breaking eye contact as he licks his own lips clean of the last of his ale. With a somewhat resigned look in his eyes he smirks and pushes back in his seat to stand up, making sure to keep Athral at arm’s length as he reaches into his jacket and withdraws his usual lilac lipstick.

He doesn’t look away as he re-applies the lipstick, not til he pockets it once more and turns to step outside, stopping only to quickly pick up his lance on the way out.

If Athral were watching the reflection in the mirror (as he most certainly was), he might pick up on the slightest of eyerolls from the prince. There’s no sense in acting upset about Athral’s poor manners; to do so would only spur his pet to be more annoying and he had a sneaking suspicion Athral enjoyed being punished.

So instead he shrugged his shoulders lightly, carefully focusing on the liquid eyeliner as he brushed it on.

“I have to look my best for when I win. My reputation is as much my beauty as it is my swordsmanship.” 

Athral growls and pushes the lanky elezen off with ease, though likely in no small part due to Charibert leaping out of range himself. Apparently the former Heavens’ Ward has learned his lesson from their last encounter, as annoying as that may be, and rather keeps his distance.

Athral jumps off the cart, dragging his merchant-charge with him. It wouldn’t do to get the man killed simply because there was too much of a distance between them for him to block another oncoming attack. As happens with the chocobos only a moment later. The mercenary’s lips curve down into a frown. His nose twitches as he glares at Charibert.

“Neither did I, so if you’d kindly fuck off; I have work to do here and I believe I told you to stay the hell out of my sight.”

Charibert certainly does seem more wary this time, his gaze focused more on Athral than the merchant at this time. He would have to separate the two - not a huge task if he still held mastery over his flames, but the distance and Athral’s skill were both great enough to keep the assassin at a distance.

“Now now, is that how you talk to a friend~?” There’s a soft , rhythmic clinking of his steel claws against the hilt of the blade in that hand, an impatient tapping of his foot as he studies Athral and looks for any opening to strike down the merchant.

Absolutely. I’d sacrifice Y’shtola to see more of Thancred. We’ve already found out what happened to her in the Lifestream and what the cost is, so why not let us learn the same about Thancred? Why even bring up the thing with his aether if it’s just going to be DROPPED?

A hoarse groan rises in Athral’s dry throat as the world around him slowly comes into focus again. Who’s that thing in front of him? It … is human. And it speaks, in a voice that he recalls he finds irritating. It takes a few moments before the words begin to make sense to him.

“I’m … ‘wake …”, the mercenary croaks out and his voice sounds strangely distorted in his own ears. Probably due to his dry throat and mouth. He needs water. And food. Anything really, he’s so, so very hungry…

Curiously enough, it doesn’t surprise him to find that he’s restrained. It seems like an almost normal occurrence these days.

“…’hungry….”

     Well, perhaps this had at least cured the man’s aether problem?

If one could fix a hole by making an even bigger hole, anyway.

      A faint smile graces Noudenet’s lips as he holds a cup of water up to the creature’s mouth. He was awake and he was talking, that was a huge success! Now he would just have to figure out how to feed him. Perhaps the crystals Mono drew energy from would be sufficient in the end, Noudenet isn’t certain what sort of beast the forced void of aether has created.

“Let me get you something to eat, okay~? Did you want some bread?” Setting the cup aside he undoes a couple of the bindings so Athral can at least stretch, although his ankle remains chained on a short lead to the wall.

“Taking on a squadron of dravanian outflyers alone? True enough. But they lie slain in the snows and I yet live, as does the unfortunate knight who nearly lost a limb to their fangs. Hale and whole with all limbs accounted for.” The elezen said as he pulled his own bandage taut. As testament to his own great skill in battle, he hardly suffered many injuries that needed direct tending. Aside from this one, stubbornly-bleeding cut. Tying off the dressing, he rose to dispose of the washbasin of blood-tinted water and wash his hands in the nearby sink. 

“Of course, Adel would have my head if he knew that I was so reckless in the field…” He mused half to himself, and paused then, looking a bit more squarely at Athral.

♬ | Ane takes a quick step back out of instinct, feeling the air move somewhere in front of her. She does not flinch as the axe is brought so near to her face, keeping quite still apart from how the dark waves of hair tickle her cheeks as they settle back into place. Her reaction is rather strange, especially given how someone had seemed keen to divorce her head from the rest of her body, but Athral makes quick work of the reason for why. It is not in her nature to shrink in the face of danger, and so beyond gently repositioning herself when the air had stirred in warning, she has no intentions of fleeing the scene or calling for help. Her demeanor is calm even now, and when coupled with her iron will and stubborn streak, it is surprisingly difficult to rattle her. All that’s missing is a delicate hand reaching out to brush the axe away from her face as though it were nothing more than a fly buzzing about her head, and such is the manner with which she speaks. She addresses him as if he were no more than a gentle annoyance, a sort of curiosity in her home, rather than the intruder he actually is. He had the opportunity to dispatch her and did not, had the chance to run and had not, and so she reasons he must have some business here... even if she does not particularly care for how he’s gone about conducting it.

Or himself, really.