It was, she thought, somewhat ironic that the scars on her leg would be opposite the protection wards Andaeros had so carefully tattooed on her. Tinnaire rebandaged the long gashes on her thigh again, wincing at the still smarting wounds. They kept breaking open, even past the stitches and light healing she’d received. It must have been tied to getting drained of her mana.

The tattoo on her other leg was recharging on pace with her personal mana and would be good as new with just a little more rest. Another excuse to lounge in bed and eat junk food. She had never been drained before. In all her years fighting the Legion and even having battled frequent mana stalkers, it had never happened. It had not been pleasant. But nothing about the evening had been pleasant at the time. Fiorenze had rightly fortified the secluded alchemy lab. She and Dajjalen had had to translocate in as the more mundane entrances had been sealed long ago, only ventilation opened for the lab by winding through the walls. Tinnaire had felt the fel magic before she saw any of the telltale glow, but when not just the sayaad Nimneth had been summoned, but also the felhunter, Tinnaire and Dajjalen had both been as taken aback as the two demons. Tin frowned to remember the tumble of limbs and feelers tumbling in the runed circle. That damn dog had always adored that succubus. Followed her to its own doom.

Well, kind of.

The beast hadn’t been intended to be brought, and as such, had been able to bolt out of the trap not meant for him. While Dajjalen had dealt with Nimneth, Tinnaire had been in the way of the erratic, confused, and vicious fel hunter. It had bounced around the room like a rubber ball, lashing with feelers and teeth, seeking escape. The claws had the woman across the leg as she tried to kick it off her. It was enough of a battle to leave her drained and hurt, but she’d gotten her own few marks on the demon before it had scrambled through the fresh air intake, smearing fel blood and mana residue in its wake. Fiorenze’s servants might have laughed if they could have seen the confrontation. It must have been something to see. Then again, maybe not. Setting a demon loose in the walls was probably never appreciated. Tinnaire snorted with wry amusement. She’d been assured no one else had been hurt, but several of the Tel’vaiel estates carefully magicked enchantments had been made a tasty snack for the creature, and he had not been found before he had fled again.

Warnings: Watch nerd lingo written by an absolute amateur

Summary: Attzi repairs a watch near and dear to her heart.

@daily-writing-challenge

----

“Aw, shit,” Attzi muttered, pulling her index finger to her mouth and sucking on it sullenly as she looked around her workbench, trying to figure out where that spring had just sprung to. She tasted blood against her tongue and muttered another curse around her finger. The part that had just drawn her blood was easily replaceable, but she really, really needed to find it all the same. This specific watch, she wanted to be as close to the original as possible.

No luck. She pulled her magnifying glasses down and did another pass of the bench. It had been the mainspring that’d flung itself out into the Void and cut her along the way, so it wasn’t like she was looking for something small. With a sigh, she slipped out of her chair and fell to her hands and knees, creeping along the floor.

She felt a brief moment of glee when the spring came into view, which quickly crashed back down into frustration when she realized that it was broken. The stupid thing had somehow survived the explosion, only for it to snap because she hadn’t wound it right?

“Fuck.” Attzi sat cross-legged on the floor, briefly burying her head in her hands. There were plenty of spare parts on her workbench, but this had been her cousin Fyx’s watch, and every little bit she couldn’t save felt like a failure to him, somehow. It’d been his design, which was honestly part of the problem she’d been having.

Maybe she wasn’t ready to tackle this, yet. Maybe a few more test repairs of other pocketwatches? She sighed and clawed through her hair, realizing immediately that she was stalling again. It’d been too many years. If she wasn’t ready to fix it now, she wasn’t ever going to be.

“Wherever ya are, ya’d better not be laughin’ at me,” she muttered as she picked up the pieces of the mainspring, dropping them in the nearby trash bin. “Th’ more I study, th’ more I think the design a’ this watch just sucks, just so's ya know.” As she spoke, she pulled a new mainspring out and loaded it into the winder, being sure to go slowly and get it right.

This time, she managed to get it set properly without cutting herself and ending back creeping across the floor. She closed the barrel around the mainspring, and then carefully set it back into the tray she was using to organize all the parts. Only one thing was left: it was time to really dig in and see why there was an extra set of gears in the watch.

At first, she’d thought that her family had just collected all the parts they could find in the aftermath, which would have explained the mishmash of bits she’d been given. But the more time she'd spent with them, the more she could tell that the vast majority of the parts she had had not only fit together once, but had been a singular unit when the lab exploded. Fixing the bent pins meant to hold the gearworks together correctly had been a tedious task in trial and error. Replacing the gems, which had disintegrated in the blast, had taken even longer, because they were all custom sized, and had original fittings she'd had to reverse-engineer. It was a massive learning experience, especially for someone who learned a slowly as she did these days.

But the case was clean and restored now, and she’d just finished the new dial last week. And she was pretty sure that the extra set of gears had something to do with the spare button on the side of the watch. What it had done for Fyx, she had no idea, and no matter how hard she tried to sort it out, something about the parts was eluding her. So she settled back in and went through rebuilding the watch, part by part, yet again. Maybe this time, something would stand out. As she worked, she hummed to herself, and turned on extra lights as needed once the light began to fade.

*****

It was late at night by the time Attzi pushed her glasses up against her forehead and stared down at the watch. She’d replaced all the missing parts, but the extra button on the side wasn’t doing anything, as far as she could tell. She rubbed at her eyes, trying to stifle her annoyance that all the watch work had flaked the paint on her claws at the edges, and willed her tired mind to think of something.

Maybe… maybe she’d used the wrong metals? She pulled her glasses back down and started swiping through the different lenses, studying the watch from a different perspective every time they clicked. Extra magnification? Nothing. Checking for Fel infusion? Nothing. It wasn’t until she flipped to the setting that allowed her to check for magic that she realized what had been going wrong.

She leaned her chair onto its back legs, rocking away from the table and taking a moment to laugh. All these years, and she’d never once checked to see if the parts were enchanted? Fyx hadn’t been an enchanter, but still. Attzi looked over the extra gearworks and realized that the original parts were heavily magical, but the parts she’d replaced were not. She teased the gears apart with her claws, carefully dropping the enchanted ones into one container, and her mundane replacements into another. Once she was done, she took her glasses off, and rested her head on her arms against the table, letting herself laugh out all the stress and tension.

Day 7: Laughter/Wound

Warnings: Blood, scars, loss of limbs, descriptions of gore.

@daily-writing-challenge

The door to her room for the night shuts almost silently as she closes it behind her. With a learned swiftness she makes sure the door is locked and places a small sigil onto the door to keep it chained shut. Just in case. Always have to try and think a few steps ahead in case something or someone decided to try to do...anything really. Honestly she isn't sure why but she does not feel more at ease unless she has done so. And so it will be.

She goes through her ritual of removing her armor and such, albeit this time it is a simple black robe. With crisp folds she places it onto the bed right next to a bag of items. A small box with sticks inside, a small candle, a beautiful glass bottle full of liquid, and some sweets. Noting that she did have everything she paid for, she moved over to the bathroom and began to wipe her lips of the glitter that had been stuck onto them for what feels like hours now. As she takes a few quiet steps back, her head tilts to the right as she looks over herself. The binding runes looked like they were good as always; she keeps track in case she may need to get more placed upon her if she cannot handle her demon. Her clawed nails drag over her neck as she rubs against the large jagged piece of flesh that had been sliced quite some time ago....maybe ten years? More? Time slipped through her hands like small sand particles and she couldn't really keep a track on what day was what unless she was trying to keep it in her mind.

Little clicks come from her claws bumping into one another as she moves it towards her right shoulder. A large scar that encircled right where her shoulder met her arm seemed to still be bright compared to her skintone. Her thumb digs into it and a faint trickle of numbed sensation tickles around where she pressed. Leading the same hand down to her left thigh was one just like it; stark in tone and a large band around her leg. Many more miscellaneous marks had been littered over her body but those three always stood out the most; both physically and mentally.

As if she was dragged back to that fight she remembers the feeling of her arm and leg being grabbed seconds after another. A tight deep damage inflicting grip was on them both until...nothing.

And then everything at once came rushing in.

The quick tug of her flesh being ripped from her body, dislocating and unlatching bones from one another. Muscles being set on fire from the rage of pain that coursed through to the damaged flesh. Adrenaline only doing so much to damper the pain but it felt like it couldn't help at all with her blood spilling in black streams. As a scream tried to come from the depths of her soul, she was kicked with an ungodly amount of strength in the chest. Multiple loud cracks came from now broken ribs and from when her body collided into a nearby rock.

The rest becomes hazy as she knew others of her order came and finally put the last few hits on the...void being. She only knew when she saw the golden eyes of Kardanos staring down at her that they had won. He was speaking to her but her mind couldn't understand nor focus on the sounds being spewed towards her. Her kneeled down and tried to pick her up but only caused a rupture of pain to rocket through the two of them. She knew he would have continued if not for her current state. So her ordered one of the other members they had with them to take her quickly back to base.

Next thing she knows she is being placed down onto a slab on stone that felt nice against her warm skin. Her breaths were slower as she focused on trying to keep control of herself. Those same golden eyes came forth into the room and he kneeled down to look at her face to face.

A lazy and unguarded smile was what she showed him. "Hey big guy...We did it...Right? Did we get him?" Her smile turns to a grimace as she clenches her teeth tightly against each other to try and ride out another wave of pain. A somber look came over Kards face as he let out a faint chuckle. "You should have seen his face, Wivien! Got him in a surprise shot. Ve got him alright...and ve got you and ze others that had been vounded here too."

A wave of pure relief rushed over her and she began to laugh. With that knowledge she had a wave of catharsis wave over her and in result led to her laughing. Kardanos couldn't help but laugh as well till he fell silent. His gaze stared at the collecting blood and he turned his head towards the main opening of the base.

"SELYIN ARE YOU FUCKING READY YET?!! SHE NEEDS TO GO! NOW!"

Wivien knew he meant her. Out of everyone she was one of the most wounded. The Draenei talked to her some more, trying to keep her focus but she couldn't truly listen. The other Illidari, Selyin, finally came in and picked her up with no difficulty. She couldn't fight the touches to her skin even if she wanted to, and the idea was nawwing it's way through her brain. It was strange for her to be in this kind of hold, being held princess style in someone else's arms. Never thought she would be the one carried like that.

As she went through the portal, Wivien's mind came back to the present with a small frown. She would never get that weak again. Never allow herself to get in such a situation unless it was needed. With a quick shake of her head she turns her attention to one of the cake pops and takes it out of the wrapping and plops it into her mouth, letting it carry her away from her past memories with the taste of sweet red velvet cake and cream cheese frosting.

He was no stranger to wounds.

During his time serving Ishgard he’d experienced a fair few - some that left almost no scars, they were barely worth talking about, and some that left him barely clinging to life.

His time with the mercenary groups he’d previously traveled with…and even with the Wolves - had produced their own wounds…and their own scars in turn. It was part of the job - the risks and the possible consequences. He knew that, and he’d accepted it long before.

But those…the scars would fade, with time - even the most recent, the one in the middle of his chest, was fading more and more with each passing day.

There were some wounds - the less visible, the ones only he knew existed - that felt like they were still as fresh as the day they happened…even if that had been during his childhood.

All he could do was hope that they too would fade with enough time - and remind himself that though the wounds were there, they didn’t dictate his life unless he let them - he, for the first time in a long time…had things to look forward to.

Laughter / Wound ( @daily-writing-challenge​ @kthalentia​ )

World: Final Fantasy 14

Theme: Star of the County Down - The Captain’s Beard

First Mate J'amsi looked up from her meal once she realized she didn't hear the scrubbing of the deck like she ordered just a bell prior. That means it was time to put on her big girl breeches and knock some skulls together until the lazy bastards did what they were told. It wasn't easy being the only woman aboard the Quarry’s Crown, and the smallest of the crew; she had to be twice as tough as everyone else just to break even, and she needed to ferociously fight for her respect lest her authority go overboard. If the crew was no longer taking her seriously…

She snatched her eyepatch from the desk and slipped it over what remained of her right eye, adjusted her coat and belt, plucked her sword and scabbard from the stand, and stormed outside to deal with this insolent insubordination. Just as she feared, there was not a soul cleaning the main deck– in fact there was naught but the seagulls circling overhead beneath the backdrop of twinkling stars. They were only ten malms away from the nearest port, but that didn’t mean pirates wouldn’t ambush them so close to the shore; the fact that nobody was at their post and keeping watch of an impending attack made her blood boil. Then she heard it– the familiar rumble of voices beneath her leather boots coming from below deck.

Instead of stomping down the steps and hollering at the top of her lungs to send these cockroaches scampering, something convinced her to approach quietly to see what they were up to. It was dark in the bowels of the ship, reeking of all manner of rums, ales, and lots and lots of sweat; she wisely stuck to the windows to clear her lungs with the scent of saltwater, but she kept to the shadows until she saw their backs at the stern of the ship. They were drinking through their wares, which was nothing particularly shocking for a bunch of land-starved sailors, but they were also singing. And one voice was louder and sweeter than anything she’s ever heard before.

“In Aleport Town, on the Quarry’s Crown! Last second astral moon! From a cold crisp day came a Miqo’te, and she stole me heart so soon! She looked so sweet, from her steel-tipped feet, to the cap of her auburn hair! Such a coaxin’ elf, sure I shook meself, to be sure I was really there!” It was their newest recruit and the only other Miqo’te aboard the ship– K’thalen Tia, just a boy five summers her junior, riding on a shoulder as the crew swung and swayed to the song he was singing. Even two more joined him for what certainly had to be the chorus. “From Moraby Bay, up to South Shroud Quay and from Ul’dah to the island towns! No maid I’ve seen, like the ‘qo’te queen, that I met on the Quarry’s Crown!”

J’amsi narrowed her eyes as they sang their sea shanty; the boy had some sweet pipes on him, she had to give him that… but singing wasn't working, and there was still work to do before they pulled into port. She stepped forward to begin pushing her way through the crowd to apprehend and reprimand him, but before she managed to touch the first shoulder, the second round of verses came rolling from his honeyed voice.

“As she onward sped, sure I scratch me head, n’I looked with a feelin’ rare! And I say, say’s I, to a passer-by, “Who’s the maid with the auburn hair”? Well he smiled at me and he says, say’s he, “That’s the gem of Lominsa’s town! That’s the sweet Amsi, from the shores o’ the east, she’s the star of the Quarry’s Crown!”

She froze mid-stride once she realized this song was about her. Her face hardened and she felt a burning heat roasting the nape of her neck and her cheeks, seemingly so angry she was paralyzed with rage. Her blazing stare stayed fixed on K’thalen’s grinning face, who was too oblivious and too deep in his song and drink to see her at the back of the room.

“At the harvest fair, I’ll be surely there, and I’ll dress in me nicest clothes! With me shoes shone bright n’me hat turned right, for a smile from the auburn rose! No pipe I’ll smoke, no bird I’ll yoke, to me plough is rusten brown! Till a smilin’ bride by me own fireside, sits the star of the Quarry’s Crown!”

“From Moraby Bay, up to South Shroud Quay and from Ul’dah to the island towns! No maid I’ve seen, like the ‘qo’te queen, that I met on the Quarry’s Crown! From Moraby Bay, up to South Shroud Quay and from Ul’dah to the island towns! No maid I’ve seen! Like the Miqo’te queeeeen! That I met, on the Quarry’s… Crown!” The crew burst into laughter as the song ended, deafening the lower decks of the ship with their boisterous roars and cheering. They raised their mugs high into the air and all took several hearty gulps, their faces flushed red as most of them staggered from the slight swaying from the waves clapping against the hull. It wasn’t until one sailor turned to leave did he almost bump into the First Mate, choking on his tankard of ale. One by one the realization that they’ve been had came to them, spreading like wildfire until the chorus of voices died down. K’thalen seemed to be the last one to notice, looking around confused from their sudden lack of motivation to continue to the next song when his gaze finally met hers, and the color drained from his face.

“Thalen. My quarters. NOW.” She commanded, her voice dripping with barely restrained fury. He hopped off a roegadyn’s shoulder, knocked back his mug to prevent wasting it, and scampered past J’amsi to hurry up the steps. She kept her hand on the hilt of her sword as she stormed up after him. When she reached her cabin, he was inside standing at attention between her desk and hammock. His bright yellow eyes flashed to her once she shut the door behind her, but returned to the wall as soon as she turned around to look at him. “That was an interesting song.” She sneered, stepping closer. “Where did you learn that from?”

“I uh… I made it up, ma’am.” He sheepishly answered, knowing he was only making it worse for him.

“Made it up?” J’amsi repeated, perking a brow. “So… this ‘maid with auburn hair’ is supposed to be me, is it? And what’s this about being your bride? Are you trying to piss me off?”

“I ain’t tryin’ nothin’ o’the sort, ma’am. I saws your pretty hair n’gaze so I figured I’d write ya a song. I dropped me parchment on the floor n’one o’ the lads found it. Explainin’ it woulda been hard, so we went to singin’ it instead.” Thalen closed his eyes as he felt her ‘pretty gaze’ drilling a hole into his temple.

“I don’t have a pretty gaze.” J’amsi calmly yet firmly reminded him; she couldn’t afford to have the crew thinking she’s some saucy tart, or they’ll never respect her command ever again. She didn’t claw her bloody way up the ranks of the ship to be undermined by some young pup with a talent for singing. “Lost my eye in a pirate ambush. Had to stitch my lids closed to keep it from slipping down my face like jelly. What do you think about that?”

“It don’t bother me none, ma’am.” He replied, catching her off guard. “Wounds like yours woulda put me outta work fer the rest o’me life. But ya don’t let it get ya down… I find that… uhh… what’s them words… inspirin’? I’m sure ya’d be real pretty even without that patch. Er… ma’am.” Instinctively she reached up to place a hand over her eyepatch, feeling heat rising into her cheeks once more. “I-if ya want I’ll never sing nothin’ like that ever again! Swears on me life!”

“Turn around and look at me.” She ordered, feeling her heart pounding against her chest. When he awkwardly turned to face her, she pulled off her eyepatch to show him the gruesome blotch that used to be her eye; the stitches were poorly done– likely done in haste by herself, and without anything to dull the pain. “What do you think about your foolish song now? Do I look like some sort of… Miqo’te Queen to you now?”

K’thalen clenched his jaw and gulped dryly before hesitantly opening his mouth to speak. “... yes ma’am. Yer the gem o’ the Quarry’s Crown alright. Would take more than that to make me think otherwise.”

“You better think otherwise before I toss you overboard.” J’amsi snapped, causing him to stiffen. “Since you’re so determined to bury yourself, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to spend the morning cleaning the deck– by yourself– and you will have it done before I wake up on the morrow. Do you understand me?”

“P-perfectly, ma’am.” K’thalen looked like he was about to deflate. “Can I go do me duties now…?”

“So eager to leave, are you?” J’amsi grabbed the back of her chair and sat down before kicking her feet up on the desk. “I want you to sing that song for me again before you leave.” Her hardened expression remained as still as stone, but her reddening cheeks sung a different tune.

“M-ma’am…?” K’thalen asked, confused again.