#jaaster

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

It starts with the tonic.

The tonal center.  The point at which the whole structure depends.  The note forever referenced by the rest.  In solfeggio, it is do.  

The tonic of her heart had always been to support others.  That her life - her very aether - was for everyone else.

This was her do.  The center of all she did.

There’s the portal…

Then, the supertonic.

You never end on this note if you want resolution.  It is tense.  It is aural unease.  It crawls through your chest and halts your voice.

She’s too close to it…

Next, the mediant.

This was the point of no return.  The point where one knew what the key was. 

She’s struggling-- they’ve snared her!

This was a minor key.  

There was no going back.

And then the subdominant.

The key could still change.  It could modulate.  It doesn’t have to continue this way.  It doesn’t.  It doesn’t!

I have to do something.  I have to do something!   But it hurts.  It hurts!

The dominant.

This was the next strongest note.  The next best tone.  The tone that held up the tonic.  Reinforced it.  Supported it.  Songs that alternated between the tonic and the dominant were some of the most powerful a bard could sing, full of triumph and glory.  

It’s enough to lift a soul out of dire straits…

But it’s also just unstable enough… teetering on the edge of victory or loss...

I just… have to pour all my aether into this last shot…  maybe I can break the portal.  I have to try.  I have to try!

Then the submediant.

In a minor key, this is where the melancholy lay.  When it ends here, you feel a sense of suspension.

Of ‘what now?’

Its cadence is deceptive.  It lies.  It’s an uncomfortable feeling to be left with this note.  To be left hanging.

They took her.  They took them.  They’re gone.  

What the hell do we do?

The penultimate subtonic.

It leads home.  But it doesn’t feel complete.  It’s missing something.  It’s tension, pulling at your heart.  And you feel it grow stronger the longer it’s held.

"Explain to me why we don't take that tool from him and chase them down."

"...he's an informant, Ayla can back me up and Natsumi too. If they're going to play long con, we should keep playing long con too."

"He can continue to get us information this way."

"Is information more important than going after the people they just took from us?"

"Why are we letting them go? Why aren't we chasing them? Why are we letting our friends go?"

"Impulse isn't a pretty look. Ayla is hurt, we've extended ourselves decently already, we know they aren't going to die, we have heard of the facility they're probably holding up in..."

And finally… the tonic.

The tonal center.  The point at which the whole structure depends.  The note forever referenced by the rest.

Finally home.  Finally centered.  Despite the tension in every ascending note.

She had to be strong.  She had to support the rest.

Despite every nerve of her body screaming out, seared beyond mental comprehension.

This is her do.  

The very purpose for her being.

When you destroy something, you have to cut off something else.

It’s cheesy, but it’s true.

I don’t mean that in the way that the tropes spell it - your grandfathers and your wisewomen who don’t want you to have that certain power. I don’t mean it like you’ll lose yourself to it, like you’ll just go on with your little life and die in a little scraped-up ball of impotent rage in a razed field— I don’t mean it like those insipid little metaphors.

I mean it like it takes some fuel.

Jaaster:

"I think I was perhaps too quick to judge him as yet another martial-minded brute that thought stubbornness and will was enough to power through any injury--ah, that is so say, I don't think he is now. That counts as a likable trait, does it not?"

His fingers tap idly at his arm.

"He seems... earnest, perhaps? 'Tis hard to tell, with how he stiffens like a board every time I'm about. Or in general. He's quite awkward, but that can be wholesome at times. Yet, he is quite capable. You wouldn't know it from talking with him, but he's quite talented in a fight. I don't think I've been witness to one he's lost as of yet, in fact."

He pauses, adding: “He smells of dog. Take that as you want.”

“Jaaster is easygoing. Doesn’t seem to hold grudges. Heseems… strangely normal, compared to some of the others at the Enclave. I getthe sense that he just wants to help.” He takes a sip of his drink and adds on witha bit of a grumble, “He could stand to take better care of himself.”

—

The chamber was large, her harp strikes echoing off the walls, reverberating against the pools and veins of ceruleum.

The bard looked around at her friends, fighting hard against the guardian of the portal.

She had to keep it up.  Had to keep the morale high.  Had to keep everyone topped off.

As she sang, the bard bled.  

From her throat, those notes hemorrhaged aether, free for the taking.  

All the while, her mind spun…

You’re going to get burned again.

No...

You won’t have any skin left to wear.

No.

It’s going to eat its way to your bones.

Stop.

It’s going to kill us all, and they’ll be trapped on the other side.

Shut up!

Use it!

Use it, you fucking coward!

Stop holding back!

That gnawing fear that choked her heart and twisted her gut became fuel.  

And she used it.

Her mezzo-soprano rang out louder, infused with every little debilitating thought.  Those trembling fingers danced against the taut strings.

Every little bit of aether would be given.

And she hoped her friends would use it all.

Bleed her dry.

But she faltered, seeing the mechanized, magitek dragon rear back… mouth glowing bright.  

She could feel the heat from 30 fulms away.  

Her stomach turned, bracing for complete annihilation as the flaming ceruleum projectile hurtled its way toward her.

Those icy eyes closed tight, face turned away.

If this was the end, she didn’t want to see it.

...But it never came.

Cracking one eye open, she could see the large Jaaster-esque figure redirect it toward their new robot friend, L1C0-R1C3.

And then shields went up.

The bard’s heart beat malms a minute, unexpectedly saved by her friends.

As she set her eyes on the Garlean dragon yet again, her brows set in a severe scowl.

Whatever cowardice she felt before had been bolstered by an even stronger emotion as she sang…