#gageverse

Special thank you to @scrollsfromarebornrealm, whose Augustine and Sebastian belong to! As well as @saesama, who Klynt belongs too!

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Thalia's activity for the afternoon consisted of furiously pacing back and forth in her Free Company room. She was far too preoccupied with a certain issue rattling around in her brain.

Sebastian Astralyas was out of his damn mind.

Zoissette looked up at the training dummy.

It loomed over her, all arms and weapons and shields and intimidation.

She tightened the little wooden shield around her arm, and brought her little wooden sword up as she dropped into ready stance, and took several deep breaths.

"I know what I'm doing, I know what I'm doing, I know what I am doing" she told herself quietly, before setting the armature spinning into motion.

She lasted just about six seconds. She knew that, because her chronometer's mainspring had been flung free when she had been knocked solidly against the wall.

She shook her head free, and looked towards the door to the training room, and froze.

If anyone in the manor heard, mother or father or otherwise, there was no indication they were coming, and she relaxed a little.

Well.

It was a start.

-*-

She was learning magic for the first time, and it was very exciting.

Even if her Miqo'te instructor was, she was pretty sure, younger than herself. And possibly had one of the -sharpest- tongues she had ever encountered.

Still, though. There was a logic to be followed, both for the magic itself and her instructor, and she found herself enjoying the new rules.

However, eventually, she must exceeded the Miqo'te's patience, as her would-be teacher put her hands on her hips, and folded back her ears as she frowned.

"Do they teach you nothing at all in Ishgard? How do you not know what you are doing!?" she asked, exasperated.

"Since they did teach me nothing, why would I know what I was doing?" she asked in return.

The other girl frowned, and turned her back, arms crossed, and did not respond.

"...I wish you would not assume what I know," she eventually said, quietly, and a bit miserably. "I wish everyone would stop assuming what I know. I - I'm not - I am not dumb. I promise."

She took a deep breath, and let it out slow. Her instructor did have a logic to her, and she tried to appeal to it now.

"I would like to try again, but perhaps slower. Let me ask my questions. I am not trying to annoy you, I promise. I am just trying to figure out what it is that I do not know. Things that I think you take for granted. After all, I'm not - I am not - from Sharlayan. But I am curious. Just curious. That is all."

The Miqo'te girl looked over her shoulder at her, and she gave her her best smile in return. Sharp though the Miqo'te may be, she had entertained her thus far, and deep down, she liked her. She was smart, and she had given the Ishgardian more time than any other in Sharlayan. More time than she perhaps deserved.

The tail on the Miqo'te swished back and forth, and with a beleaguered sigh, she turned around.

"...how could I say no to such an earnest request?" she said.

-*-

She looked at herself in the mirror.

She straightened the lapels on her jacket, and lifted her head slightly to adjust her collar. She ran a hand down her pants legs, smoothing them out. She was too tall, and her outfit made her look even taller, but she no longer cared.

She heard one of the handmaidens knock at the door at let herself in, and judging from the gasp, it was Rose. She turned, and regarded her cooly.

"Oh, Halone, blessings be upon me, dearie, where is your dress!? You -absolutely- cannot go to a formal ball dressed like- dressed like-!"

Rose was turning some amusing colors, and Zoissette smiled at her wanly as she strode right past the woman.

"I know precisely what I am doing," she said.

After all, the idea of her finding romance - or even as little as a practical sort of husband - was laughable, now.

She might as well make a statement before she went to join the guard.

And besides, the lines suited her frame better, she thought.

-*-

Her mother met her. Too late for both of them. Too late for her mother to stop her. Too late for her to care.

Her mother's eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly as she saw her daughter, and she drew herself up, and raised her chin slightly.

Probably just because Zoissette was the taller of the two, and had been for some time.

"Why, daughter?" she asked. Even when she was quiet, her voice still held power.

Zoissette frowned at her.

"It was the right thing to do," she said. "And this way, the name of House Vauban is preserved. One stain on our name, one name lost to scrub it away. Clean."

Lady Vauban's brow furrowed, and Zoissette met it evenly. But only for a moment.

She had much to do before fully embracing her new life as an exile, and the sooner this conversation was over, the sooner she could get to it.

"You should have reached out to me. Our House has allies. I have friends. There are people I know. What you did was unnecessary. I could have -"

"Could have what, mother? Lied to the Inquisition? Or perhaps covered up the crime? Jonys is a heretic, now. And the last place he was at was the fort. My command. The command you bid me take over. So now, I have done the right thing. I have taken responsibility."

She took a deep breath in, and let it out slow.

Her mother just shook her head, and Zoissette thought she could see the faint gleam of tears in her eyes.

"The son was lost. That is my responsibility. But to lose the daughter at the same time. I ask you again. Why."

Zoissette looked at her flatly, and did not feel like explaining. It was obvious to her. The family would live on. The Inquisition would question them, but would not condemn them, for judgement had already been passed. They would be protected by Zoissette's actions.

"I know what I am doing," she said firmly, before turning away.

Truthfully, her family would be better off without her anyroad.

-*-

The Assessor's office had been her home for many moons.

They had taken her in, and either did not know or did not care for her history. At first, she had thought it the former. After a while, she knew it was the latter, sort of.

Limsa Lominsa was full of many colorful characters, after all, and if you could not shed an unwanted past in a city of pirates, then where would you be able to at all? Second chances where available, for those who wanted them.

And she had made the most of it. She had been a rising star at the Assessor's Office, diligent and dutiful. The zealot from the North, a slave to rules. But once she had started solving the puzzles of them for herself, she found a way to be flexible in a way she found acceptable, and the others warmed to her.

Her questioning nature had been to her advantage as well. She had been in more than a few scrapes, to be sure, and despite her straight-laced ways, she found ways to get into more trouble than many at the office. However, her investigations had earned the Assessor's Office a fair bit of take from those who had gotten used to skirting the rules, had revealed a smuggling ring, found no small amount of missing goods, broken the back of a slaver's market, and, most recently, had solved a missing person's case that had put the city on edge.

That last is what had pushed her over. She had gathered the attention of members of a few organizations who thought she may be a useful ally, and had even made the notice of the Admiral herself.

Thubyrgeim met her at the sign-in board on her way out. The acting guildmaster looked her up and down, and sized her up.

Probably for the last time.

She stood a little straighter for it.

"You certain, then?" Thubyrgeim asked.

It was a good question. The Assessor's Office had been the first place in long memory where she had felt that she had a chance at belonging.

But in that same long memory, this felt like the first opportunity she had to perhaps really make herself useful in a way that made the world better.

"I know what I am doing," she said.

Thubyrgeim smiled, and nodded at that.

"I wish you luck, then. And I hope you should look to the improvement of your discipline if you are to keep pace with all that is certain to follow."

Zoissette nodded, and shortly, was on her way.

-*-

The new girl and Dark entered Erick's office. He looked up at them, frowning, before steepling his hands in front of him.

"Ladies," he said.

"Sign this," said Dark, putting a sheet of paper down in front of him. He looked up and saw the new girl had found one of his paintings to stare at. He sighed, and picked up the sheet of paper. He trusted Dark completely, but he also had a policy of reading everything he ever signed.

His failing to do so just once early in his career had plagued him ever since. He had thought himself cagey and canny, and more than savvy enough, but the Maelstrom had pulled one over on him, and he had cursed his and their existence ever since.

So with an overabundance of caution at the forefront of his mind, he looked over the contract. Dark contented herself with crossing her arms and leaning against a wall. The other woman seemed to almost vanish from his consciousness as she somehow made herself unnoticeable, staring off at... something or another, it wasn't important.

He read the contract slowly and carefully once, then again, then very quickly a third time.

"You're kidding," he said.

Dark gave him a grin.

"You finally got me out of having to go on every gods-forsaken expedition when they so much as smell a whiff of Drowned in the Seagrot."

"And we still get to keep the contract, aye," said Dark. "Just now we can subcontract it out, or use it for training some of the greener members, instead of always sending you."

"How did you do it!?" he exclaimed, almost giddy with happiness and relief and, oh, whoever had worked this magic had also managed to put in a rider clause that if he did go, he would be paid a bonus in tomestones for doing so.

"It is almost as if I knew what I was doing." Erick startled at the new girl speaking up. She was not quite what he would call soft-spoken, but she had not said a word in the meeting up until now, and her voice carried an odd sort of power with it.

He looked at her with a frown. She was still staring off somewhere, seeming to be distracted.

His face slowly split into a grin, as he stood up and offered a hand.

"A canny operator, I see. I like that, I like that. Great! Dark, make sure to get her a contract. I would like to formally keep you on retainer here at Gage Acquisitions."

The woman seemed to finally be paying attention, and she looked at his hand quizzically before reaching out to shake it.

"Welcome aboard," he said, before briskly walking out of the room. "This calls for a celebration!"

Once he was gone, Zoissette looked quizzically at Dark Autumn.

Dark just shook her head, and shrugged with a smile before walking off.

-*-

She had a decision to make.

Her friends were kidnapped, and what an underwhelming word that seemed at the moment. They were prisoners of the Garlean Empire, currently being held at one of their castrums. There was a small window, rapidly narrowing, in which she and hers could rescue them with the force they could muster. It would be a near thing.

And the plan hinged upon trusting a person who had been one of the Garlean Empire's foremost weapons against primals.

Nyx Blackmoon.

Anti-Eikon Infantry Project Nyx.

The woman had assured her that her loyalty no longer lay with the Garleans. They had betrayed her mission, her purpose, she had said. She believed the interests of the Scions were more aligned with her own.

But she was not merely some conscript throwing off the yoke of Garlean oppression. She was apparently noteworthy among the Garleans, a distinguished soldier of some sort.

With her help, they could easily defeat the Castrum's security systems and find their way to the Scions and come out unharmed.

Or this could also be the last step in a long running act of betrayal that would see the rest of Zoissette's friends, as well as herself, in chains, and on their way to the Empire for who knew what kinds of experiments.

She thought of all they had been through. And how reliable the woman had been. And how straightforward she was with her words. Zoissette was not certain she was capable of duplicity.

"So what're we gonna do?" growled Klynt.

Zoissette looked at Klynt. Her other comrade in arms. Like Nyx, she had stood besides Zoissette. Through the flames of Ifrit's inferno, under the landslide of Titan's fury, and in the storm of Garuda's rage.

Well. If she trusted the one, she trusted them both. She had said as much already, back in La Noscea.

"We will trust Nyx," she said. "Same as we always have."

She stood up, and Klynt stood with her. She let out a sigh.

"I sure hope I know what I am doing," she said.

Klynt clapped her on the shoulder, but held her hand there, and after a moment, she reached up to touch it.

"However this goes, we do it together," said Klynt.

Zoissette nodded. "Together."

-*-

The chambers of judgement were cold and gray, just like too many of Ishgard imagined their matron to be. And it suited them well here, where they pretended that they acted in her name.

Zoissette was dressed as a Sharlayan peacekeeper might. Her armor was grays and blues, made of lighter material than Ishgard would have found acceptable, but proven all the same, and laced with magicks to reinforce any shortcomings it may have had.

She glared across the arena where she and hers were to face their accusers in combat. Judged by two of who were supposed to be the Holy See's finest, meting out justice in the name of Halone.

Ser Paulecrain and Ser Grinnaux.

She saw the upturn of Ser Grinnaux's face, the amused curve of his mouth, and her already cold temperament turned glacial.

Klynt leaned close to her, and murmured to her, "Ye sure ye don' wan' me t' try an substitute for Alphy?"

Zoissette shook her head, and was just as quiet when she responded, talking under the High Adjudicator. "No. I intend to end this mummer's farce, but first, I will need to see it through properly."

She offered her forearm to Klynt, and after a moment, Klynt returned the gesture by grasping her forearm. A knight's armclasp, a symbol of the kinship they shared.

"Trust me. I know what I am doing."

Klynt nodded, and Zoissette turned her attention to Alphinaud, saluting him with her sword.

"Lord Leveilleur," she said.

He saluted back. "Ser Vauban," he said. He looked over at their opponents. "Ready when you are."

"Just follow my lead," she said, as the charges against them were finished being stated.

It was good that they were in the halls of Halone. For she was going to show them the Fury.

-*-

The goblin mech swung its sword at her, and she deftly ducked under it before hopping up to its knee and using that at a footstool to leap onto its head. It swung around under her, windy arms flailing to try and knock her off, and she quickly clambered her way to one of the valves on its back and proceeded to shear it clear off with her sword.

No longer able to keep pressure in its engine, the mech slowly sunk to the ground, its limbs still flopping around, but much more slowly and uselessly, as she hopped off and landed on the ground.

The entire time, she had not once looked at it, not really. She was keeping an eye on her fairy familiar instead as it zipped around the space, tracing pipes and following power lines. A three dimensional diagram was beginning to form in the enchantment she had stored in her glasses.

She studied it for a few moments as it continued to fill out, pausing only to bring her shield up to deflect another sword swing before pulling out her heavy pistol and disabling another mech with three clean shots.

"Zoissette! What are you doing!?" yelled Klynt, who was busy playing dragoon pogo between enemies, leaping up into the air and stabbing each of them down, one by one. "We're getting overwhelmed in here!"

Nyx did not say anything. Nyx was busying themself vanishing and reappearing on the backs of the goblin gliders, introducing their kidneys to her swords, and then vanishing again.

"Come on come on come on where is it" muttered Zoissette, before looking up and bringing her shield up to deflect an attack from another mech.

"Are ya just screwin' around or what!?" yelled Klynt.

"I know what I am doing! Just hold them off for a moment longer!" Zoissette yelled, and then, she saw it.

There.

She broke away from the fight, kick sliding underneath a mech before skipping up to her feet and using yet another one as an improvised ladder as she launched herself into the piping in the overhead.

Her fairy familiar met her up there. She quickly pointed at two valves, made a twisting motion with her hands, then pointed at herself before pointing at a lever. The fairy nodded and disappeared, and Zoissette quickly clambered over and through machinery to get to where she wanted to be.

"Whatever you're going to do, better make it quick!" yelled Cid.

She waited. Watched the diagram in her glasses. Waited. Waited. Waited.

Two previously blue valves turned green, and she wrenched the lever, then rolled out from the machinery.

"Get clear!" she yelled, sprinting across the metal plating.

The pipes made a horrible, terrible groaning noise, as Nyx came up on one side of her and Klynt landed neatly on the other, both still facing the enemies Zoissette was certain would be coming up to them as soon as they regrouped.

Cid dispatched another goblin over by the exit with his wrench, and just looked at Zoissette, a question furrowed on his eyebrows.

She just crossed her arms and smiled her best reassuring smile at him.

"Zoissette, th' hells -"

Klynt never finished her sentence as the place exploded. Zoissette could hear the shrieks and yells of goblins scattering behind her, even as steam rushed past her to fill the space and chunks of metal piping rained down around her.

All three of her companions just looked at her. Two of them slack-jawed.

Well, Nyx was Nyx, so that was expected.

She held her hands up and clasped them together while bouncing lightly on her toes.

"I told you I knew what I was doing," she said.

-*-

Kugane had been an interesting city.

At first, it had seemed to be exactly what it appeared to be. A busy and populous port city, welcoming to foreigners, especially their coin. There was shopping and hustling, businesses hawking supposedly exotic wares, arts and celebrations, all the usual trappings one would expect. And it had a veneer of being perhaps the most civilized port on the star. The nature of most port cities in Zoissette's experience was that they had an undercurrent of seediness to them. An unavoidable side effect of all the people coming and going at every hour, ships carrying sins to and fro without a trace, and of the lucrative possibilities of making one's way in such a place. The promise of brutal retaliation by the Sekiseigumi supposedly saw to that.

However, as she spent more and more time in the city, even back and forth in her travels, she felt as though that veneer was more of a veil, and a thin one at that. Apparently for many in the city, turning to the help of an unknown woman with a kind face was a better proposition than trying to find justice from the Sekiseigumi. And so she had found herself being asked to look into everything from a woman's stolen heirloom to investigating counterfeits, found herself chasing rumors into dark alleys, and found herself unable to turn away from the seedy underbelly of the city.

There was something more here. Some pattern behind what seemed to be a lot of unconnected incidents. Her time in the Assessor's office however had granted her experienced insight that sharpened her already keen curiosity. Counterfeit relics, kidnapping, bribery, duplicitous market men and shadows in the night.

And so she had found herself ahead of the Sekiseigumi in uncovering a conspiracy in Kugane, but only just barely. She had time to speak with one of the few amongst their number whom she trusted, a woman she shared a mentor with. They had settled on a plan where Zoissette would move in first, and swiftly, before the situation had a chance to spiral too badly out of control.

And so it was that she found herself in Kugane Castle, a building she found more ostentatious than anything. She watched above from the rafters as her friends engaged a notorious mercenary swordsman. Her fairy familiar hovered near her shoulder as she watched, but it was not the fight she was interested in.

It was the man behind the coin, the one paying the mercenary, and the one who had orchestrated all the events Zoissette had been tracking for what seemed like moons. She had heard of him in rumors and whispers, and have even seen him once or twice, but now she had him clearly in her sight. He was watching the fight, occasionally throwing out coin to 'encourage' the mercenary.

More like to amuse himself, she thought.

However, he eventually seemed to grow bored of the spectacle, and retired to a back room, closing the door carefully behind him. Zoissette frowned, and looked to her fairy, and made several hand gestures at her. The fairy nodded, and flittered off to follow her directions.

Zoissette carefully made her way from the rafters and dropped down on the floor just outside the door she had seen the man disappear through. She held her ear up to it for a moment, and hearing nothing, carefully opened it a crack.

The room beyond was dark, and Zoissette smiled grimly to herself. She eased the door open, and let herself in, closing it quietly behind her.

She let the enchantments on her glasses flare, allowing her to see in the room even before the lights suddenly flooded on. She had already highlighted the two swordsmen - rogue samurai, she believed - and a ninja in the rafters who now had her surrounded.

And on the opposite side of the room sat the target of her investigation, the person behind what seemed to be nearly all the vice in the city. A large Roegadyn male, dressed somehow even more ostentatiously than his surroundings, and with his ridiculous mustache his grin made him look rather like the coeurl that had gotten the cream.

"Kageyama," she said dryly.

"Gwahahahahaha!" he laughed boisterously, gesturing at her with his long pipe. "Looks like the dog that's been sniffin' around has finally stuck her nose in the wrong garbage bin, eh? I thought you might hear of my little party here! But look, I've got the mighty Yojimbo looking after your friends, and my samurai friends here will look after you - and I've still the lord bugyo in my clutches! A mighty ijin of legend, pokin' around where she don't belong! Did you think you knew what you were doin' when you thought to come after me?"

She was only half-paying attention to his words, watching for something in the enchantments in her glasses.

"Well, I've got better business to attend to, but don't worry," he continued to gloat. "My friends here will be more than happy to entertain you."

He turned away from her, waving his pipe in the air at her as he went. The warriors he had hired began to move closer, and Zoissette let one hand hover down near her heavy pistol, even as she reached up a hand to tap the rim of her glasses. She looked off into the distance, not focusing on anything in the room.

"Wait," she said.

Kageyama paused and turned to look at her, but she shook her head at him. "Not talking to you."

He frowned and tilted his head, then turned to leave once more. "Pfeh! Try not to tear her apart too bad. Imagine her beautiful self as a stuffed mannequin!"

She stiffened. Okay, now that was just being maliciously insulting.

"...and maybe we can find some use for that fancy flyer she always has with her. I imagine it'll fetch a pretty price."

He paused, and turned to look.

"Hey, where is that thing anyroad?"

"Twelve fulms to your left," she said to him. Then she looked away into nowhere. "Go."

Kageyama frowned and turned, looking to his left, where he saw the little fairy hovering outside of the window. She smiled and waved a little hand at him.

More surprising however was Klynt coming in through said window, feet first, at speed. Both of her boots met him in the midsection, sending him sailing through the opposing window, and out of the room.

The two samurai turned, but the ninja stayed focused on her. They probably thought they were still being sneaky, judging from how they did not even attempt to dodge as Zoissette quickdrew her heavy pistol and blew the beam they had been standing on out from under them. She was quickly on them, and a solid shield bash to their skull ensured they would be out of the fight for the time being.

One of the samurai whirled on her, while the other one stayed still, indecisive. Without even having to talk, Klynt and herself picked their targets, taking advantage of the confusion in the room.

The fight was over almost before it could even be said to have started.

"Want me to chase after 'im?" asked Klynt, looking to the window she had kicked Kageyama out of.

"No. We need to secure the castle and make sure the hostages are safe," said Zoissette.

Behind her, the door burst open, as Nyx came in, trailed by no few number of Sekiseigumi.

Zoissette dusted herself off. "Turns out I did know what I was doing," she muttered.

-*-

Klynt and Zoissette ran through the castrum as the alarums blared overhead.

"That could've gone better!" yelled Klynt over the din.

"Did not go worse!" returned Zoissette.

The soldiers around them ignored them as they too ran. Which of course made sense. Zoissette had made the engineer announce the castrum's imminent doom over the internal announcement system.

She had done that, of course, to warn the soldiers and workers inside of the castrum's imminent doom.

It was a side-effect of having had Klynt stopper up emergency relief valves while she had gone and taken the central ceruleum boiler up to full power, and then promptly fed the power back into its own pumps to make sure ceruleum would enter it faster, just before cutting the controls to said pumps. Repairs to undo her handiwork would take bells, at best.

Catastrophe, on the other hand, was somewhat closer.

They ran past one particular set of doors. Klynt kept going, but Zoissette stopped to look. Once she noticed, Klynt swore under her breath, and doubled back. As she did so, she saw what it was that had gotten Zoissette's attention.

A neat row of machines that looked the same as Nyx's little airship. They looked to Klynt like the front half of a lizard, with stubby little clawed arms, and its spine dangling down underneath it. With two big propellers and their engines on either side.

"Come on!" said Zoissette, as she ran and jumped into the closest one. Klynt came behind her, reluctantly, and climbed onto the machine's back. It was a small machine, not meant to have more than one person aboard, but Klynt had seen what Nyx's could lift. Weight was not a concern.

Comfort somewhat was.

"Lock the arms in place," she yelled at Zoissette. "Or else the damned thing might castrate me."

"Castrate?" asked Zoissette, as she fiddled with the controls. The engines rumbled to life, and the propellers began to spin. "I do not think you have the bits for that, Klynt."

"Ye'd be surprised what can be torn off," said Klynt grumpily as the machine lifted into the air.

Where they were was a maintenance bay, not a launch bay, and so Zoissette had to carefully steer the airship around towards the large elevator hollow, through the castrum, and hopefully find some way up and out. It was faster than them trying to run out by foot, and a lot more certain way of escape.

In theory.

Klynt winced and gripped onto the machine tighter as it swung wide, one of the propellers chewing huge gouges out of the wall before Zoissette pulled it back rather too far in the other direction. They ricocheted up the elevator shaft, bouncing back and forth, before scraping the ceiling at the top and beginning to speed erratically through a hallway.

"Do you even know what yer doin'!?" yelled Klynt.

"Not really!" yelled back Zoissette, a manic grin on her face.

Several long panicked minutes later that Klynt would need the help of quite a lot of drink to forget, and the airship with its two passengers rocketed free of the castrum, and rode off towards the horizon.

-*-

Zoissette was heads down, looking over the logistics for Gage Acquisitions for the next several sennights stretching into moons that they might need for the latest ventures. The Scions needed aid, and they would provide.

She did not look up when the door to her temporary office in Old Sharlayan opened and closed. Many people had come and gone that day, and most of them hardly needed her attention to do their jobs. She did see Lavender take flight out of the corner of her eye, but that just meant it was likely someone the little fairy liked was dropping by.

"Ser Vauban!"

Her hand stopped, and so did her mind, and she suddenly was looking through the papers rather than at them.

Of all the Scions who could stop by. Many of them she could have deflected easily, or redirected elsewhere, or begged out of social obligations with an excuse of work needing to be done. But there was one, at least, who she simply could not turn away.

"I had heard you and yours had made it ashore not too long after our own arrival. I am best pleased to see you, my friend. My, how long has it been?"

Her thoughts slowly returned to her mind, starting with Longer for you than it has been for me.

She looked up, and was greeted by an irrepressible joyous expression on Alphinaud's face. Even his sister, she could have handled more easily, but not Alphinaud himself. She felt too keenly the pains behind his earnestness, understood too much of the way he looked at the world, knew too much of what had happened to shape the man he had become.

They were more alike than she was wholly comfortable with at the moment.

But he was here, and there was no part of her that could turn him away. So she set her pen aside, and clasped her hands in front of her.

"Greetings, Lord Leveilleur," she said.

The two looked at each other for a long moment, and then they both broke into laughter, hers lighter than his, but present all the same.

"Ah, but it has been too long," said Alphinaud. "May I ask what you are working on just this moment? Perhaps your prowess for inquiry has turned up new avenues for us to explore. Or are you several steps ahead of us, already uncovering that which we seek?"

Zoissette shook her head.

"Paperwork. I am currently planning our luncheons for the next sennight," she said. It was not quite a lie, but she was deliberately underplaying her current task. Without supplies and transport, Gage Acquistions would be of little help to anyone.

"Ah," said Alphinaud, his disappointment obvious. "Well, still. It is still heartening to know that you are close by. With such a staunch ally, there is naught which we cannot overcome. Tell me, can I hope to see more of you in the coming days?"

"We will be around to help as we are able, yes," said Zoissette.

"I... see," said Alphinaud. He sighed as he looked around the office. "I fear your talents are a bit wasted at times, my friend."

"It pays for my research materials," said Zoissette.

It also allowed her to keep her distance.

"Well, I shall not press you further on that," he said, his tone shifting to be lighter. "If I may change tack, then, and ask a question of organization?"

Lavender fluttered about his head before alighting on shoulder, and he smiled and held a finger out to her, which she dutifully shook with both of her little hands.

"Of course. What is on your mind?"

"You and yours were behind us rather swiftly. It took us many moons just to get the agreements in place and make our arrangements. I have been most curious as to how you managed it."

He was being kind in not pushing, she realised, and decided that he deserved better from her.

"Well, Alphinaud, you see, that is the difference between you and I," she said.

"Oh?"

She leaned forward a bit and tapped her pen on the desk twice.

"I know what I am doing," she said.

Alphinaud's shoulders slumped, and he let his head drop forward, as she clasped her hands in front of her face and hid her smile behind them.

"I let myself forget that you can be as bad as Krile," he groaned, and she laughed, deciding to not tell him that it was on the back of Krile's work that she had accomplished her own.

"Well, if you are to be teasing me, I shall be on my way then," he said, straightening up, and giving her a smile. "But if you need help delivering any of those luncheons, I would be more than happy to provide my assistance."

"Thank you. I will keep it in mind," said Zoissette.

He gave a bow, and went on his way. Lavender returned to her spot on the desk, and after watching him leave, Zoissette returned to her paperwork.

She was still smiling.

-*-

Zoissette's mind was already hard at work as she waved goodbye to Riven. She had been kind enough to be willing to meet Zoissette in the Noumenon, so she would be able to return to her research momentarily.

It also meant Y'shtola had been standing nearby while they had had their conversation, but everyone present trusted one another and knew the plan, so that presented no trouble at all.

"A party?" Y'shtola had asked.

Zoissette did not turn to look at her, instead just staring off absently while she arranged the puzzle pieces of the current situation in her head.

"Yes. Lady Leveilleur has been kind enough to gather us invites to several events where Forum members are likely to be in attendance," said Zoissette.

Y'shtola was tapping her chin with her knuckles thoughtfully as she looked at Zoissette.

"This all sounds like work related to Gage Acquisitions. I thought you on sabbatical."

"Ah. My apologies, Arch- Y'shtola. My apologies, Y'shtola. This is not official work. It's, uhm, it is a favour, you know. To Riven. Also we very much do not want this to be any kind of official on the record sort of work, but I promise, this will not distract me too much from our research."

She paused, as she considered the situation. "-any further than it already has, anyroad."

"Worry not on that. What manner of party is this, if I may ask?"

"Formal event. There will be a few announcements meant for the public related to Forum business, but then there shall be a full banquet, with dancing. Not dissimilar to an Ishgardian fête, I should think."

"Indeed. And I suspect that you will need to paying full attention to this plan you two have conjured. If so, it may be best if you attend with another. I wonder if you had someone in mind?"

Another puzzle piece. Y'shtola was right, though. If she went by herself, she would be expected to be more available for the kind of intermingling these events encouraged than if she went with someone else.

"Well, nominally, Mathye, but I believe he will be attending with Riven," she said. She already had them in mind in her arrangement of puzzle pieces.

"I see. Have you given any thought as to what you will be wearing?"

Zoissette frowned. Y'shtola was asking a lot of questions, but, as usual, they were good questions. The end plan would be better for her input.

"No. Why? Probably just my usual formal suit."

"The one you prefer to wear in the course of your legal work and investigations, I presume?"

"Sure. It is nice enough. I should blend in okay. And it is comfortable enough for the evening, I think."

She was beginning to have trouble focusing, and she looked up and away once more, trying to find the puzzle pieces again. She knew what she was doing, she just had to do it.

She wondered when it had gotten so warm in Noumenon.

"Well, I rather think that shall not do."

Zoissette looked down to see that Y'shtola had crossed her arms, and appeared to be studying Zoissette intently. Startled out of her thoughts, she took a step back.

"Y'shtola?"

"If I am to accompany you to this event, you will not do so dressed in such a manner."

Zoissette swore she could feel the physical sensation of her thoughts coming to a sudden halt.

Y'shtola ignored her wide-eyed expression as she began to gather up the books around them. "I shall meet you in your room anon, and we can discuss options."

"Ah?"

"I believe your friend Meya is correct about purples and reds. We shall work around those colors, and I will find an outfit more appropriate for one of your stature and grace."

Zoissette felt her face warm, and she opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to find the correct words of protest.

"And with someone you trust watching your back, you shall be better positioned to help Riven. I trust you will be able to adjust your plans accordingly to account for my capabilities."

"Well, yes, of course," she managed.

"Very well then. I shall see you shortly."

Y'shtola chanted a spell, and several of the books she had gathered hovered into the air, and followed her obediently as she walked away, leaving Zoissette standing in the aisles of Noumenon, befuddled.

An old fear had returned, and was all the stronger for the reprieve she had been granted from it. She felt entirely too warm, and she felt fair sure her heart was fit to flutter right out from her ribcage. She blinked several times, trying to get the pieces of the plan back into her mind, but they seemed to flee from her attention.

Lavender fluttered close to her, and tilted her head, looking at her with concern. She stared at her fairy familiar.

"I suddenly have no idea what I am doing," said Zoissette.

Zoissette dreamed. Of shadowed colors and feathers. Of fair skin wrapped in shade. Warmth and kindness and sharpness and heat. The fury of terrible passion, and the comfort of a soft word. Intuition and insight driven by a sharp mind and delivered by a keen wit.

And distance.

She woke up on a couch in the Baldesion Annex, awareness returning to her quickly. She felt her heart rate surge, but calmed it, breathing slowly. She was in no danger here. Despite that, she quickly took stock of her surroundings.

She had fallen asleep propped up against an armrest, legs kicked out in front of her. As she glanced over to the side, perhaps about five fulms away, she saw Y'shtola asleep as well. Being much smaller than Zoissette was, she had been able to curl on into the corner of the couch, feet tucked up under her. She was using her arms to rest her head against the other armrest, her nose tucked deep, near into her chest.

Nothing was amiss, and so she let her thoughts drift back to the night before. Studying in the Noumenon. Finding that book. Being rudely interrupted, and having a bit of cheeky fun at what she had thought to have been a strangers' expense. She had then fallen to embarrassment and the Archon had risen to amusement when she finally turned around and saw who exactly it was. Ever observant, Y'shtola had caught on as soon as she had seen Zoissette's surprise. Indeed, the only reason it had taken her that long was that, in her own words, she had rarely known Zoissette to speak so freely with strangers.

Zoissette had felt awkward after that, and strove to maintain an air of polite Ishgardian silence. Y'shtola would have been well within her rights to turn her famously sharp wit on her and cut her to the quick, but instead she settled for only needling her gently in between updates on her life, her research, and questions that Zoissette was compelled by politeness to answer.

Politeness had eventually began to fall away, and before long, they had settled into the comfortable pattern of conversation they had once enjoyed, as though they had hardly spent any time apart at all. Y'shtola had seen Zoissette's application to join her research, and decided to invite her back to the Baldesion Annex, where their conversation had gone on late into the night.

Things were much the same between them as Zoissette had remembered them, but also different, in many small ways. For one, Y'shtola was older than Zoissette, now. A quirk of the First. And it seemed to Zoissette that Y'shtola had become softer in the intervening time. No less imposing for that, but softer all the same. But she held the same confidence and quiet power she always had, as well as the same fire for life and thirst for knowledge.

Zoissette was quietly glad for it, and relieved.

The night had gone long, and at some point, they must have fallen asleep. Zoissette pulled her glasses out of their pouch, and held them up to her face without actually putting them on, her fingers playing along the rim to check a few enchantments. She noted that several of the alarums she had set, meant to keep her sleeping and research schedule in check, had been silenced. By Lavender, oddly. She could feel through the thin thread of intuition that they shared that Lavender had gone to sleep and was now resting in her soul stone, and thus unable to serve as a backup system.

Zoissette frowned at that, and tucked her glasses away, unsure of why Lavender would undertake such actions. The sprite had always had a will of her own, and thus was not always fully predictable. Still, she was always more than capable.

She decided to leave the matter alone. Instead, she checked herself over, found nothing terribly awry, and got up slowly and quietly. She knew Y'shtola could be a deep sleeper, and she was not going to bother the Archon while she got on with her day.

Zoissette made her way to the front desk. Ojika was there, bright and chipper.

"Why, hello Zoissette!" he said. "I trust you've been told that your application has been accepted and your contract signed. Welcome aboard."

"Thank you," said Zoissette. "Say, are accommodations for my lodgings ready yet?"

Ojika sighed. "Well, your application came as something of a surprise - and you've cost me some Gil in the betting pool. No, I had been hoping to take advantage of the holiday period and began doing some rearranging of the rooms and tidying up while everyone was out. I'm afraid there won't be space for you until next week sometime. However, the research that you will be doing will be taking place mostly in Thavnair - warm this time of year, unlike dreary cold Old Sharlayan. We won't be able to make arrangements for your lodging there either until after Heavensturn, but Y'shtola did volunteer to share her quarters."

Zoissette looked up at the ceiling, staring off a bit. "No, no, I did not sign up to make myself a nuisance. What about Estinien? He will be used to sharing space with a fellow soldier, if I could just ask him."

Ojika looked thoughtful. "Uncertain. He is frequently out of touch, and I have not heard from him recently. You very probably could just use his room while he is out doing whatever he does. If, that is, you could figure out where he was staying and then let yourself in."

Zoissette reached up and pinched her nose. "No, that will not do either. Until after Heavensturn, you said?"

Ojika nodded with an apologetic shrug, and Zoissette thought the matter over.

"Well. Could probably make my own arrangements once I hit Thavnair," she said.

"Are you quite certain? You'll be outside of the room and board clause of your contract if you do, at least until we can make our own arrangements on your behalf."

"Oh, it will be fine," she said, giving him a grin.

Ojika sighed, but nodded. "Alright, if you say so."

"Sure. It is of no real bother. I have other matters to attend to anyroad, this will just be one more. Though - will you need help around here?"

He shook his head. "Nothing I wish to bother anyone else with, and I find I enjoy the work, while it is quiet and peaceful."

Zoissette nodded. "Okay. Let me know if you change your mind," she said. She glanced at the chronometer. "Though I had best be going."

"Ah, you adventurers, always off to do good works of derring do and bravery. May I ask what is keeping you busy so close to Heavensturn?"

Zoissette shrugged at him. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason."

She tapped her chin with a finger and made a thoughtful noise. "Well, I told Dark I would handle her deliveries for this week in exchange for use of the special suites."

"Special suites?" asked Ojika, his eyebrows going up. He gave her a smile and a wink. "Should I leave a note for Archon Y'shtola as to where to find you, then?"

Zoissette was abruptly aware that she had completely forgotten her sense of decorum, and cursed inwardly. Maybe she was not as awake as she thought she was. She closed her eyes for a long moment, and when she opened them again, she made sure to remember her Ishgardian politeness.

"I am certain she will not care," she said. "Thank you for your help this morn, Master Ojika. I should be on your way."

He looked taken aback, but recovered quickly, giving her a polite bow. "Of course, Lady Zoissette. Pleasant day."

She paused. "Uhm. Thank you," she said before heading on her way out. She found herself secretly relieved she had caught herself before she had gone out on deliveries.

Before she saw to her duties, however, she made sure to send a request back to headquarters, asking to extend her use of the suite for a bit. She was fortunate that it was so new that many had already made other arrangements for Heavensturn. Next year, she was unlikely to be so lucky to even get to use it, much less be making unreasonable last minute requests about the matter. It would be a bit before she would hear back on that, and so she did not wait, instead gathering her supplies, and making her way up into Journey's End.

As she arrived, she looked up at her destination, and felt a gentle sinking feeling.

She had been told of the Leveilleur's home, of course. Her fellows had swapped stories of how large it was, how it seemed so grand, even in a place like Old Sharlayan that was so very fond of its grand buildings, all white stone and clean lines and wide open spaces. Not at all like Ishgard, with its gray stone and general feeling of leaning down upon its inhabitants. Still, though, differences aside, Zoissette was quick to spot the similarities.

She knew a High House residence when she saw it, and knew she had no business being there.

Fortunately, today she was the help, and she would be in and out as fast as she pleased. She double checked her cargo. School supplies for the lady's outreach program. Nyx had provided some mammets that would be used for magical instruction, and Teito had made no few conductive foci.

She was let in by one of the house servants, and had quickly made the exchange with another. They were exchanging pleasantries and she was signing the appropriate receipts, just ready to head out, when she heard an entirely too excited voice ring out.

"Ah, you must be from Gage Acquisitions. Rather earlier than I had anticipated - pray stay a moment, would you?"

Zoissette eyed the distance to the door and wondered if she could get away with pretending that that was not directed at her.

Politeness, however, kept her present. She affected a pleasant smile, and turned to face the lady of the house.

"Greetings, Lady Leveilleur," she said. "I am just dropping off your requisitions, courtesy of our resident artisans. Just as soon as the proof of receipt is signed, I shall be on my way and out of yours."

Zoissette glanced her over as she spoke, noting the beautiful bow that kept her hair neatly tied back. It framed her face pleasantly.

She wondered if she could make it work.

"Nonsense. I am always pleased to meet one of the many personages my children write to me about. Now, let me see... Alphinaud has drawn such fetching likenesses of many of you, and I have read such stories from both of them. Hold still a moment, if you would?"

Zoissette froze, all too aware of the nervous grin on her face.

Ameliance looked her over, and then her eyes went a bit wide, and she held a hand to her breast, and gave a slight bow.

"Oh my. I had no idea - my apologies."

Zoissette looked at her, bewildered, and noticed out of the corner of her eyes, the various servants of the house also giving a slight bow.

"If I had known we were to be attended by a Holy Knight of Ishgard, I would have made the appropriate arrangements," she said solemnly.

Oh, that made sense. Sort of. Kind of. Not really. Zoissette gave a little nervous laugh.

"I ... think there has been some sort of misunderstanding," she said.

Lady Leveilleur looked up at her, with a slight frown. "You are the Lady Zoissette, of the Order of Saint Thea, are you not?"

Zoissette was beginning to think that perhaps she should have stayed in her office.

"Yes, but - I do not think that means what you may think it means. Nor whatever it is that Alphinaud told you it may have meant," she said. And she was certain it was Alphinaud. Alisaie, she felt, would have been rather more circumspect.

The other woman, and Zoissette was just not quite sure if she was Ameliance, a friend, or Lady Leveilleur, a noble woman paying her unnecessary respects.

"An exile of her homeland who nevertheless stood for its ideals in its time of need. A woman paying reparations for the perceived crimes of a family member she cared for. Strong of heart and kind of spirit. I may not share your beliefs, my lady, but I respect them, as well as your devotion to them."

Zoissette felt uncertain of herself. However, there was protocol for this, and she could follow it. She bowed her head, bringing her own hand to her breast as she did so.

"You honor me, then, Lady Leveilleur," she said. "I can accept no honor, but I can accept your grace, if you will accept my service."

Lady Leveilleur nodded solemnly. "And I am pleased to accept your service, and wish to offer you my grace. And as it is early yet, I was just about to break the fast. It would honor me if you would join me."

She really did not want to.

"Of course," she said, with another bow.

The Lady Leveilleur smiled warmly at her, and gestured. "Then follow me, and I shall show you a place where you can take your ease whilst I make the arrangements."

It was about a bell later that Zoissette found herself in the Leveilleur's dining area. On the one hand, she was grateful. Her provisions for exploring Noumenon had been adequate, but not generous, and she had not yet had her own breakfast in anticipation of the deliveries being a rather fast errand. On the other hand, she was nervous, and largely felt that it would have been better if she was literally anywhere else.

The Lady Leveilleur, for her part, however, was a consummate hostess. She had asked politely after any dietary restrictions or requirements Zoissette may have had, and made arrangements to have a tea of her preference delivered - which was just now being poured into a cup in front of her. If she was being inconvenienced, she gave no sign of it, and seemed genuinely glad of Zoissette's presence.

It was one of those situations where Zoissette could clearly see and understand the exact lines of causality that had led her to the current situation, and yet she still felt completely and utterly lost.

The two sat across from each other. Zoissette kept a pleasant smile on her face as she sipped gently at her tea.

"So," asked Lady Leveilleur conversationally, "what brings you to Old Sharlayan, if I may ask?"

Zoissette remembered her earlier missteps with her conversation with Ojika, and made a mental note to be more careful with what she said.

"I have accepted a research position with the Students of Baldesion," she said.

"Oh, splendid. I know Krile, of course - and of her friends," said Ameliance with a wink. "I know better than to ask the nature of your work. But might I ask as to who you will be working with?"

That seemed safe enough.

"Archon Y'shtola, Lady Leveilleur," she replied.

"Ah. I have read so much of her from the letters my children have sent me, but have not gotten the chance to spend nearly so much time with her as I might like. But please, there is no need to be nearly so formal. You may call me Ameliance."

Something in the woman's bearing was gently disarming, somehow. Zoissette had known her fair share of nobles, of course, being the child of one herself. Ameliance reminded her not one bit of her own mother, cold and distant, however, nor of too many of the other nobles she had once known. Ameliance seemed rather more personable, and open.

"Only if you would pay me the kindness of calling me Zoissette," she replied.

Ameliance smiled. "But of course... Zoissette. Any friend of my children is a friend of mine."

Zoissette just nodded over her tea, looking up briefly to mouth a thank you to one of the house servants as they set a plate down in front of her, with a rather generous portion of eggs and bacon. She waited patiently, however, for Ameliance's food to arrive.

"Will you be staying in Old Sharlayan long, I wonder?"

"No, not very. Our research will mostly be taking place in Thavnair."

"Ah. Sunny this time of year. When will you be leaving, do you think?"

"A few days just after Heavensturn."

"Oh! Plans for the holiday?"

"Not as such," said Zoissette. Technically not a lie. Her plans were for the day after the holiday. "How about yourself?"

"Well, my husband has promised me a most splendid date night. It is meant to be a surprise, so I shan't spoil it by speaking of it further here," and Ameliance winked at her again.

Zoissette smiled, despite feeling a touch taken aback at her seeming audacity. Ameliance's warmth, at least, did seem quite genuine. Another servant came by, placing a plate in front of her. A more modest meal of fruits and greens.

"Please, after you," said Ameliance, and Zoissette did not need further encouragement, beginning the feel the hollow in her stomach quite keenly.

"Well, are you to meet Y'shtola over there then, I suppose?" she asked after Zoissette had begun eating.

Zoissette shook her head. "No. She is up at the Baldesion Annex just this morning. She wished to do more research over at Noumenon over the holiday."

"Will you be helping her with that, I wonder?"

Zoissette shook her head again. "I don't think so. It was a coincidence that we even met each other here. I had my own research to do."

"A coincidence? I would think you might have expected to see her at the annex."

Zoissette felt herself warm a bit, and took a sip of tea before answering.

"Apologies. I did not mean to say I met her at the annex. We - well. Ah. She found me in Noumenon while I was doing my own work."

Ameliance laughed. "A pair of studious scholars, then. Well, do you know of her plans for Heavensturn?"

"None that I am aware of."

"Too studious, perhaps. You know, we do celebrate the holiday around here. You might go down to the harbor and watch the celebrations, even if she does not."

Zoissette just nodded, and turned her attention fully to her breakfast. Ameliance seemed to understand the hint, and began to eat her own breakfast in earnest.

"Where are Alphinaud and Alisaie just now, anyroad?" asked Zoissette after a while.

"They are in Garlemald, handling the fallout from those towers, I believe. I suppose they have had no need to call for the aid of adventurers if you have not heard from them."

Zoissette shook her head.

"...how are they?' she asked, quietly.

Ameliance looked at her, tilting her head slightly. If there was reproach in her expression, Zoissette did not find it.

"They are well," said Ameliance. "Or at the very least, I think so. At least their letters no longer seem to be causing their father to have to flee the room."

Zoissette stopped and looked up at her, feeling a bit shocked at the revelation, and Ameliance hid her laughter behind her hand.

"Sorry. It's just - well. He cares so deeply for them both, you know. He tries to hide it, but I don't think he does a very good job of it. But they've grown so much in the past few moons. And him as well. I always told them he should trust in them. I guess now, he believes me."

Ameliance smiled softly as looked down, and took another bite of her food, and Zoissette felt a strain she did not know she had been holding melt away.

"...thank you for having me, Lady L- Ameliance."

"And thank you for staying, Zoissette. I rather hope you may come by more often. And kindly extend the self same invitation to the others. I feel... I feel as though I know so much about you, all of you. Warriors of light, each of you, no matter how you may think of yourselves. And I would love to get to know each and every one of you as well as my children do. You may, of course, feel free to stop by any time."

Ameliance smiled at her, and she saw the way her eyes wrinkled at the edges, and the softness in her expression. She was uncertain what Ameliance had saw, but she found herself feeling glad to be in the woman's confidence.

At least, she hoped she was, if she was not reading too far into the matter.

The rest of breakfast passed in easy pointless pleasantries. Feeling more comfortable, Zoissette had ventured a few questions of her own while fielding those from Ameliance, but it was not too long until plates were put away and goodbyes were being said.

Just before she left, though, Ameliance took her hand, and gave her one last of those warm smiles.

"Thank you for indulging a mother today, Zoissette," she said. "If you ever find yourself in need, please feel free to ask, my dear."

Zoissette looked at her for a long moment, thoughtfully.

"Well," she said, cautiously, "Can I ask how you did your hair?"

Hope.

Zoissette adjusted her tie in the mirror, straightened her collar, and gently tapped the rim of her glasses once to activate their enchantments.

Hope was a choice. And that had been proven, over and over again, through her many travels, across her many trials, and indeed, had been the very existential question for the star, had it not?

Hope.

She smiled at herself in the mirror. She could bring hope with her to the season. That would not be asking too much.

And besides, she liked those she worked alongside. A party was definitely not asking too much. Bring them her cheer, and they would return it in turn.

She tilted her head, looking at herself in the vanity as she smoothed down the front of her suit. Nose still too big. Still entirely too tall. Unladylike and awkward and narrow in the wrong places and broad in other wrong places.

Ah well. The gifts of Halone were not to be spurned. She looked like a knight ought, she supposed.

She checked the chronometer, secured her packages, and moments later, vanished in a twinkling of teleport magics.

It was not long before she had found her way to Singing Willow's estate. Actually, if she thought about it, she was not sure who technically owned the place between Singing Willow and Iron Summer. But of the two of Dark Autumn's parents, every time she had visited, it had been Sing who had seemed larger than life, filling the home with her personality and tending to all of her myriad guests as though they were her own children, so it was difficult to think of the place as being anything but hers.

She had arrived a little late. It grated on her to do so, but last time she had shown up rather too early in an effort to offer her services to help and had been fussed at (nicely!) for doing so, and Sing had had entirely too many questions. Being a little late at least allowed her to check on who had already arrived, get a feel for the situation, and steer clear of any potential trouble. She was welcomed with great warmth, Sing and Iron both greeting her within moments of her being inside the door. She gave them both their gifts, and each a peck on the cheek, hoping silently that Klynt had not been having a joke at her expense when she had describe the gesture as a traditional Roegadyn greeting.

If it was a joke, they took it with remarkable grace, and it was not long until she was ushered into the main area where everyone else had already gathered. A quick glance did not reveal any immediate possible problems, and Zoissette allowed herself to relax. She was, in the long past, a proper noble of Ishgard. She remembered the rules to being a good host, and more importantly, she remembered how to be a good guest. And so she looked around for opportunities to be helpful to the smooth going ons of the evening in one way or another.

She noticed Dark and her many siblings filtering in and out throughout the place, doing much the same. Food was being handled, drinks were available in good quantity, and conversation was easily able to be had, so Zoissette let her mind slide past worrying about those possibilities. Also, seeing Dark busy helping play the part of good hostess put her mind at ease. It would make ducking her much easier, and Zoissette did not quite feel up to an accounting of her work just yet.

Sorting out the other Roegadyn present was easy enough. Ryssthota and Klynt were both in attendance, each of them larger than life and gregarious in their own way. Ryssthota had a way of being everyone's friend, and Klynt had a way of flirting outrageously while avoiding causing any actual offended outrage, and so that was well. She went out of her way to try to spy Meya, and suss out the truth of the rumors she had heard herself, and she soon enough spotted the woman. Her and Erick were near to each other, talking casually to those nearby, his arm around her, resting on her shoulder.

Happiness welled up in her at the sight, and she made a mental note to update some of her personal actuarial tables that tracked such matters. Later, of course.

She found and spent some time talking with Minti Chocolate. Minti was interesting to talk with, ever-changing in some ways, steadfast in others, and sometimes Zoissette imagined an almost otherworldly air to her, one that had only seemed to deepen somehow as she had delved into both the secrets of thaumaturgy and the expertise of samurai swordcraft. She hoped the other woman had not been too put out that Zoissette had not waited for her to finish her work in Ishgard before heading to Old Sharlayan, and was glad to find she was not. That matter cleared up, the two talked about what else she had found the city for a bit, and exchanging other polite pleasantries before each going their own way.

Next, feeling a pang of responsibility, she sought out her paralegal, and found him chattering away cheerfully, keeping company with Leonnioux, to her mild surprise. His scientist friend was not in attendance, it seemed, but that seemed to not have dampened his spirits at all. He had, apparently, taken the lessons he had taught himself from the other day to heart. She thought to ask after his choice in companionship, but ultimately decided that she was content to leave well enough alone there.

Nyx could be seen standing at attention near the tree, watching U'rahn, staring as he chattered away excitedly about something or another. That U'rahn was keeping Nyx from disappearing up into the ceiling was a relief. That would keep her from finding any mischief to spy upon.

That also meant Sing would not have to chase her down if she had happened to spot her up there in the first place.

Lennier was being his usual gregarious self, and by the time she had found him, he had apparently found Iron Summer, and a polite little bit of eavesdropping revealed they were deep into conversation about gardening matters. She considered lending her knowledge on Ishgardian crop rotation to the conversation, or hanging out to glean what she could learn, but elected instead to move on. Lennier did not need her asking her usual question this time, she thought to herself with a smile.

She found Apple keeping to herself in the corner. Knowing the woman to be quiet, Zoissette was careful not to intrude overmuch, just making her way over there to ask a few polite questions about her most recent research. It was a fine line, making enough conversation that hopefully Apple felt welcome, but not so much as to be imposing, overbearing, or overwhelming, but Apple seemed glad for the distraction, and when the two had separated, Zoissette felt she had done well enough to thread that balance.

Ioh'juhn was present, and he noticed her attention almost immediately, tossing her a charming smile and a wave. She was polite enough to return the wave with a smile of her own, but otherwise was inclined to give him a wide berth. She knew his reputation well enough.

She thought she spied C'oretta and Reinhardt ducking into a hallway, and almost followed after, a question she had for C'oretta regarding Ul'dah coming to her mind. Before she got too far, however, the smarter parts of herself caught up with her, and she changed her mind. She held up a hand to hide her sudden smile and pivoted away, deciding pointedly to find somewhere else to be at the party. Maybe they were just going to talk. Maybe something else, and either way, no business of hers, and she was going to let them have their fun in peace.

Estinien was present, one of the very few Scions she expected to see at the gathering, mostly because of his attachment to Riven. She was mildly surprised that they had found their way down from Old Sharlayan, but then, she herself had, hadn't she? Estinien looked uncomfortable, but Riven looked like she was at home, talking merrily. She found herself wondering if Mathye and his brother would make an appearance, or the rest of the cohort for that matter, but a glance through a window had answered that question. It looked like one of the dragoons had done some dragoon thing and Mathye was yelling about it now while Augustine's face had gone red on whatever matter. Sebastian could be seen nearby, arms crossed, and Zoissette was not at all sure how to read his expression. He might've been sharing his own opinions on the matter. As she looked away, Zoissette spotted Klynt heading out the door, looking far too eager. Zoissette rolled her eyes. Dragoons.

Making her rounds and making small conversation where she could, Zoissette had been keeping a sharp eye out for two people in particular. One she knew wouldn't be found if he didn't want to be, and the other she truly did not expect to make an appearance, but one could never be too careful. The latter did not appear to be present, as expected. The former she finally found with his arms wrapped around Aeryn. Thancred had a gentle soft smile on his face, listening to Aeryn as she cheerfully chattered away at someone besides Riven about fashion.

Zoissette looked down at herself, and considered the matter. Normally she would ask Meya for advice on matters of fashion, but she did not wish to bother her just now. Maybe she could ask Aeryn about the same later.

But not just now.

Her movements around the party had not gone completely unnoticed, however, and she found herself ambushed by Singing Willow. Protests that she was going to get around to it, promise, fell on deaf ears as Sing corralled her into the kitchen and watched carefully as she loaded up several plates worth of food. Pretending to be chagrined, but quietly secretly grateful, Zoissette had obliged. Satisfied, Sing left her to her own devices once more, and Zoissette took the opportunity to find her way outside, where she could eat in relative peace.

She had hoped to find Yesuntei and exchange notes, but honestly, the woman could be a ghost at times. And aside from that, she had now spotted nearly everyone who she had expected to see, and even successfully avoided those she wanted to avoid. Satisfied, at last, that she had not only met but exceeded Starlight expectations, both for herself and from others, she settled in outside, clearing a log bench to sit on.

The food looked delicious. Mashed popotoes, with the skins still interleaved through them, made with rather more butter than she was used to, and truly luxuriant amounts of Garlean garlic. A slice of fine La Noscean beef, well-marbled and mouth-watering to the senses. Green beans that had been sautéed with onions and mixed with pepper and salt. Some kind of rich pudding she was unfamiliar with, but which looked lovely and even jiggled appealingly. Sing was a superb cook, and had apparently spared little effort in the feast she had made available to her many guests.

Zoissette smiled to herself as she dug in, and she looked out over the landscape behind the homestead. White covered the ground and every tree. The forest was still and quiet, and starlight mingled with moonlight, reflecting off the landscape, lending the entire place an air of quiet.

It was cold, but not uncomfortably so. The Shroud did not have winters like Coerthas did. The quiet was starting to put her on edge, but the house was nearby, and there was a gentle buzz coming from the guests within that she listened to, to help put herself at ease. There would be no dragons in the sky here, and if there were, they would not be swooping down with hostile intent, chasing after her and hers. She recognized the rise of gentle anxiety, however, and took several slow deep breaths to calm herself down.

The war was over.

This was just a lovely winter landscape in the Shroud, with friends nearby, and the warmth and cheer of a well-tended hearth.

Hope, she told herself as part of her efforts to calm herself down, and she held the thought, as she ate her meal. They had always delivered hope, and this Starlight, they got to receive of it as well.

It was not just quiet. It was peaceful, here, and she tried to keep that in mind. A landscape of peace.

She heard footsteps behind her, and closed her eyes, and took a few more slow, deep breaths before looking behind her, to see who was approaching.

Lyse.

This was unexpected, and she was off-center once more, thinking rapidly in her mind. She would need to revisit her assumptions in the future when making predictions about who would be where, because she was certain, barring any other circumstance, that Lyse would not have come down from Ala Mhigo.

She leaned forward, shifting her weight to stand up.

"Oh, sit back down or I'll wallop you," said Lyse. Her tone was light and playful, despite her words.

Zoissette looked at her, and let herself sink back down at the bench.

"I mean, if I even could these days," she said as she sat down beside her. "I suppose my best shot would be to do so while you were still sitting."

"Lyse," said Zoissette. "I did not expect to see you here tonight."

This was true. She had done the math bells ago, examining the equations for the patterns, and had found herself satisfied. She had thought she might need more data, but decided the pattern established enough for her purposes.

Lyse was unaware of her ruminations. "Aw, and why not?" she replied, breezily. "If the Scions are my immediate family, then many of you warriors are much the same, and your friends are like my more distant family. Aunts and uncles from all over the world, tried and true as any blood, I reckon. I love Ala Mhigo, but it's not the only home I have, you know."

Zoissette just nodded, turning her gaze back out to the landscape. She was not sure if this was better or worse than the shivers that had almost come upon her a moment ago.

The snow continued to drift lazily down, the two women shielded from it by a porch overhang.

Zoissette poked a fork at her food, and then turned to offer the plate to Lyse. "Can I offer you some? Willow's food is quite good."

Lyse looked at her blankly for a moment, and then laughed. "You mean Sing? Do you really think I made it through her kitchen without someone making sure I got fed? I've had my fill, thank you very much, and I am not certain I could handle a single bite more."

"I was not sure how well you knew her," said Zoissette.

Lyse looked at Zoissette. "You know I know her well enough, Sette."

Zoissette felt herself go cool, and her thoughts began to focus. She turned her attention to her plate.

"...the others say you've been avoiding them," said Lyse, quietly, after a moment.

"I have been busy," said Zoissette. "I have my duties, and I do my job."

"I know," said Lyse. "I've heard that, too. Ever dutiful Zoissette Vauban over there at Gage Acquisitions, crossing all the t's and dotting all the i's. Making sure the work gets done."

"It is not just me. I have an assistant, Y'zel. Yesuntei handles a fair bulk of the paperwork at my level. Dark and Fink handle finances and other matters above me."

"Yes, yes, I know, I know," said Lyse, with a sigh. "Look, I know why you might keep your distance from us, but... is there at least someone else you confide in these days? Some other friends?"

"I have friends."

"You have acquaintances, more like. How many of them do you know well?"

"You seem to have confused me for Klynt. She is the gregarious one."

Lyse sighed. "I'm just a little worried, that's all."

Zoissette felt herself go cold, now. Cables of steel pulled tight in her shoulders and back, and her thoughts became sharp.

"What do you want, Lyse," she said. Her voice had an edge to it, just the slightest most delicate hardness that she knew most people would not pick up on.

Lyse was not most people, and she could see out of the corner of her eye as the other woman ducked her head down and looked at the snow. Zoissette kept her own gaze on her plate.

"...I wanted to apologise," said Lyse, quietly.

Zoissette did not respond to that, and after a moment, Lyse kept talking.

"I always meant to. When I first announced myself with my real name, as who I am, I remember looking across everyone's faces. And while I expected a few surprised faces, I saw mostly relief. Which I guess it was, in a way, not just for everyone else, but also for me. I didn't think I was fooling anyone, not really. I just - well, I just though the mask was a way of keeping Yda close, and that taking her name was another way of keeping her around, I suppose.

"But when I looked, your face was one of the surprised ones, and I - well, that took me by surprise. I hadn't expected that at all. I didn't know how you didn't know. I'd just assumed Papalymo had told you by that point. I meant to talk to you about it right then and there, but there was so much else going on, and we had a war to win, and it seemed everything else was just so much more urgent. But afterwards, you grew quiet and distant, but... that seemed really normal, all things considered, so I left it alone."

Lyse clasped each of her wrists with her hands in turn.

"I shouldn't have. I should've said something. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for letting you believe a lie for so long. And... well, I know how apologies are supposed to work. You say you're sorry, and then you say that you won't do it again, and trust me, I won't, I don't even know how that would work - and then you make it up to the person you hurt. And just now, I guess I'm sorry that I don't know how to make it up to you."

Lyse fell silent at last, as all the words finished spilling out of her like an ewer that had been tipped over. And what she had said now sat between the two women, frozen in the cold.

"You do not owe me an apology, Lyse," said Zoissette. She was still cold and tense, but her voice was hollow instead of sharp. "Of course Papalymo did not tell me. I was just some student of his, another feckless adventurer."

"You were more than that, and you know it," said Lyse. "He was a mentor to you. I remember the long hours you spent talking about things that would go clear over my head. Sharing little puzzles between you two. Look, I get it. He and I were close too. He was like - well, I don't have a word for it. He was like an older brother to me. Or maybe a grumpy old dad or a particularly fussy uncle. Close as kin. He was like that to me, and I think he was like that to you, too. And if that was so, then you were kind of like a sister. I remember our sparring matches, and how you tried to teach me some of the games you and he would play. Or that one time in the Sylphlands where I lied about having a leg cramp and you offered to do some hedge magick massage thing to get rid of it for me. All those things and more. I remember them, Sette."

"...and then he died," said Zoissette, her voice quiet.

Lyse looked over at that, and she reached a hand out to gently touch Zoissette's arm, but stopped herself just short of doing so.

"...and then he died," she agreed, almost as quiet. "And then you were distant in the days afterward. I thought to try and help, but after seeing the surprise on your face when I announced myself as Lyse, well, I thought maybe I should, well, give you time and space. Let you come to me, you know, when you were ready. And then - and then the war was going in earnest."

"And then Y'shtola almost died," said Zoissette.

Lyse looked thoughtful. "Y'shtola? Hardly, she's tougher than she looks you know. I think you should know that she's the one who complained to me about how hard it is to keep up with you these days. Apparently she wants your help with some research? She told me what it was, but you know how I am with those sorts of details. She means well, you know. I know she must have seemed bossy for a while there, but that's just how she is. I mean, you know! At least I think you do. I heard you two were practically thick as thieves during your time in Ishgard, and I thought maybe you two had been growing closer together for -"

Lyse stopped herself suddenly.

The snow continued to fall.

"...oh." she said.

Zoissette frowned. "Not like that," she said.

"Maybe not," said Lyse, her voice gentle. "But between Papalymo, and then so shortly after, her encounter with Zenos... it's no wonder you withdrew so much."

She looked down at the snow. "I'll be honest, this may be a bit self-centered of me, but I thought it was - well, I really thought you were mad about the whole Yda thing and decided to keep your distance after that."

"...no," said Zoissette.

She had not even been certain when she had made the conscious decision to start avoiding the Scions, but she had, and she had stuck to it. Her work made it easy to do. Always more paperwork. Always something that needed doing. Always something to keep her occupied, keep her busy, keep her moving.

Keep her from freezing in place.

"No," she said again. "It is not your fault, Lyse. And I apologise. It should not have been your sole responsibility to reach out. I should have - we should have spoken. Especially after - after Papalymo sacrificed himself. To save us all."

She bowed her head. "I can almost hear him chastising me for my mistakes."

Lyse did touch her arm, now. "He wouldn't want you beating yourself up about it, you know," she said quietly.

"No," said Zoissette. "He would want us to finish the job, and we did."

"And then, I think," said Lyse. "He would want us to move on. Live our lives as true to ourselves as possible."

Zoissette looked over at Lyse's hand, and reached up gently to touch it, to hold it, to give it a squeeze.

"I am sorry," said Zoissette.

Lyse gave her a weak smile, and she could see water forming in her eyes. "This is getting rather silly," said Lyse. "I'm supposed to be apologizing to you but now you're apologizing to me. Perhaps if we go back and forth enough we can spend the entire night out here."

Zoissette felt the coldness in her veins shift a bit. She was not even sure why she had been angry at Lyse anymore. It seemed fair ridiculous, now that they were talking.

"Tell you what," she said. "I will accept your apology... if you can tell me what research it was that Y'shtola asked me to help her with."

"Oh now, that's hardly fair," complained Lyse. "It was... uhm... void rift transition something-or-another? Hang on, don't tell me. ... wait just one moment. You're doing the question thing, aren't you?"

"Is that what I am doing?" asked Zoissette lightly, looking off into the snow, but watching Lyse out of the corner of her eye.

"Oh, there you are, just like old times, with your questions that go nowhere when we both know the answers perfectly well. Well, I shall not fall for it. Don't think I've forgotten how to tell when you're making fun of me," said Lyse, putting on the airs of being cross.

The two looked at each other for a moment. Zoissette allowed herself to be the first to crack, offering a faint smile, and then Lyse fell into giggling, and just like that, the tension broke. Zoissette felt the ice in her veins shift and let go, and the tightness she was holding unfold and unspool.

Hope, she remembered, belatedly. Hope was a choice one made over despair.

"I really am sorry, though," said Zoissette. "I think... I think you are right."

"About what?" asked Lyse. "I feel like I've talked about five summers worth of stuff tonight."

"I have been avoiding you," said Zoissette. "Not just you. Everyone. I ... I do not know why, to be honest, but I have been. But... if it makes you feel better, I shall try to be... better about that."

She shifted her weight back and forth on the log. Now that she was warming up a bit, she was noticing that her legs had gone a bit cold. She had been sitting out here far too long.

"That's all I can ask," said Lyse, gently.

Zoissette took a deep breath in, and let it out slow, and then laughed.

"I can almost hear him chastising me, you know," said Zoissette. "He would tell me that perhaps I would know what was going on if I had been paying attention. Or else telling me to take a step back, and look upon things with a more critical eye."

"Or he would just fuss at you for not knowing the answer, while acting like he was the cleverest person in the room and had all of them in his pocket."

Zoissette laughed some more, and Lyse gave her a grin.

"...can I get up now?" said Zoissette. "I think I am quite cold enough, and I want to go back inside," she said.

"Sure," said Lyse, standing up and offering a hand. Zoissette looked at it oddly for a moment, before ignoring it to stand on her own.

"Lyse, I am literally twice your weight. I am certain I would pull you down if you tried to help me up."

"Nonsense. You know how strong I am," said Lyse.

"...you certainly are," said Zoissette. "Shall we?"

"After you, Lady de Vauban," said Lyse with a flourish. Zoissette groaned, but Lyse just grinned.

They both went back inside, their conversation lighter, now, and Zoissette was glad for it.

Keeping up with her friends - no, her family - was a duty of hers, Zoissette knew, and one she had neglected for too long.

Well, she could and would do better.

Hope, over despair.

And, after all, they could be, had been, and were, a wellspring of hope.

She decided that from here on out, she would cherish that.

Zoissette sat on the couch in the special suite and fidgeted.

Today was the day.

She was not going to screw this up.

She heard a knock at the door, and jumped slightly, turning and waving enthusiastically at the door to greet -

Ah.

"Come in! Should be unlocked!" she called out, quickly tucking her hands back into her lap. "...it is unlocked, right?"

The door opened, and Mathye Bishop walked in. She quickly glanced him over, making quick mental notes. He was nervous, she was certain, but so was she, but that was not important, what was important was getting him to his ease as fast as possible. He was wearing a lovely blue jacket, and she was glad to have guessed correctly at that color for the gift she had sent him earlier in the season. Sensible slacks. Polished shoes. Bouquet of flowers.

He had cleaned up quite well. She wondered if Riven had had a hand in that.

"Yeah, it..." he began to say, and then his voice trailed off.

She stood up, as was proper now that he had entered the room, and offered him a deep bow.

"Master Bishop. Thank you for - ah," she managed. His face was starting to turn red, she could see that, and she lost track of what she was supposed to say here, so she stared off at the wall for a bit, mouthing the words that were supposed to come up.

"Zoissete. You... look stunning," he said, snapping out of her reverie. She took a step back, surprised.

"I - uhm - yes! Yes I do. I mean, I meant to. I mean - thank you. Can I - get you anything? Wait. No. Hang on. Let me start over."

She shuffled her feet a bit stiffly, and bowed courteously to him, and gave herself time to think, and by the time she had stood up, the script was in her mind once more.

"Master Bishop," she said, "thank you for attending. Are those flowers?"

"No, no," he said. "You don't have to!"

"... wait. What? Do not have to what?"

Mathye's mouth opened and shut a few times before he held the flowers out to her, his face still pink. "You... don't have to call me Master Bishop," he said. "Just... Mathye."

She smiled warmly at him, and took the flowers, carefully.

"Oh, right. Of - of course. Thank you. Ah. I have made, uhm, arrangements for the evening. It is not the same as lunch, but - uhm. Would you accompany me for dinner?"

Mathye rubbed the back of his neck. He felt out of practice in the whole affair. Hells, he thought to himself. He was not good at this. Rather, he felt he WAS good at this, but it had been years since, well, he rather hoped his manwhore years would not be coming up in later conversation.

"Dinner! Sure. You... you look really pretty... but wait. Where are your glasses?"

She was never seen without her glasses, always tapping at the rims or playing her fingers along their ear pieces. She was very pretty, but she looked a bit odd without them. She looked past him at the question.

He frowned, feeling a mix of concern and confusion.

"Are you-" he began to say.

"Uhm, it is alright, do not worry about that," she said. "I do not need them to see, you see. My vision is actually quite good!"

"Oh."

She focused back on his face, and he was about to offer her a reassuring smile or perhaps a kind word. Whichever it was, he was never to get it out, because she suddenly did something with her face that he was not quite certain was meant to be a smile.

He blinked. Something about that was just not right.

"Shall we?" she asked.

"Yes, let's!" he said, perhaps a touch too quickly.

But then she clasped her hands together and did that little bounce that she did when she was pleased with something, so it must've been alright, he decided. She then nodded, and began the spell works necessary for teleportation.

He followed suit, and shortly, they were both just outside of Gage Acquisition's headquarters. As he set his feet back on the ground, he turned to Zoissette.

Though he had, of course, seen her back in the suite, they had mostly exchanged pleasantries and he had focused on her face. Now that they were outside, however, and she was brushing a hand through her hair to smooth it down after the teleport, he felt he was really seeing her, head to toe, for the first time.

The dress was a lovely purple item. Its skirts had a wide cut to them that showed that she was wearing a pair of thigh high black leather boots that certainly went up. All the way up. Way, way, all the way up. Zoissette certainly had legs, and he felt this was the first time he had really had the opportunity to appreciate that.

He felt his face warm and snapped his gaze up to be above her waist. This was the first date he had had in a while. He was going to be well behaved! He was.

She was saying something, and waving a hand at somewhere up the walkway. "I reserved spots for us at that nice place we went to last time. You recall, of course."

"Yes!" he said, quickly. "I do. Recall."

He coughed, and pulled at his tie a bit, before beginning to offer his arm to her. "Shall... we, Lady Vauban?" he asked.

She looked at him curiously, and he wondered if he had misstepped somewhere, when she reached out and adjusted his tie for him. "Sure. Just one moment... there!"

She made that pleased gesture of hers again, with the hands clasped and a little bounce, and he was pointedly not looking at her breasts and what that corseted top was doing to them as she did so, oh no, and she offered him her arm.

He blinked.

Oh, why the hell not. He took her arm and put into his mind thoughts of Halone, of freezing cold, of the morons, and not about that chest in that corset.

He gathered himself together, as she stood there, looking at him, waiting for him to get his bearings.

Or at least that is what he thought she was doing. He was quickly proven wrong as she began to head forward, practically dragging him along. At first, it was all he could do to keep up with her, surprised as he was, but he found his footing soon enough, and maybe she slowed down just a touch along the way, it was hard to tell.

Fortunately they were soon at the restaurant and made their way inside, Zoissette leading the two of them to the same table that they had had such a pleasant lunch at not all that long ago.

"Same place as last time!" she said, moving to the other side of the table and taking her seat. Mathye, still a bit bewildered by the whole affair, sank down into his own.

"Yes, same place," he said, agreeably, beginning to smile at her - when he noticed that her face was attempting another terrifying feat of showing her teeth.

"Zoissette? Is everything alright? You... you're grimacing. Do you need medical attention?"

She was settling into her chair, sitting up tall, shifting her weight, putting her hands in her lap, when she froze at his question.

"...grimacing? Uh, no, everything is fine, I am fine. Uhm. How are you?"

-*-

Ryssthota walked into the lab, and looked over at Klynt, who was sitting down at the workbench, tweaking with something.

"Hey Klynt," she said amiably. "Whatcha got there?"

Klynt grinned up at Ryssthota. "Snuck a linkpearl into Zoissette's hairpiece when she asked me to check it. Trick I learned from a sky pirate. Want to hear how our odd little swan is doing?"

"...you're spying on our friend!?"

Klynt shrugged. "You wanna listen in or not?" she asked.

Ryssthota considered, then sighed, and sat down.

"Probably better," she said.

Klynt just grinned.

-*-

Zoissette watched Mathye carefully. He seemed concerned.

"I've been alright," he said. "Did you have a good Heavensturn? Oh! And Starlight, did you have a good Starlight as well? I sent a present."

He was babbling, but that was okay. He had also asked several questions, and that was more than okay. It meant she could pick which one to answer, and not have to give any uncomfortable answers.

"Oh yes! And thank you, it was very thoughtful, Halone's blessings upon you," she said. And the book he had given her, a very recent one, was in fact extremely thoughtful. "I sent you one as well, how did you like it? I hope the colour suited you."

"I used it quite a bit," he said. "It was very warm."

-*-

Surreptitiously, at a table nearby, close enough to watch and overhear how the evening might go but not so close as to give away their position, four pairs of eyes peeked up over their menus, very very interested in the goings on.

Riven exchanged looks with Sebastian and Reinhardt, while Augustine just grimaced.

"...what is this bullshit?" muttered one of them.

-*-

Mathye coughed into a hand, and looked around "Ah, we should order," he said, moving to gesture to a waitress.

"Oh!" said Zoissette, brightly. "I hope it was not too presumptuous of me, Master Bishop, but I did make some discrete inquiries and have arranged for a several course meal that should be suitable to your tastes."

Mathye blinked. He was fair certain he hiccoughed. With his brain.

"You... ordered for me?" he asked.

-*-

"Bullshite," said Augustine. "She linked me three-quarters of a bell ago asking what did Mathye like to eat."

-*-

"But of course," said Zoissette. "As the person who extended the invitation, I have a responsibility to ensure that you are well taken care of, and that your needs are met, with nary a bit of exertion."

Mathye blinked, again. He was certain this was not how this was supposed to be going.

"I... what?" he managed to get out.

"What?" asked Zoissette.

"I... my needs? What about your needs?"

"What about them?"

He looked at her, incredulous, and watched as she winced her eyes shut for just a moment.

-*-

Riven stared at the four men who were with her, wondering if she could injure one of them bad enough to force a medical emergency in a desperate attempt to get the two loons back on the same page.

"Hold still, Augustine," she said, retrieving one of the steak knives.

-*-

"Uhm, I mean, I - well, of course, I will be... that is to say, I am - one moment," she stammered.

"...I'm confused," admitted Mathye. Which was reasonable. This was a confusing situation.

Zoissette's face split in two and she was once more showing off entirely too many teeth and he was fair certain her head was going to snap off at her neck while those teeth chased after him.

"And you're grimacing again," he said.

"...I will be -right- back." she said.

"Is the corset too tight?" he began to ask, but she was already in motion. "Zoissette!" he called after her.

He'd better give chase, he decided after a moment, and stood up to follow her as she disappeared around a corner.

-*-

Ryssthota was already moving from the lab and making quick time. When Zoissette had stopped by the lab earlier and spoken about her upcoming date, Ryssthota had been cautiously optimistic.

Listening in on how the evening was going through Klynt's little hidden linkpearl, however, had dashed that optimism. She knew she ought to say something to Klynt about her surreptitious surveillance, but for now, Zoissette clearly needed someone to look after her, and, well, Ryssthota was somebody.

She was going to take matters into her own hands, and so she made her way into the restaurant, looking for Zoissette.

-*-

As Mathye approached her, he could see her patting herself down and hear her muttering to herself.

"I -just- put this outfit together, I have -no- idea where the journal pouches ar-," she said before noticing and turning around to face him. "oh! Master Bishop!"

Mathye carefully held his hands up in the air where she could see them, and approached slowly, as though she were a rabid patient or a spitting angry dragoon. "Zoissette? I I think the corset is affecting you."

"Ah, pardon me, that -was- rude of me. I just needed to step away for a quick moment - oh, the corset?"

He nodded, slowly. "If you're not getting enough air, you can feel strange and pass out..."

Zoissette looked down at herself, and reached down around the corset's ribbing, sticking a few fingers between it and her as she felt around.

Mathye found himself suddenly frozen, and staring at where the fingers were. Shite.

Zoissette gave no indication that she had noticed, or even that she was paying too much attention to him. "No, it is within specification. Possibly a bit loose, really, but I -am- a knight. I wanted to be able to move freely."

She hummed thoughtfully, and then frowned.

"Wait. Why are we talking about this!?"

Mathye forced his eyes away from her fingers, to look at her face. "Then why do you keep grimacing!?" he exclaimed, trying to keep the conversation from shifting too far off into the drifts.

"I am not! ... am I?" Zoissette looked like she was thinking for a moment, but then she looked back down at herself. "What did I come back here for in the first place..." she began muttering.

"You have been. Are you sure you're feeling well? If this is too much, we can go back to the company house and give you a look-over."

"I am quite well! Here, just head back to the table, I will be there shortly, I promise," she said.

"...if you're sure," he said, feeling not at all certain, but deciding to make his way back to the table anyroad.

As he went, he was certain he heard the sound of someone very large moving very quickly, and a loud whuff noise from where he had been just a moment ago. He turned around quickly.

But saw nothing.

He glanced around a bit, before slowly, reluctantly, returning to his seat, and waiting patiently for Zoissette to come back.

-*-

"Ryss!" said Zoissette, more startled than anything, once they had gotten outside. "Put me down! What has gotten into you!"

Ryssthota had the woman over her shoulder. Zoissette may have been large, especially for an Elezen, but Ryssthota was a Limsan Roegadyn, and found carrying her to be like carrying an exceptionally large bag of popotoes. She found a clear spot on the lawn, and set Zoissette down gingerly, before clamping her hands down on her shoulders.

"What are you DOING in there!?" exclaimed Ryssthota. "Zoissette, look at me. Are you doing that thing that you think is a smile?"

"What am I doing in there, what are you-" began Zoissette.

"Focus up! Show me your smile!"

Zoissette looked around, and she could see Bylti at a table nearby, who raised a hand in a simple greeting.

"I assume it's going well, then?" asked Bylti.

Zoissette frowned, and then focused back up at Ryssthota. After a moment, she drew deep in, and forced up one of her more enthusiastic smiles.

Ryssthota's eyes went wide.

Bylti, at least, for their part, returned the smile from where they were sitting.

"Oh honey no..." said Ryss.

"What?" asked Zoissette, feeling a bit defensive.

"That...whatever that is?" said Ryssthota. "Don't. It's bad. Do not do that."

Out of the corner of her eye, Zoissette saw Bylti return to their reading. Well, at least someone was treating this evening normally, she thought.

"...but I am -supposed- to smile," protested Zoissette. "It puts people at ease."

"That does not put people at ease, that makes people think they're about to watch you peel off your skin and reveal the vilekin that's wearing it."

-*-

Mathye, back at the table, was wondering less about what was taking Zoissette so long, and more about how he could possibly get control of the date back.

For starters, he was the man. He was supposed to be the one paying, if nothing else.

He stuck his hand in his coat pocket to see how much Gil he had on hand, and frowned when he felt a large number of small, squishy packages.

He closed his fist and pulled his hand back, and blinked at the handful of fucking condoms that were, apparently, in a coat pocket.

Nearby, from their table, Reinhardt began to make a thumbs-up gesture at Mathye, before being elbowed hard by Sebastian.

-*-

Zoissette stared at Ryssthota, more than a bit taken aback.

"Okay, smile, smile is easy. Remember when we unfroze Erick and he was ranting and raving but we didn't unfreeze his legs right so he fell down and it was hilarious?"

Zoissette bit her lower lip and looked off to one side, trying not to laugh.

"We both laughed, and you smiled beautifully. Smile like you're laughing at wobby-legs Erick."

"Aw, but that was kind-of mean. Though... also funny," said Zoissette, letting loose into laughter at the memory.

"See! That's a smile!" said Ryssthota. "Not, not the other thing. Okay, next up: he's not a noble."

"...he was a member of the Knights Dragoon, and I shall pay my respects accordingly due his role. To do less would be... dishonorable."

"I don't know what this etiquette crap you're doing is but he is NOT GETTING IT. You need to -relax-, sweetie!"

Bylti spoke up from where they were sitting, apparently keeping up with the conversation. "It's only a fair game with both players understand the rules," they supplied.

Ryssthota patted Zoissette's shoulders reassuringly while Zoissette looked around as though she were lost.

"...wouldn't he?" she asked.

"Is that safe to assume?" asked Bylti.

-*-

Mathye stared down at the condoms in his hand, and he looked up just in time to see a waitress stop and look at him, glancing between his face and his hand, clearly befuddled.

Uncertain of what better to do, he found himself staring back at her.

She broke her gaze away quickly, and continued about her business.

Mathye looked back down at the condoms, and wondered how to get rid of them. Preferably before Zoissette got back.

-*-

"I can tell by looking at you that you're carrying more tension than a ballista," said Ryssthota.

Zoissette went a touch stiffer. Impressive, considering how tightly she had already been wound up.

"I must needs get this right. He deserves that much," she said.

"Take a moment and breathe for me, honey," said Ryssthota. "You're so focused on the pageantry that you're missing the goal. You, and he, are supposed to have -fun-"

Bylti turned a page in their book. "What would that look like? 'Getting it right'?"

"Relax, tell some funny stories, listen to his, and stop worrying about filling out a checklist made by some bishop in Ishgard three hundred years ago," said Ryssthota. "I am telling you this because I love you and I want this to go well for you. Now gimme a smile."

Zoissette looked down at the ground, and shook her arms free a bit. Okay. So the big enthusiastic smile was not working, apparently. She decided to approach this from the angle of Ishgardian politeness... and maybe a bit of watching Erick flail as he went to the floor that one time. After a moment, she lifted her head up, and gave Ryssthota a weak smile.

Well, Ryssthota decided, it was an improvement and she would take it.

"There's my girl. Alright, back in you go, you can do this, just have fun."

"Alright, I can - HEY."

Ryssthota planted her shoulder in Zoissette's midsection, and hoisted her up in the air once more. Zoissette, resigned, just went along with it. As she was carried back into the restaurant, Bylti waved from behind their book, and Zoissette wiggled her fingers at them to wave back.

-*-

Mathye was sitting in his seat trying to figure out what to do with the condoms when he saw Ryssthota stride into the restaurant, Zoissette unceremoniously over one shoulder.

Quickly, he threw the condoms into the nearest fish tank. He had no choice, really. He composed himself as the two approached, trying not to pay too much attention to the condoms as they floated down among the fishes in said fish tank, as Ryssthota strode up and put Zoissette back down neatly in her seat.

"There, sorry about that, I needed to ask her a very time-sensitive question, have fun," said Ryssthota as she walked back off with a wave.

Zoissette looked mildly affronted. Rather like a put out coeurl, perhaps.

"...are you alright?" ventured Mathye.

Zoissette looked as though she was going to say something, as her gaze swept around, taking in the details of the restaurant once more, and Mathye swore he could slowly feel his blood thinning as she turned her gaze to the fish tank and frowned.

"...what are those in the fish tank? I am certain that is not normal."

"...maybe they're a fish toy!" he said hurriedly. "Let's eat, huh?"

The fish tank already had most of her attention, though, as she stood, pressing her hands and nose against the fish tank to try and get a better look.

"Someone should tell the staff," she said. "Nyx tells me fish can be very sensitive to their environment."

He could feel himself blanching as he quickly stood up with a menu, trying to push it up where Zoissette could see it. Better if he could get it between her face and the almost certain dawning of realization that she would have once she understood what she was looking at.

"Here, why don't we look at the special..." he offered.

She stepped away and looked down curiously at the menu in his hands, then quizzically back up at him.

"I already made arrangements, remember?"

He offered a weak smile. And hoped that his outfit was at least doing him some favors, now that she was looking at him. "I... oh. Yeah. You did."

"Oh right!" said Zoissette. "That was what I went to try and do, but then Ryss - and then - ... how did Ryssthota know to show up?"

Mathye was certain he heard a commotion behind him, even as Zoissette got a deeply thoughtful look on her face.

"And why was Bylti outside?" she wondered.

He frowned, and narrowed his eyes. He held up a hand.

"I need a moment," he said, turning around.

"Oh, of course, I think I might as well..." mused Zoissette.

Mathye studied the environs of the restaurant. If he was a pack of loons, such as Riven and his sworn brothers - and one actual honest-to-Halone brother - where would he hide?

-*-

Riven glanced over, then pulled back suddenly. "I think he knows we're here."

Reinhardt swore as Augustine quickly stood up and tried to usher them in a different direction.

"Move quickly, move quickly, he'll be coming this way," he said.

-*-

Mathye rounded the corner where he suspected trouble would be, and spotted - nothing. Not a thing. He looked around, and heard the front door just as it shut, but just before it did so, he swore he had caught just the barest glimpse of-

He buried his face in his hands.

"I'm going to fucking kill them," he said.

He could feel his temper rising. This night was going abominably so far, and now that he knew they were around, he was certain he had targets to blame for why there were so many condoms in his thrice-damned jacket pocket. Of all the nights for them to get up to tomfoolery, on this night of all nights-

He froze as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I... am certain they mean the best," said Zoissette, kindly. "I -think-."

His mind replayed the last half-bell of events through his head. Had he yelled about condoms while Zoissette, in this outfit, was in this room?

He slumped.

"...how about I tell the wait staff to start bringing the food out, and we try again?" she said, kindly.

"Sure..." he said, dejectedly.

"Come on," she said, and he could not help but let himself be led back over, slinking back towards and into his seat. How in the hell could he salvage this, he wondered.

This was it. This was Halone's hand, punishing him for all the manwhoring he got up to as a young man, he was certain.

As she sat down, Zoissette gave the weird squares in the fish tank another odd look. They reminded her of something, but she could not quite place what. She decided to ignore that for now. Mathye needed her attention, and so did this evening if she was to have any hope of rescuing it. She waved to the kitchen, and the hostess noticed and waved back before gesturing to the staff to start bringing food out.

As she looked over, she could just see Ryssthota, having found her own table, and tucking into her own food.

Well, at least she had a chaperone to watch over her, Zoissette assumed.

She -was- going to find out how Ryssthota knew to be around later, though, she promised herself. She reached up to tap the rim of her glasses to make a note, and wound up nudging her nose instead.

Right.

Behind Mathye, Riven and the others snuck back in, making their way quickly to a table upstairs and above Mathye and Zoissette before either of them could notice.

"I-I should apologise," said Mathye, as the wait staff came by with several plates of food.

"Oh, please do not!" said Zoissette. "If there is any fault to be had tonight, I - well. I think it is on me. Ryss had some words for me, and Bylti was kind enough to point out that my approach may be... deficient."

Mathye started to speak, but then looked down as the food was placed in front of him. A very rich sort of steak. Onion soup. Some kind of popotoes in sauce. Chysahl with, was that okeanis? Tea, well of course tea, but at least it looked like Ishgardian tea and not something he'd not be familiar with. And more besides.

She had made arrangements for a Halone-take-him FOUR COURSE MEAL?

He found his tongue once more, shaking off the dazzlement.

"Your... your approach?"

There was new movement in the fish tank next to him. He glanced over, and then made a mental note to pointedly ignore that there was now a Lalafell fishing out his condoms.

"Well, seeing as you are a Knight Dragoon, and I am a Lady, I, uhm, well. There are guidelines, after all."

She now noticed the Lalafell herself, and after staring at it for a moment, her gaze locked stiffly onto his face.

"Oh," he said, slowly. "Guidelines."

Shite, he'd done this all wrong. He had completely forgotten that Zoissette was, technically, Elezen nobility.

What in the hells was he doing?

"Yes, well, it has been... some time, I must admit, since I have done this, and I have no holdings, of course, but your station does come with expectations," said Zoissette. "Also, I thought it would be a nice thing to do?"

"I... see," said Mathye. "I ... don't really bother too much with my station..." he said, his voice trailing off.

She was doing the thing with her face and the teeth and the scary again.

"Are you sure you're feeling well?" he asked, genuinely concerned. He did not know anybody who grimaced that much unless they were being prepped for a truly unpleasant procedure.

"Wait, sorry, uhm," she said, ducking her head down. He watched, worried, until she slowly raised her head again, and thank Halone, she was smiling. It was a soft smile, a very small smile, but at least she didn't look like she was about to leap across the table and start gleefully stabbing him.

He barely caught her next words.

"...maybe Ryss was right," she said.

He wasn't sure what she meant by that, so he pressed on. "I...you didn't have to go to all this fuss, Zoissette. I'm not what you would call...well, civilized. Or gentlemanly... I'm not used to fancy...bits. I just wanted to spend some time with you, and maybe... We could get to know each other a little better. No...high fancy hoopla about it."

He took a deep breath in, and let it out slow. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stress you out--and if I came on too strong, I apologize."

He was pointedly ignoring the Lalafell in the fish tank beside him. Who appeared to be pointedly glaring at him.

"No, no, not at all! I just - well, there's protocol," said Zoissette. "And - I thought I knew what I was doing. It is supposed to be simple. I mean, there is some difficulty since we are not in Ishgard, but, you know."

"Well, I'm not exactly...familiar with that sort of protocol," said Mathye. "I'm not looking for like..."

A thought occurred to him and he blinked rapidly at Zoissette in disbelief.

"Wait, were you wondering if I was going to -propose- or something?!"

If she was shocked by the outburst, she gave no indication of it that he could see. "Well, no, clearly it is far too soon for that. I just assumed you would either announce your intention to court or, if you wished to know more, offer an invitation to a future event."

Mathye felt his face go warm again, and pulled at his tie.

"Well...more so the latter. I...know I'm not very...I'm not much of anything partner wise."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Lalafell finally exit the fish tank. One problem down, the entire rest of the evening to go. He turned his attention back to Zoissette just in time to see her smiling a little sadly at him.

And also reaching across the table to fix his tie. He somehow managed to find a way to turn even redder as he began to speak quickly.

"I mean...you're...lovely, Zoissette. Pretty, and beautiful, and graceful."

He paused.

"I'm a angry cripple."

-*-

"I'm going down there to beat some sense into him," said Riven, starting to stand.

Three pairs of hands yanked her back down as Sebastian said "Don't."

-*-

"I do not know who told you you would be a bad partner," said Zoissete. "But... I think I understand, a little bit. My brother is also an injured veteran. He's told me stories."

"Your brother?" asked Mathye.

"Ement. Knight-Captain, before I took his post. Dragon bit him during the height of the Calamity. He also needs a prosthetic, now. His helps him breathe."

"Wait, he has the rebreather? I remember hearing about that when I was being prepared for my leg."

Zoissette nodded. "Of course you would know of it! Yes, that is him."

Mathye exhaled. "Bloody hells, I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"It's alright. He's the one who has to live with it, and he's made his peace with it. But, uhm, what I was trying to say is... I understand. Not directly, but I get it. Some people look and just see... what did he say? Damaged goods."

Mathye offered a wry smile, and looked down at the food he'd been eating. "I... know that quite well," he said. Understatement, really. He had been living that reality for so long. Dragging it along behind him, really.

"But that is not what you are. You are hurt and you are wounded and you have a prosthetic. But you are also an excellent medic. And despite what everyone says, quite nice."

She looked thoughtful. "...why do people keep saying you are such a grump, anyroad."

"I'm not exactly what you would call a happy healer..." he said, with a cough. He decided to change the subject. And perhaps, to dare a little.

"That color looks very good on you," he said.

Zoissette brightened. "Oh, right? Meya suggested it! And it went well with the highlights I was using back when I first started trying to look like an adventurer."

"It's nice to see you in clothing that isn't your normal armor," he said, and he could feel his chest tighten a bit, hoping it would be taken as a compliment. That was a proper compliment, he thought to himself.

Right?

"And your shoulders and back are very graceful," he continued.

"Oh! Uhm. Thank you? You... also look very nice. Blue really suits y-," Zoissette began. But then she froze.

Mathye began to curse inwardly. Was he allowed to comment on skin? Was that some other weird noble thing? FUCK.

The flesh rending grimace of doom that threatened to split her head and half and swallow him whole was back, and just as he'd managed to stop being red in the face, too. He stopped eating for a moment, grabbing his water, and beginning to chug it, stopping long enough to check in.

"Are you hurt?" It was a genuine concern, the way she did that.

"Uhm, no, not at all, uhm, thank you, you are very kind," she said.

He nodded, and began to shovel mouthfuls of popotoe into his mouth. Right. No commenting on her body.

"Um... is your food good?" he asked diplomatically.

"...I did the smile again," she said.

"That's a smile?" he blurted. "I thought you were about to go out and skin somebody while they were alive."

"Ryss -was- right. I really should work on that."

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Oh, Fury, Mathye. What -are- we doing. I thought this would be a nice after Heavensturn sort of thing."

"I have no fucking clue and I have four suspects on who put fucking condoms in my pockets..."

Zoissette looked like she suddenly realized something.

"... is that what was in the fish tank!?"

"... well, I couldn't have you see me with a handful of condoms!"

"Better to have them than not! I am not unfamiliar with condoms, Mathye!"

"...wait you would want me to use them with you?"

Mathye found himself staring at her. This night was twistier than reassembling a patient's guts.

"No, but I certainly would not have minded knowing that you had them on you!"

"Well I felt it would be rude, it's only the second date and I didn't want you thinking I was only in it for a lay!" he spluttered.

"I would almost expect you to have them, really. You are a -doctor-. And the heavens know I am familiar with the reputations of the Knights Dragoon."

Mathye deflated, and slowly, gently, put his head down on the table.

Zoissette had been eating primly and properly up until now, but apparently propriety was no longer in attendance, and she started to just attack her steak like any knight might.

"I was trying to be a gentleman," said Mathye.

She paused in the middle of stabbing her steak.

"You deserve to have a gentleman," he said.

He could hear her starting to laugh, and he just looked up at her from where he was on the table.

"Zoissette, the majority of my female relationships have been one night stands and then it all went to the hells after I got my leg."

"And I," said Zoissette, "was trying to be a lady!"

He stared at her for a long moment. Then a smile, a real one, began to creep over his features, and then, he found himself laughing as well.

"Gods we're just shite at this, aren't we."

"They will not let me out of the lab after this, I do not think," said Zoissette, still giggling.

Mathye shook his head. "Riven is going to skin me."

"...as for the one night stands, that is what I expected, yes. I was in charge of a fort, you know. I know what happens. Certainly had enough requests for leave due to unexpected pregnancies."

Mathye perked up at that, and for the first time in the evening, felt that this was finally a topic he could get a grasp on.

"Which one?" he asked.

"I do not know what it is called these days. Was the Vauban Waypoint when I was in charge. Few malms behind the front, between the Dusk and Stone vigils. Logistics."

Zoissette seemed to have relaxed with the topic change as well. She was no longer attacking her food, nor daintily going at it, but seemed to just be ... eating.

"I used to have a string that ran through the one we called 'Lost in The Woods'," he said, as he decided to follow her example.

"Oh, that one. Good name for it. Had to let them borrow people for search parties all the time..." offered Zoissette.

The two finally settled into an easy conversation, as they began to trade tales of their time in service.

Riven and her group upstairs at last took their leave, once certain that no more disasters would be forthcoming, and Ryssthota was there along with them, hands in her pockets, also satisfied at last that there would be no further incidents.

Zoissette wandered around the plaza of Old Sharlayan, more than a little lost.

She was only here to pursue the end trails of an investigation. A mysterious benefactor that had given extraordinarily generous gifts to Gage Acquisitions. Too generous for their possible origin to be ignored, in case of malicious intent. Faced with a puzzle, Zoissette had brought her considerable acumen to bear, and with the help of her fellow adventurers, she had been led here.

Where Iyna had reported the the trail went cold. Their supposed benefactor had been uncovered, and had been found to have died shortly before Zoissette had touched shore. Her investigation had taken her far, but it ended here. The timing of the death was suspicious, but she had wasted enough of the company's time and resources already. She wrote her report and sent it back to Dark Autumn, and let Y'zel know he was free for the holiday.

Which left her alone in Old Sharlayan during the Starlight season. She knew that she would be expected at the Gage Acquisitions company party, and Y'zel had extended her an invitation to a family gathering, but neither would require her to return for some days yet, and so she did not.

Instead she was here, at the Last Stand, looking for something, anything appetizing on the menu. But despite such delights as baked lobster and fully loaded popotoes, nothing particularly moved her from her current mood. Picking frugality over excess, she settled on a mutton and watercress sandwich with tomato and a cup of tea, and shortly, took her seat.

What a mess.

No malfeasance had been found, at least. And if there was someone behind the dead woman, they would find leveraging their connection difficult indeed. Gage could enjoy the fruits of the generous gifts.

And Zoissette, free of responsibility, could contemplate her situation at last. She considered possibly fleeing the island, but most of her friends had already made their Starlight plans and were now otherwise occupied with holiday cheer. Her brother would be spending a lovely time with Klynt, she was certain. Many of the others would also be off with their various partners, or spending time with their families, or even volunteering in the name of the season and handing out gifts to children.

For herself, well, the Baldesion annex was right there. She could see it from where she was, if she looked. And it was not as if she had not worked closely with the Scions over the years in various capacities. She had even helped watch over them when they were in the First, bringing her not-insignificant expertise to bear. She would be welcome. She could just drop by. See if anyone was around or if anything needed doing, make herself useful and available.

And she had been asked after. Specifically.

And yet, something was holding her back.

Was it the looming question of how to respond to Mathye? He had made his feelings clear enough, and she believed him. She was not sure why he was interested in her, of all people, especially considering the other company that they kept, as well as literally any other option, but, still, he was interested.

There was a tangled knot somewhere in here, and she could not unravel it. Was it dedication to duty? Maybe she did not want the trouble of personal entanglements. Was it long times away? Well, everyone involved already dealt with that and understood that the job would come first, as always. Which looped back to the idea of it interfering with her duty, which it would not. Indeed, if she went to help with the research, that would arguably be furthering her duty to the realm.

How did she get back to that.

She took a deep breath and shook her head. This was the way it always went when she tried to think about these things. Loops and strange corners and leaps of illogic and none of it made sense.

Her sandwich was gone now, and she had barely tasted it, so caught up in her own thoughts. Well, at least she had not spent the coin on something more expensive.

She took a sip of her tea, and found it had gone cold. She looked at it, and set it back down as the waiter came by with the bill, and a small bag, small enough to fit in her hand. A little token of the Last Stand's appreciation, according to the note on it.

She opened the bag and reached inside of it, and pulled out a small piece of hard candy.

She found herself looking at it for a long moment.

-*-

"There's hardly any meat for the Starlight feast," the sergeant-at-arms complained as he looked through various boxes.

"We've got a steinbock," offered the head chef, looking at the knight-captain. "Enough for the officer's mess. We might be able to stretch it to cover the senior enlisted's mess, too."

Zoissette looked in yet another box. She knew what was down here. Over a year of shepherding the logistics for the region, carefully stewarding resources, and immaculate record keeping meant she knew what she expected to find, almost down to the last nail. But she had come looking anyroad. It was always possible that there was something that had been overlooked, a box of sundries that had been hidden or forgotten about, a hidden stash of preserved delights that could brighten up the season, maybe some preserved meat that had been mislabelled.

Instead, they had found exactly what was expected as they had gone through the boxes. Preserved vegetables in reasonable supply. Vinegar, as much as one could want. Some wine, so long as one was not interested in drinking it. Pepper and salt and laurel enough. Flour, at least, to make the rolls that would be expected. But no meat. The steinbock had been a fresh kill from a recent hunt, and a lucky one at that, but that was it. The salted and preserved meat had all been sent out elsewhere, and the portion they had set aside for themselves had become depleted sennights ago.

Zoissette stood up and rubbed her back.

"...maybe we could send the scouts out to see if they can find another herd," the head chef offered helpfully.

"No," said Zoissette. "We have to be careful. The animals have had it as hard as us during this calamity. If the herds are to recover, we must be singularly circumspect about how we hunt them."

The chef sighed, but nodded.

The sergeant-at-arms grunted. "We've spent too much trying to keep all of Coerthas afloat by ourselves. If those idiots of House Durendaire weren't trying so hard to get that blasted vigil back, then w-"

"Then the horde may have not been so distracted, and could be pressing down on us right now instead of pulling back," said Zoissette. "Let Durendaire seek their glory as they wish. We have done our duty. War is a logistics exercise, sergeant, and we have served well."

She knew that lesson all too keenly. Moons spent poring over supply lines. Sennights spent worrying about whether or not messengers had been received at various farms, with instructions on how to shift to methods that would yield crop. Letters sent, so many letters, asking for help, bartering for supply, anything.

They would survive this winter, but only just. But the next year promised, if not relief, at least an easing away from the precipice, as they all adapted.

The Ishgardians were, after all, a martial people. And Zoissette was well-learned, not only in the strategies of her homeland, but in the methods a capable arcanist ought to know. She would see them through this, in the ways she knew how.

Which still left her with a nearly empty larder.

Zoissette pried open the last box. The sergeant-at-arms looked past her to look into it, and groaned.

"Well," he said. "At least dessert is covered, I guess, if we want to send every man and woman to bed with an awful twinge in their jaws and have them wake up with rotted teeth."

She had found a box full of bags of hard candy. Easy to keep, easy to store. All you needed was sugar, and nothing more. So long as it was kept dry. And she had as much as one could want, which as it turned out when one was no longer a child, was not much at all. And it was a common gift sent from well-meaning parishioners to the men and women of the front lines.

Zoissette closed her eyes, and considered.

"Alright," she said. "We have a few days. Time enough. Master Chef, if I get you some mudpuppy, do you think the enlisted mess could make a decent enough meal of it?"

The chef looked thoughtful, rubbing his chin. "Well, we've got vinegar here - dry out that awful mucous they have. The wine's rubbish, but let it soak in, and it could break down their stringiness some. Laurel to work with the wine and round out the flavour. Salt and pepper to taste - yeah. I think any idiot could make it work."

"Very well," said Zoissette. "Here is the plan. Master Chef, you take the steinbock we do have, and first pick of the materials we have here - and I do mean first pick, make it count. I am sending you to the forward camp to prepare their Starlight feast. Tell them it is a gift from you, a thank you in recognition of the fact that they are spending the holiday out on the ice sheets."

"...of course, ser Vauban," said the head chef with a bow. "...though I daresay your fellow officers may be annoyed."

"They can deal with it. Sergeant, gather the senior enlisted. The officers shall join you. The mudpuppies seem to have thrived in the current clime, and that is putting undue pressure on the other wildlife. We are going to go cull them, and bring them back for cooking. Meat enough for Starlight. Just tell them of the hunt, and nothing more. I will be the one to tell them that all shall be eating from the enlisted mess this year."

"As you say, madam."

The chef and the sergeant turned to leave.

"Master chef?" asked Zoissette.

He paused, and turned. "Ser Vauban?"

"...any idiot, you say?"

He looked at her a moment, and nodded.

"Hmn," she said. "Very well."

-*-

The soldiers of the fort had been abuzz for a few bells. They were on holiday routine for Starlight, and had been enjoying the first relatively long period of free time many of them had known for some moons. The watches were manned, but most other responsibilities had been delayed or handled until after Starlight had gone.

Many of those with children had written home, telling their families of hopes that the next year would not be bitter, or trying to bring up their spirits for the current season. All had come now to stand outside the mess hall, however, and were wondering what they might look forward to. The senior enlisted and the officers were alongside them, and all were hungry. Some complained, but many more pointed to the stoic example of their commander. She had spared no privileges for herself, sharing in their circumstances, and if she could endure the harsh winter, then so would they.

The sergeant came by and opened the doors at last, planting himself to be first. The men and women of the fort got into an orderly line behind him, and made their way to the serving area of the kitchen, where they were each greeted in turn by Knight Captain Vauban.

"Madam," the sergeant said as he held out his plate.

"Sergeant," she responded cheerfully, as she took it, and placed a steaming slice of seared eft steak onto it. She pointed. "Pick a jar of whatever vegetable you like, grab a roll, and take a bag of candy if you would like. Happy Starlight."

"Happy Starlight," he returned gruffly.

"Next!" she called out, and a younger soldier stepped up, looking perplexed at the exchange he had just witnessed.

"Uh, begging your pardon, ser Vauban..." he began.

He blinked at the brightness of the smile she gave him as she held out her hand.

"Plate, soldier?" she asked.

He handed it over dumbly, and she placed a slice of steak on his plate as well, and gestured.

"A jar of whatever you like," she said. "Grab a roll, and a bag of hard candy if you wish. Happy Starlight."

"Happy Starlight," he said dumbly, as he moved down the line. One of the officers made his way to the front, the others moving out of his way, looking at one another, still confused and uncertain of what was going on. The officer stepped up, and looked at Vauban keenly. After a moment, however, he stepped around behind her, and made his way to where the crates of preserved vegetables were being kept.

"Easier to keep the line moving," he said, "If one of us is handing these out instead of just letting them fumble them around."

"Thank you."

"Hmph. Might have mentioned this plan of yours when we were fetching the damnable beasts."

Zoissette looked to the next person in line, and gestured at them to approach.

"It is holiday routine," she said. "I decided to handle this myself."

"Of course," he said archly.

The next soldier stepped up. And then the next, and the next. Zoissette served them each in turn, the officer helping her, and when the Sergeant was finished eating, he came back and began to help as well, making sure the bags of hard candy were always in easy reach. Another soldier began to shuffle the rolls between the oven and the baskets.

And so Starlight passed in the fort, well into the evening, when at last everyone had had, if not their fill, at least a serving of meat, blessed meat, and greens to follow it with.

It was not until late when Zoissette was finally free to take her leave, grabbing a plate for herself. The pickings were thin by this point, but she managed to get a small tip of eft steak for herself, a jar of vinegared cucumber, a roll, and a bag of some of the hard candy that had been found in the storage area.

Many others were still milling around in the mess hall, the sergeant among them. She nudged him on the shoulder as he went out.

"I will be in my office," she said.

He looked at her seriously. "It's Starlight. Why not stay out here, madam?"

She shook her head. "The soldiers do not need their commander looming over them while they try to enjoy their time."

"...as you say, madam," he said, though he did not look convinced.

No matter. She made her way to her office, leaving the door open in case she was needed, and sat down.

It was not much.

But it was better than nothing, and far better than many had expected.

She ate her meal in silence, wondering if she should write a letter home. Let her brother know that his people were alright after all this time. Maybe a letter to nervous anxious father, reassuring him that all was well. A letter to the de Baires, inquiring as to how they were getting on.

As she ate, however, her attention drifted. The season was not over yet, and summer was some ways away. They would need to find other ways to replenish their stock. She looked over figures and through records, checking boxes and filing through drawers for paperwork, frowning over maps, until at last she reached for her roll and found it missing.

She looked over and found that she had eaten her entire meal, and had hardly tasted it for as little mind as she had paid it.

Well, she still had the small bag of hard candy. She opened it up, pulled out a small piece, and rotated it in her fingers for a moment, looking it over.

She then stuck it in her mouth, and sat back in her chair, and contemplated her desk for a bit.

Hard days behind and hard days ahead.

But she would manage.

She always did.

-*-

Zoissette rotated the small piece of hard candy in her fingers, blinking at it, thinking, and she began to rock gently in her chair, holding her laughter in. She bent over, closed her eyes, and wrapped her arms around her waist.

This entire situation was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. She had handled much and more in her time on this star, and she had been through much and worse in the past.

Knight Captain Vauban of Ishgard had survived the calamity, and so had the men and women under her command. Her command! She had been responsible for lives. And now, Zoissette Vauban, esquire, was sitting in what was arguably the most enlightened city of the star, having not only survived what might have been the end of the world, but had seen the star through it all.

And she was despairing over a research opportunity and a man.

She was glad her mother was not here to see her. How disappointing, that a woman like herself was acting like an idiot barely past their growth.

"Madam?" she heard, and she looked up sharply at the voice.

But it was just the waiter, back to check on the bill, and with a concerned expression on their face. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slow. And when she opened her eyes again, they were lazy and half-lidded, and she was certain she had the gentle smile of Ishgardian politeness on her face as she put her money on the little tray, and enough for a tip aside.

"Thank you," she said, standing up.

"...of course," they said, falling back on professionalism, and taking the bill, money and all, with a slight bow. "Happy Starlight."

"Happy Starlight," she said, as she walked away, considering.

Well.

What had gotten her through those terrible times before was planning, knowledge, and execution, and that was all that she needed now. Conflicted feelings need not enter the equation. It was simple. What course of action would allow her to achieve her desired goals?

Well. Any Scion research would be for the good of the realm, of course. She already had the paperwork ready, and copies filed back at Gage Headquarters. She was not sure at all why she had hesitated, and she would not do so now. Though that could wait until after Starlight.

As for the question of Mathye, he was a good man, and a former knight dragoon as well. She wished once more that she could ask Riven for advice, but she would have to settle for what she could glean from observation. They worked well together. And she was a former knight herself. Why, there was certainly no reason not to entertain his advances, and perhaps see whether or not they would lead to courtship. Though that also could wait until after Starlight, as well as perhaps until after whatever particular troubles they were having cleared up. And certainly she could sort out her feelings on that particular question as they went along.

She looked at the small piece of hard candy once more, and tossed it lightly in the air, and almost caught it on the way back down, bouncing it from hand to hand several times as she tried to catch it before finally getting a firm grasp on it and sticking it in her mouth. She grinned around it as she did so.

She had a plan, and now she just had to see it through execution. Surely now everything would turn out fine. She was clearly just overthinking everything.

She hummed to herself as she went along the paths of Old Sharlayan. Yes. She would manage.

Strategy, Zoissette knew, was a tool to be used to manipulate one's situation into the desired reality.

And in order to ensure one's desired strategies came to fruition, proper preparation was necessary to prevent poor performance, as the saying went.

As such, Zoissette was studying maps and checking over the data she had available to her. She was on her own outside of Gage Acquisitions for the first time in a long time, and she would do well to check and double check her preparations.

First was the matter of gear and equipment. She made sure to bring out expertly made Scholar's vestments, loaded with the tools of her trade. Spare aetheric ink, pens, quills, and nibs were gathered, and her robes were such that it was easy to spirit them away in easy to access compartments. She would be able to switch the specific ink she would need to be at the point of her quill at any moment, as well as repair and replace her writing instruments in the heat of the moment should they become damaged for any reason.

Next was the matter of her codex. While other magic disciplines may have relied on staves or wands, a scholar relied heavily on the books that they carried with them. Hers was laden with shortcuts, lookup tables for complex mathematical operations, and of course plenty of pages on which she could write future tactics to influence current situations. The paper was of surpassing quality, and would be able to survive a wide variety of disastrous eventualities. In fact, with the enchantments bestowed upon it, it was even proof against the elements. The book could safely be tossed into a fire, and she would but need to pluck it free to resume her spellwork or notations as needed.

Last of her gear was perhaps the most important, the small pouch in which she would slide her soul stone, the self same soul stone where her fairy familiar, Lavender, resided. Lavender could be called upon to assist at a moment's notice, and often acted as a multiplicative force on Zoissette's own abilities. Zoissette felt herself more than capable in many situations, it was true, but with Lavender she often felt as though she was as able as two or maybe even three people. Lavender was another mind to lean on, clever and quick, flexible and adroit, and Zoissette had been long glad of her company.

The gear situation sorted, Zoissette turned her attention to other matters. With her maps and directions, as well as her own prior experience, she felt she knew the terrain well. She knew where she was going, and about how long she would take. Of course, before she even began formulating her tactics, she had made sure to spare a thought for her own strengths and weaknesses. She knew herself well enough that she calculated a series of eventualities, starting from what she would like to plan, but allowing also for her personal tendencies to possibly disrupt the plan. How long this would take would vary greatly depending on how she met the terrain.

As such, she reserved several pouches for spare notebooks, but also for spare food. She would need foodstuffs that were both edible and reasonably tasty, but also easy to preserve and unlikely to spoil. It was also important that they be discrete to carry and consume, lest she attract unwanted attention. Along with that, provisions for water were put into a few canteens, lest she find herself unable or, for whatever reason, unwilling to seek out reasonable sources while she was in situ.

Lastly, the part of her preparations where she actually did the planning. Potential paths were decided upon, as well as avenues for exploration or evasion, should it come to that. And considering the tasks ahead of her, she was careful to key in enchantments into her glasses. Alarms were set to make sure that she was both resting at regular intervals, as well as reminders regarding wake up times and meal times. Of course, some of these plans were more flexible than others. Eating times could be adjusted as needed, but rest times, she decided, would need to be strictly observed, lest she find herself in an uncomfortable situation at an inopportune time - or worse. And just to be sure, she instructed Lavender to serve as a backup, to which the fairy, of course, agreed.

She slept on the matter overnight. There was no immediate rush, but once she was in, she would be committed, and it would not do for her to not take the time, be well rested, and look over her planning again with a fresh mind.

And so she woke up, and checked again. Clothing, gear, food, water, schedule, other equipment, and backup plans as well as general solutions for unforeseen eventualities.

Finally satisfied that her preparations were all in order, Zoissette performed her final checks. She was careful to make sure she took everything with her. She would not be returning to her current quarters in particular, and she wished to leave no trace behind that she had ever been in guest housing in Old Sharlayan.

Once she was ready, she squared her shoulders, and headed out to at last begin her mission.

And after a short walk, she arrived at her destination. Noumenon, that bastion of Old Sharlayan's collective knowledge, and one of the greatest libraries in the civilized world.

She walked inside, looking up in wonder at the tall shelves of books. Always in wonder. She had been here before, of course. She had research that needed done after the Scions had first landed, research on how to get Gage Acquisitions onto the island nation legally and with a minimum of fuss, research on the history of the Forum... research, always more research. And despite how often she was here, she was certain she would never lose the sense of wonder the place invoked in her.

It was beautiful to her, in a way she could not quite articulate. The sight of seeing so many shelves filled to the brim. The feel of leather and bindings under her fingers as she ran them across spines. The differences in lettering, colors and fonts that had been chosen. The smell of ages of paper and book covers. The way it had been carefully organized and curated. Mammets and peers wandering between the shelves. The enchantments visible to her with but a tap along the rim of her glasses. And just the sheer thought of what it all represented.

She was always moved, same as if she had caught sunset in Gyr Albania at just the right time, or the many times she had woken up to watch dawn crest over the hills of Coerthas. Every time. It was special, every time. Here there was everything from the most banal observations of a pretentious noble to the quiet wisdom of ascetics of ages past, collections of mathematical notation and discovery, documentation of scientific progress, drawing books and learning books and everything in between. It was all precious, and it was all here, in one place. The work of so many minds with so many goals, all collected, collated, protected, and now, appreciated.

And it was just her. No goals other than her own, no office to rush back to, and no real obligations at least until after Heavensturn.

She found herself fair giddy.

She registered Lavender as a research assistant at one of the side desks, and once she had been approved for use of the familiar, she sent the fairy out to search for certain texts. This time was her own, but she did have goals in being here. She was an expert in multiple disciplines, and she had seen the fruits of her labor when she had travelled to the Thirteenth alongside the others. At that point, though, she had gone along as support.

Now she would be going as fellow researcher. Her mathematical conceptualization of negative energy had been of help, as well as her work into aetheric conversion, but she felt she should know more if she was to avoid being a burden. And anyroad, she always had that desire to know more, that intense curiosity that had served her well throughout her life.

Her research carried her forward for many bells, before one of her alarms went off, a gentle glowing rune appearing in her vision, and a soft pinging in her ear only she could hear, both delivered by one of the many myriad enchantments she had in her glasses. She broke for lunch, choosing to sit just outside the building with what rations she had brought with her. Once she was done, back inside she went.

It was not over long before her tendencies caught up with her, but this, too, had been accounted for in her plans, so it was alright. She sought out the works of her friends, curious to see which of whose publishing had made it all the way to Noumenon. Apple's work was available, of course. The results of Ryssthota's latest did not seem to have made it yet, but she was intrigued to find older work from the woman, and checked out the appropriate journal to peruse later.

Over in the area more concerned with summoning, she found Riven's treatises, as well as an unexpected gem from Synnove. She remembered the woman from back in her time in the Assessor's office. She perused both woman's work quickly, but not in depth. It was interesting to see the similarities and differences in their pursuits. Both made heavy use of tattoos, which still seemed incredibly novel to Zoissette. It essentially marked them both as masters without peer, in a way. And their works on arcanima were always interesting to read.

Zoissette read through Synnove's work and admitted, that while she thought she might understand their work, she was unlike to replicate it herself. The art of summoning, as they practiced it, seemed so very different from her own approach to arcanima. Synnove seemed to have a more holistic, big picture, top-down approach that centered on the results in her carbuncles. Zoissette always felt her work, deriving at it did from the Nymian perspective, was more concerned with incremental work from first principles, building from the bottom-up. And Synnove worked much more closely with the living aether, shaping it, drawing it in, while Zoissette preferred the fractals and patterns to do the heavy lifting necessary for her fairy to function.

She mused, however, that her thoughts would seem odd to an outsider. Did they not all work with living aether and math? Well, they did, but the details mattered, in arcanima more than any other discipline. She spent a few bells reviewing the work against her own, and seeing if there was anything she could apply cross-discipline. Ultimately she decided against it. The voidsent emulation her and Lavender had arrived at could possibly be more volatile with living aether, though it could also possibly be made more stable with the gemstones so central to a carbuncle's form, but in either case, adapting would take more time than refining her own approach. Zoissette set the book back and moved on, quietly offering a whispered prayer of well wishes as she did so.

She decided it was time for another break. She set an alarm, and wandered outside for a bit, enjoying some mixed nuts she had brought with her and emptying one of her canteens as she did so. She sat on a bench and watched as the peoples of Old Sharlayan went about their day, fresh students to experienced Archons, gleaners and artisans, and others beside. It was as lively as any other city.

She wondered idly what it would be like to live in Old Sharlayan full time.

When she returned to the stacks, she decided to allow herself to be just a touch self-indulgent. Avoiding the staff who could have helped her, she instead found a mammet to do so, and, after carefully making sure nobody could overhear her request, she quietly asked for a search of her own works. The mammet quickly and discretely led her to what she sought, and she pulled out a book that had her name on its spine.

It was a treatise on Nymian mathematics. There were other scholars, but her and Alka Zolka had been among the first to not only do a deep dive on their methodologies, but also to document their findings. And as far as Zoissette knew, she was the first person in the age to have managed to feat of creating a fairy from base principles, rather than relying on modifying an existing one, or finding a Nymian soul stone that already had one. She leafed through the book a little. It was, of course, in pristine condition. There were enchantments and cantrips on it to keep it so. It was almost as well protected as her own codex.

She touched a hand to the rim of her glasses to activate its own suite of enchantments, and the book flared to a new life in front of her. Some methods of modifying the book were strictly verboten by the policy most any keeper of knowledge in Eorzea would have recognized. The tearing or excessive folding of pages, bending the spine too far, base mutilation was out of the question. As was writing in the book with permanent writing inks, or paints and pigments, or other vandalism. However, other methods of modifying the book were not only acceptable, but encouraged. New enchantments could be layered into the system of existing ones, and special aetheric ink, invisible to the naked eye when left untouched, could be used.

And so with either the right enchantments oneself may have - such as the ones in Zoissette's glasses - or with a pulse of aether from someone who knew what they were doing, a hidden world of new knowledge could be created, shared, and looked into. She was pleased to see the annotations of other scholars in her book, as well as updates from some of them on findings from their own research. There were also notes on clever applications of some of her work, or expansions upon the same. She leafed through it, looking at the runes as they glowed and hovered in the air around the book, footnotes and marginalia that had been added by those who had come after and been interested enough in her work to engage with it deeply.

Grinning and giddy, she looked around to make sure nobody was watching, and then she carefully replied back to some of the notes she could answer to quickly. She was secretly pleased by the attention, as well as gratified that despite the fact she had placed few protections against misuse, there was no vandalism in her own tome. As she paged through, however, she stopped in one section that did a deep dive into aetheric theory.

There was notes from Y'shtola. Zoissette checked the magicks, to see when the note had been added, and saw that it had occurred not so very long ago. She quickly did some math in her head. It would had to have to have been shortly after Y'shtola had recovered from the events that had left her body bereft of soul, incapacitated for moons.

And one of the first things she had done was to come here, find one of Zoissette's works, take the time to read the book, understand it enough to make some notes in it, and then to return it to the shelves, updated with new knowledge.

Zoissette did not know what to do with this new information. She wanted to take the book and do a deep dive on every note that had been made, and now especially the update from Y'shtola. But she also felt oddly even more embarrassed than she did when she had indulged her pride in checking on it in the first place. She put it back, and decided that perhaps it was time to redirect her energies elsewhere in the library.

And so she sought lighter reading for a while, as she drifted to other sections of the library. She moved slowly, now, but did not spend any large amount of time with any tome. Any book that truly began to snag her interest, she stopped to make a note to return to it later, or perhaps ask the mammets about possibly borrowing it for a time. However, as the day turned to early evening, her discipline began to slip, and she was finding herself spending more and more time in individual books, cross referencing against her own knowledge, and engaging deeply with the expanded magical annotations many of them had.

Before she knew it, it was almost dinner time, and she decided that perhaps she should settle on one last book before taking her leave. She decided to leave it to whim, glancing quickly over titles on spines, when she happened upon one labelled Forever Twenty Summers. Curious as to what the meaning of such a statement could be, she pulled the book out, and began to read it.

It was a treatise on how to take care of oneself, it seemed. Though the information it contained seemed sound enough, the central thesis seemed amusingly absurd. The book spoke about how to eat well, exercise and tone the body for reasonably sustainable fitness, and the use of arcane techniques, all in the name of maintaining a body's humours balanced, the mind healthy, and the wholistic fitness of a person in order to ensure a life as long and useful as was practicable. The core idea, however, was the stated goal that whatever age the reader of the tome happened to be when they came across it, they should aspire to remain that age forevermore, through the use of the techniques the book detailed.

Zoissette read the book, deeply amused. She checked the annotations of various people who had come across the book, and she tapped the rim of her glasses to bring up her own note system. A quick check of various images she had stored, and she found a particular work from Ishgard she wished to compare with the Sharlayan tome. The Seasons of the Shieldmaiden against the lessons of Forever Twenty Summers. They both spoke broadly on the same matters of self care, but each had very different ideals in mind in the goal of doing so.

She cancelled an alarm, and waved off Lavender when the fairy flitted near. "Just this last one," she reassured the familiar, who frowned at her while crossing her arms, but after a moment nodded and flitted down to rest on her shoulder. Dinner could wait a half bell or so. Zoissette had found her fun.

Zoissette was deeply engrossed in the book when someone did something so rude she was almost knocked out of her reverie.

"Ah," they said. "I see you've found a book that I myself have found quite useful. I believe I indulged in it from an early age, shortly after the exodus was affected. I wonder, how are you finding it?"

She frowned, and was inclined to ignore the person. It would be unspeakably rude to do so, but answering rudeness with rudeness was, generally, acceptable.

But, of course, she could not bring herself to do so. She gathered a response in her mind, trying to consider the best way to be polite.

But she was on sabbatical.

And they were interrupting her.

"Fascinating," she replied, breezily. "I had it on good authority that Sharlayan did not have much in the way of storytales, and yet, here I found one. In the reference section, no less."

"A storytale? Perhaps it is not the tome I imagined it to be. I was fair certain that was Forever Twenty Summers, however."

"It is," said Zoissette, not elaborating further.

"And how, pray tell, is it a storytale?"

Oh, she would only be too happy to explain.

In her own way.

"Well, what would you say a storytale is, fundamentally?" asked Zoissette lightly. She highlighted a particular annotation for deeper review. It was difficult to read while talking to the stranger, but she at least could mark progress for later.

"This again? Very well. A storytale is, of course, first and foremost, a fiction. A story, usually with some manner of fantastic element, and often, though not always, used to convey some sort of greater moral truth or guidance."

"Oh. Interesting. A fantastic element, you say? Like, perhaps, stopping the wings of time from blowing their wind at a moment of one's choosing?"

"Merely a metaphor, in this case, and little more, I assure you."

"Ah, but that metaphor is woven throughout the whole work. Underlines it. Almost defines it, really. It exhorts to reader to pay well attention to its words, and then treats said metaphor as fact throughout. Why, it certainly pretends that ceasing aging is possible. Which is, of course, certainly fantastical. It is exactly the kind of storytale I would expect out of Sharlayan."

"That begins to sound like a sort of criticism. Well, let us suppose you are right, then. Whatsoever do you mean by that, that this is exactly the kind of storytale you would expect of Old Sharlayan?"

Zoissette was starting to get a feel for where she wanted this discussion to go, and tried not to be too pleased with herself about mapping the future territory. She considered. If she was annoying enough, the stranger might go away. Either she would have some mild sport, or she would be able to get on with her reading.

It was rare she was presented with situations that practically promised a win.

Something on the bare edge of her awareness was starting to bother her, however.

She pressed on, regardless.

"The idea that with enough knowledge and strength of will, that a person can enforce a kind of stasis, of course. Forever Twenty Summers, the cover says, and stay forever at a given age, the book promises. Of course it says this is in the service of allowing one to better pursue knowledge and enlightenment, but to do so, the reader is exhorted to remain static, unchanging, and still. Is that not what it is, to forever remain in place, never aging?"

That elicited a scoff, and she bit her lower lip to prevent herself from grinning.

"Is that what you got out of it? I suppose you would. Allow me to offer another perspective, then. The central idea of Forever Twenty Summers is not to stave off the winds of change. Nay, it is to enable the reader to embrace the idea of the vigor of youth, to preserve that thirst for knowledge, to remember to maintain the mindset of what it is to be young. Hence the metaphor. Of course one does not literally stop aging, but through personal discipline and self care, you maintain the spark which first lit forth in your breast as you started your journey. Honestly, I would think you of all people would appreciate the ideas of how discipline can help one to achieve their goals."

That feeling was coming in a bit stronger now. She frowned lightly, and wondered if something was wrong. As a result, she only half-caught what the other woman had said, but she picked up enough pieces to get the gist.

She could still feel Lavender resting on her shoulder. Surely the fairy would notice and alert her if there was trouble.

Well, she had a discussion to continue.

She shifted her weight, and now she was refusing to face her interrogator on general principle. She was not sure what said principle was, exactly, but she was going to follow it until the heavens fell.

Or until she tired of this game, whichever came first.

"Hmn," she said, thoughtful. "I think I missed something in there. Embrace... what was it, again?"

She pretended to make a mark in her book.

"...the vigor and vim of youth. Where are you going with this line of inquiry?"

Drat. Usually she got a few more in before someone started to call her out.

"Just thinking out loud, I think. You said... embracing the vigor and vim of youth... embracing youth. To, what was it you said? Maintaining what it is to be young, maintaining a spark, maintaining a now that has already passed. Perhaps, maintaining a moment in time, for as long as it will go?"

"Fine. Let us say I concede the point. Why do you associate such a stasis with Sharlayan?"

The other person had a pleasant voice. Almost distractingly so. She pushed that out of her mind, even as the feeling started to shift to something more urgently rather like a warning.

"Look at how they handle themselves. Faced with the end of the world, rather than reach out to their fellows and cooperate or, heavens forfend, adapt their society, they doubled down on their cultural values. Oh, one can make the argument that they adapted, but said adaptation was simply an extension of what I believe to be their core cultural habits. Which is to say, what was it I said earlier?"

"With enough knowledge and strength of will, they could enforce stasis. Yes, I see what you are getting at. Well, perhaps you are right. I would argue not all Sharlayans are like that, but surely I need not tell you such. I am still not convinced it fits the criteria of a storytale, however."

"Well. If you are conceding the points I have made, then we agree. It is a fiction that preaches a moral. Is that not what you said made a storytale?"

She heard a huff of annoyance, and this time, allowed herself a smirk.

"And in typical Sharlayan fashion, their stubbornness made for a very poor storytale at that."

"I am certain you think yourself able to support such a case."

"Of course. Think about it. Forever Twenty Summers is rather too dry, rather too stiff. It is a storytale, but it wants to be a reference. The success of storytales is not in the fantastical, not in their fiction, but that they remember to be stories. Nobody remembers that chapter four is the one that covers proper sleep habit. Everyone remembers reading of their favorite adventurer almost succumbing to winter due to exhaustion, having failed to take their rest properly."

Zoissette frowned, thinking. Was chapter four the one on proper sleep habit? She went to go check. For that matter, she cross-referenced her copy of The Seasons of the Shieldmaiden. It had, after all, been a while since she had read it. The bit about exhaustion was either in the winter or the fall, she was certain.

The voice behind her was talking. What a rich darkness to the voice, thought Zoissette.

There is something wrong here, thought Zoissette.

She had missed almost all of what the other woman had said, she belatedly realized. She tried to single out snippets of what she could remember from literally mere seconds ago, before they were lost to her mind. Something about perhaps she thought her own cultural tomes could do better. Something - the word Ishgardian had come up.

The warning reached a crescendo. She did not recall mentioning where she was from. Belatedly, she remembered Thancred's warning from mere days ago that it was possible she was being watched, and the potential for risk here.

She casually brought her codex up, and set Forever Twenty Summers on top of it. As she did so, she surreptitiously drew a rune, pulsing a request to Lavender to perform a threat assessment.

Lavender responded immediately by lighting up a glowing rune in the codex, a green zero symbol. No threats, area safe.

Zoissette was suspicious about how quickly that answer had come back.

She tuned back in to the voice as it finished. "...so I wonder to think how it compares to storytales of your own culture."

Zoissette swallowed. Her heart rate was up. She was feeling rather warm. The smug amusement that she had developed throughout the conversation seemed to be evaporating. Still, though, if she was in danger, she would do well to continue to appear nonchalant.

"Well. Uhm. Let us compare it to The Seasons of the Shieldmaiden, which, ah, covers... much of the same topics. But while the central idea of Forever Twenty Summers is the promise of eternal youth, The Seasons of the Shieldmaiden instead promotes embracing the changes of life, and the wisdom that comes with age. Both stories, ah, purport to do the same thing, but... well. Very different approaches."

She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, and after a moment, found her confidence again. After all, she was in Old Sharlayan of all places, in a library, surrounded by mammets and people. Whatever danger could happen here, she could manage, she was well certain.

Also, she had an argument to close out. She organized her thoughts, quickly made a thesis up that she could work around, and glanced rapidly over what she had read so far. She began to talk, and as she did, she hopped between notes that she had already made before she had been interrupted.

"Seasons is a series of stories, easier to remember. Myths passed through culture, but with truths - the self-same truths in Forever. It is just that while Forever fights for an ever present, Seasons allows for a mutable future. Both tell one how to live longer, but one would have you stay in the now to do so, while the other embraces what it is to be a person. The vigor of youth, you said, but what of the accumulation of wisdom in old age? Youth may have fire, but age has a foundation it can build upon. Let me check - yes. We see this in the Shieldmaiden, as she passes through each metaphorical season - a maiden in spring, a battle maid in summer, a seasoned veteran in fall, and at last, in winter, instead of receiving counsel she is giving it - to the next generation. And though her year has lasted longer than most, it has still passed. And so there is a second hidden wisdom in the story - acceptance.

"And so, the Ishgardian storytale is the superior. It is engaging, so more like to be remembered. It still serves as a reference, as in each season, the tale is told of the actions the Shieldmaiden takes to see to her health. Aetheric balancing, good diet, proper rest, all emphasized. Even arcane stilling of aether is covered by the supplementary character of the witch. And it is an Ishgardian story, through and through. The importance of companionship, adaptation, and acceptance of hardship. The Sharlayan story fights all of that, insisting that knowledge and singular will is enough."

Zoissette nodded her head once, to herself. She had abandoned her usual rhetorical method of asking too many questions, but her confidence had built as she had gone along, and she now felt it fully. She closed both books she was holding, tucking her codex away, and held her head high, not yet willing to turn around, but certain she had made her case. She now paid keen attention to any response from her conversational counterpart.

Also her vision was still filled with runes and notes from too many active enchantments. She was not sure she could have seen who it was had she turned around anyroad.

A few moments passed. Her heart was hammering. Odd.

And then, she heard them laugh. And now that she was paying full attention, that laugh was all too familiar.

"My, I have missed these discussions with you, my friend."

Zoissette almost fumbled the book she was holding. She reached up to snap her glasses off her face, and stuffed them in a pocket as she whirled around.

Y'shtola was standing there, arms crossed, but smiling gently up at her.

The notes she left in her wake varied, but painted quite the picture.

One on Dark's desk, asking for use of the special suite for Heavensturn.

Two in the mailbox, for delivery to Mathye. The first was a coat. The second was an invitation.

The third was delivered directly to Oijika at the front desk of the Baldesion Annex. That one was a package. An acceptance of a research position, and a contract request.

Erick would have been annoyed if she had forgot the latter, though she almost forwent it. Almost.

A note on her desk for her paralegal to find. Warm words for his work thus far, and an exhortation to contact her should anything at all go wrong or need her attentions.

Another in the lab, with an apology that her and Lavender's expertise were needed elsewhere. And some minor notes on how to keep current running experiments running in her absence.

Many other notes, to others throughout Gage Acquisitions. She told Lyse that she would do better, and doing better did not mean running off and neglecting current friendships while trying to repair or return to older ones. They would know how to get ahold of her, and for those willing, she would make arrangements for things such as lunches or shopping outings or other social activities.

And one last note, on Erick's desk, letting him know about her intent to take a sabbatical. She would still be available as needed, of course, able to be called upon. And she had no intentions of neglecting those duties that would continue to require her attention. But she would no longer be perpetually in her office at headquarters.

Instead, she was going adventuring.

In more ways than one.

And so, on Starlight, Foreseer Zoissette Vauban, esquire, Shieldmaiden of the Order of Saint Thea, and other titles besides, closed her office door behind her. She checked that Saint Thea's journal was tucked into a pouch, and that Lavender was tucked away neatly in her soul stone for the journey ahead.

And then, she teleported out.

Zoissette Vauban. A knight of Ishgard. An Assessor for Limsa Lominsa. The lawyer of Gage Acquisitions.