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driftward · 4 months

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Title: Blind Date Characters: Zoissette Vauban, Y'shtola Rhul, Y'mhitra Rhul, Ryssthota Sundstyrwyn, Apple Silverberg, Ement Vauban, Thancred Waters Summary: Zoissette and Y'shtola find themselves being roped into a blind date by their very well-meaning friends. Notes: August YOTP entry - Blind Date

Y’shtola picked up and examined the glasses carefully.

She had not been able to get to them as fast as she had liked, but with matters in the Thirteenth now well in hand, and her friend on their way to recovery, well. She now had time and means both at her disposal. Working on the glasses, restoring them to full use, would give her something to do in between writing reports on her experiences.

She examined them carefully, to gauge the work that would now lay before her.

It was to be a matter that was going to be more difficult than she had first surmised.

Fortunately, the glasses were not needed for corrective means, and so Zoissette would not be left blind while they were being repaired. That was where the good fortune in the matter ended, however. The glasses were special, and not as some mere fashion item. They had been carefully made, and then laden with a great many enchantments, many of which were tied to Zoissette’s aether, or had been instilled using formulae and techniques which were yet unknown to Y’shtola.

A challenge, but one that was not beyond Y’shtola’s unique qualifications. Even if she did not know some of Zoissette’s magical specialties to any depth, she was a master of aether itself, and could fair see the weavings of magicks deeply embedded into the lenses and frame. She could not replicate many of the magicks, but with care and diligence, she could shift them and restore them whole.

She turned the glasses over in her hands. The frame was salvageable, but would need a hinge replaced, and the metal carefully refurbished. One lens was intact, which was well. It would inform her approach to replacing the other, which was broken, the only remaining part being a large shard that stubbornly remained attached to the frame. The nose pieces, too, were more than just functional, and carried some magical energies that would need to be handled. Unfortunately, they had been partially melted in the laboratory fire, and would need to be replaced.

What had initially seemed to perhaps be merely an afternoon of due diligence was now looking to perhaps be a larger project, but it was of no matter. Zoissette would certainly not need them for many moons, and so Y’shtola had time. She would shift her focus between this project and the reports she had promised to make, and finish both with her usual aplomb.

She smiled to herself. This challenge was one she would overcome.

~*~

Zoissette was keeping herself busy.

As she worked, she reminded herself. Failure was not an option. Right.

It was a saying her old mentor was very fond of. Failure was not an option, he would say. Failure was mandatory, he would repeat, and often. The option, he opined, was in how one faced it.

It was well that such lessons were drilled into her early, with every hefting of her shield and every arc of her sword, every drill, every session. Otherwise, she would probably find her long string of failures even more distressing than they already were.

Like her most recent failure. With Mathye.

The ending of their courtship was almost certainly a good thing. She had tried, and she had failed. Love was supposed to grow where you watered it, so old Ishgardian wisdom went, and she had tried so very hard.

But in the end, that garden had lay fallow. She was willing to keep trying, as long as it took. He deserved it, and she could have made it work, she was certain.

But then all at once, all of a sudden, she realised she might already have a love.

She was not certain, but she had to be honest with him.

And so she was.

And so it hurt.

They had broken it off, and he was hurt, and she was the one who had hurt him, and that was frankly the worst part of the whole affair.

And so, now she distracted herself. Kept herself busy. Long hours in the vehicle bay. Consulting hours with those who wished an able adventurer to help them with their troubles. Anything that kept her out of Mathye’s way.

She had weathered many failures in her summers on the star. This, too, she would overcome.

~*~

Y’mhitra happily wiled her time with her friends in the Gage Acquisitions laboratory. Ryss was a good sort and an accomplished scientist, and Apple and her had a shared history of being among the privileged few who delved deep into Allagan ruins. They had caught one another up on various experiments they had running, Apple’s recent misadventures, Ryss’ good natured exasperation at her friends, and the conversation had turned from the scientific now to the more personal matters the three were dealing with. Apple was still in recovery, and Ryss was in between projects and thinking about what to do next.

“How’s Y’shtola?” asked Apple. “I feel as though I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Last I saw her, she was still writing up reports for the Forum regarding that misadventure in the Thirteenth.”

“And what an adventure it was!” said Ryss with a grin. “But all’s well that ends well, right? Can’t wait to apply everything we’ve learned. What a trip! I have so many ideas, I can hardly pick just one to work on.”

“And I think research into the Voidsent phenomena may help me with my condition,” said Apple. “It’s fascinating, really, how the people on the Thirteenth get along - what few that are left. I hope to get more chances to talk with Zero in the future.”

“And what about the rest of your little group here at Gage? Where is Zoissette?” Y’mhitra asked, taking a tart for herself.

Apple turned the faintest shade of red while Ryss shook her head with a laugh. “Oh, broken up over breaking up with Mathye. She’s burying herself in the vehicle bay these days when she can’t find someone else’s problems to stick her nose into.”

Y’mhitra raised an eyebrow.

“And how recent is this bit of news?”

“Been a bit. Sennights going into moons. Apparently she walked into the dining room when it happened, made a big announcement, then ran right back out. I swear, my girl doesn’t know how to do anything by half measures.”

“She’s been working a lot,” said Apple. “I kind of feel bad for her, but I’m not sure how to help.”

Y’mhitra sat her tart back down, as an idea formed in her mind, and she looked conspiratorially between her fellow sisters of science.

“Oh, I think I might have an idea,” she said, and she could not help but allow herself a bit of a wicked grin.

~*~

The glass turned out to be a key piece of the puzzle before her. She could not just source ordinary glass. It was a remarkable material that Zoissette had puzzled out, glass that was transparent but could be laden down with so much aether to support so many enchantments. It was more artifact than eyewear, puissant in its own right.

Fascinating. Her most powerful piece of adventuring gear, and it might not have been weapon or armor, but rather the way she looked at the world through these glasses. Zoissette was a marvel. Y’shtola smiled faintly to herself as she carefully set the glass into the refurbished frame. She squinted, and her fingers played in the air as she gently encouraged lines of aether to connect to this new piece, convincing the glasses that the new lens had been part of it all along.

She sat back, satisfied, and checked the chronometer. She had half a bell to spare before she had to be at the Last Stand. A lunch meetup that her sister had invited her and Thancred to. She sighed. It was enough time to get ready, but only just.

She was on time, of course. Y’shtola was ever a woman of culture, and fashionably late was a habit she did not nurture if she could help it. She had nothing to prove, after all, and she hoped others respected her time as much as she respected theirs. She found the two, placed their orders, and soon enough they were swapping stories and sharing food.

Y’shtola was pleased. Everyone was in high spirits, in the wake of all that had happened. Thancred had been keeping himself busy, of course, and while he tried to downplay the extent of his travails, she could tell he was pleased with the results of what he had been looking into. Y’mhitra, of course, pressed her for details about her time on the Thirteenth, and oddly, for once, was not prying too much into her personal life.

At least, not at first.

“So, sister mine,” said Y’mhitra conversationally as she poured Y’shtola another cup of tea, “I cannot help but notice that you continue on your trend of being in impossible situations facing unfathomable danger.”

She held a hand up before Y’shtola could offer a rebuttal. “And the star is ever better for it. I wonder, however, if you might not consider my words once more. This latest to hear you describe it was a frightful affair. And in your own words, no less! I am certain you are downplaying certain risks when they might paint you in unflattering light.”

Y’shtola inclined her head at her sister. “I assure you my recounting is ever accurate.”

“Perhaps so. But might you once more consider the advantages of sharing your considerable strength with another? I certainly would feel better knowing someone is looking after you in all the ways you yet refuse to look after yourself. I know you are strong, and you need not have me tell you so. But as the threats you face seem to grow ever greater, I wish you would join your strength with another.”

“A singular argument you oft have returned to over these many years, Mhitra.”

“In much the same way you keep being drawn to such great troubles, Shtola.”

Y’shtola stirred her tea thoughtfully for a moment, as she pondered her sisters’ words. Thancred for his part seemed to be staying out of it, politely drinking his ale and conveniently hiding his face behind the brim of his mug at the same time.

But at last, she set her cup down, to look her sister in the eye.

“…you are not wholly wrong,” she admitted.

Y’mhitra blinked, and Y’shtola resisted the urge to smirk at her sister’s surprise. “There is someone, then?”

“Many someones, if you must know,” said Y’shtola. She sighed, and waved a hand at Y’mhitra’s disappointed expression. “’Tis not what you meant, I know. But whilst I continue to keep my own counsel, I do find myself more often heeding the counsel of others these days. And you were right, though perhaps not in the way you meant. What I mean is… that I have learned. To share my strength, as you say. And to accept strength in return.”

She looked down into her cup and smiled at the many memories. “I feel that it was on the First that I truly learned what it was to be part of a community, to share and share strength alike - and more. I recognize now, that before, I ever kept myself at arm’s length, isolated from my fellow Scions. But after, well. Separated by the rift though I am from that clan, I fair feel our bonds are ever intact. Hence my efforts to find a way back, to keep a promise I made. And my bonds with my fellow Scions are so ever stronger for the lesson.”

Y’shtola held her cup up to Thancred in salute, and he bowed his head and held his mug up in return.

“These bond are made ever stronger in our travails. I would lean on any one of them as I would myself, and you are right. We are stronger for it.”

Y’shtola thought of Zoissette, and felt herself smile. “And others, aside. I am in good enough company, sister.”

Y’mhitra sighed. “That is all well and good, and it does truly reassure me to hear this change in you. But still. I wish you would find a partner. Someone who does not just shares their strength with you, but complements you. Someone with who perhaps you would find the sum to be greater than its parts. Someone special. Thancred, you agree with me, right?”

Thancred had been watching the exchange between the sisters with fascinated interest, but Y’mhitra caught him while he was taking another pull off his ale, and he near choked on it. Y’shtola raised an eyebrow at him as he spent some few moments coughing and spluttering before he cleared his throat

“Ah, I think you may have mistaken your choice of ally in this fight, Y’mhitra, and I believe I will be finding myself staying well out of it. Y’shtola shall do as she wills, and none can convince her otherwise. I know I won’t try to do so, as I rather enjoy having all my bits attached.”

Y’shtola looked to Y’mhitra, tilting her head at her.

“Unlike you to miscalculate so badly, dear sister,” she said. “What are you playing at?”

Y’mhitra looked desperately at Thancred, but he just shook his head. She slumped, and Y’shtola laughed at her sister’s misfortune.

“Or perhaps I have overestimated,” said Y’shtola. “Well. ’Tis of no matter. This has been a most pleasant afternoon, but I find I wish to return to my work. If you both will excuse me.”

Y’shtola placed enough Gil on the table to cover her costs, before giving the table a wave as she left. Y’mhitra looked after her, dismayed, while Thancred looked on, rather more amused.

However, once she passed out of sight, Y’mhitra turned to Thancred with a faint smile.

“Thanks for the help,” she said.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, picking up his ale once more. “Seriously, don’t, I could deal without her being mad about it later if she ever finds out about this little ruse.”

“Have to give her a victory or else she’ll get too stubborn to overcome,” said Y’mhitra, standing up and cleaning up after herself. “She really has changed over the summers, hasn’t she?”

Thancred shrugged. “We all have. I guess maybe I hadn’t noticed as much as I might, being right there alongside her for much of it… but now that it’s been pointed out rather explicitly, yes, I suppose what she said is true. I think she’s definitely more open than she used to be. Definitely closer with some of us. Not like that, though, before you get any ideas.”

“I have a rather specific idea, thank you very much. Still. This is a good start.”

“Think it’ll work?” asked Thancred.

Y’mhitra just smiled.

~*~

Zoissette was busy in the vehicle bay, plotting launch schedules and scheduling time for making more components on the fabricator. She could hear the comings and goings of others, but mostly ignored them. If someone wanted her attention, she would make time for them, but for now, her work was a pleasant enough distraction.

A loud boisterous voice called out from behind her.

“Hoi, Zoi!” it bellowed.

“Hullo, Ryss,” said Zoissette, not yet fully paying attention. She reached up to try to tap the rim of her glasses, but stopped her hand in time before she had a chance to thwap herself in the nose yet again. Not having them was taking some getting used to, but replacing them was going to be a project in and of itself.

She should finally buckle down and do that.

While she was musing, Ryss had come to hover nearby, looking over her shoulder. “Hey, got a moment?”

Zoissette looked over the console. Well, nothing was very urgent.

“Sure, Ryss. What is on your mind?”

Ryss looked at her thoughtfully, rubbing her chin.

“You’ve been keeping yourself awful busy lately.”

“There is an awful lot to do.”

“There’s -always- an awful lot to do, and you’ve been trying to do it all ever since you broke up with Mathye.”

Ryss had never been one to beat around the proverbial bush. Zoissette grimaced, and turned back to the vehicle control console.

“Girl, I’m not saying you have to get over him immediately, but you don’t have to keep beating yourself up about it, either.”

“I am not ‘beating myself up’,” said Zoissette.

Ryss let the silence stretch for a bit.

“You said you were in love with someone else,” she ventured.

“I said I thought I was in love with another. I say a lot of stupid things.”

“Now you’re definitely beating yourself up.”

Zoissette just looked askance at Ryss.

“Alright, fine, I’ll bite,” said Ryss. “Why d’you think it’s stupid?”

Zoissette fell silent, letting her fingers dance over the console controls. Ryss patiently allowed the silence to settle in for as long as it would take, and Zoissette at last turned the machine off. She turned to her friend, and looked up at her for a moment, before turning away again.

“Ryss,” she said quietly, looking at the floor, “I am not even sure I know what love is.”

“Oh, Zoi,” began Ryss.

“No, I am serious, Ryss. I understand what lust is well enough, I understand what the rush of hormones feels like, but that - I do not think that is love, that is just, well, a desire to swive, and fades fast. So that is not it. And I have read the storytales, of love fathoms deep, of a deep abiding desire or draw or … something. Of people saying things like, like, they would die for one another. Is that love? If so, then I love pretty much everyone. I would die for any one of you, Ryss, but that seems too easy, too… well. That is just the duty of a knight.”

“Maybe the duty of a knight is to love the world,” said Ryss mildly.

Zoissette paused.

“I think about that a lot, and have reached the same conclusion,” she said. ”But that is not the kind of love one builds a bonding out of. I just do not know. I … I remember, being told as a child, that love would grow where you tended it, like a garden. But do you know how many seeds I have planted? Relationships begun, and tended to, waiting for that love to grow. Hoping desperately for it to grow. To feel whatever it is that everyone else is feeling. To be something for someone like that.”

Zoissette threw her hands out to the side. “And I like plenty of people, Ryss, but like is not love, and I do not know what I am doing wrong, and I certainly do not know why I said such a foolish thing. I … I could have made it work. I should have been able to make it work! Mathye is a good man. And even without love, I would have been a good partner, and maybe we could have grown a love eventually.”

“And instead you’re down here in the vehicle bay punishing yourself for not being able to meet some metaphor that you don’t even know is right?”

“And instead I am down here in the vehicle bay where I can at least be useful in a way that makes sense and can be measured. Quantified.” said Zoissette.

“Hey. Hey. Look at me, girlfriend.”

Zoissette did not turn her head, but her eyes did find their way to Ryss’ face, which was good enough.

Ryss rested a hand on her shoulder. “You say you don’t know what love is, but I’m willing to bet you do. You just haven’t figured it out for yourself yet, but you’re smart like that. Never rushing into stuff before it’s time. But I gotta ask, how are you going to figure it out like this from down here?”

She smiled at her. “So you said you might love someone else. Wouldn’t it be worth finding out for sure?”

Zoissette did not respond immediately. But after a moment, there was a small smile on her face, a genuine smile.

She seemed to have more of those these days, despite everything.

“Maybe,” she said.

“Good enough for me,” said Ryss. “Hey, we can talk more about it later, alright? Wanna do lunch later?”

��Sure,” said Zoissette, powering the vehicle control console back on. Ryss took the hint, and waved as she headed out of the workshop.

~*~

Ryss and Apple met Y’mhitra and Thancred at a small eatery in New Gridania.

“I really wish I was not part of this little conspiracy,” groused Thancred.

“Rather too late for it now; you’re trapped,” said Y’mhitra, winking at him. He just groaned in response. “How did it go with you two?”

“I think she’ll be open to the idea,” said Ryss. “Just gotta arrange things so she doesn’t have a good reason to say no.”

Apple nodded thoughtfully. “If we can figure out a place, we can pick a time, and I can tie up the fabricator. They both spent a lot of time in Limsa, it’s very important to all of us. I’m thinking the Bismarck, or maybe the Missing Member - their chef won that one competition a few years back, right? Should be just as good if not better!”

Ryss shook her head. “Not the Missing Member. That particular cook you’re thinking of went on a star tour and I don’t think he’s returned yet.”

“Bismarck, then,” said Apple, looking thoughtful. “I’ll check their bookings and get back to you.”

“What about your side?” asked Ryss.

“She thinks she’s won the first round,” said Y’mhitra. “It’ll just be a matter of convincing her when the time comes. She certainly seems to have enough time on her hands, if I can just convince her to walk away from the Forum for a bit. And whatever mystery hobby project she’s up to.”

“I can help there,” volunteered Thancred. “It’s not any real mystery, you just don’t recognize what she’s working on. She’s fixing Zoissette’s glasses.”

“Oh, that sure is nice of her!” said Apple. “Zoissette keeps hitting herself in the nose.”

Y’mhitra looked at her questioningly, but Ryss responded. “Zoissette keeps the things loaded down with enough enchantments to choke a three-headed goobbue.”

“Well, in any case, I think this all bodes rather well for your scheming,” said Thancred.

“Indeed,” said Y’mhitra. “Well, once Apple gets us some dates, I think we can move to the next phase of our plan.”

“This is still rather too much cloak and dagger for my taste,” said Thancred.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” said Y’mhitra.

Ryss waved her hands. “Now, now. If those two had any chance of figuring this out themselves, they would’ve done so by now. We’re just letting out the sails a little to help them get out of their own way, that’s all.”

Thancred just shrugged, and Y’mhitra nodded. “Well. I think we know what each of us needs to do. Keep one another posted.”

“Right.” “Okay!” “Sure.”

Their conversation moved on to other topics while they continued their lunch.

~*~

She had already known that moving the enchantments over to encompass the new lens was going to be difficult, but even in that, it seemed that she had underestimated the work, and underestimated Zoissette, and possibly even overestimated her own capabilities.

Her unique sight gave her a special insight into aether, it was true, but the magicks woven throughout the glasses could not be explained by mere aetheric observation alone. The intricate weaving spoke to Zoissette’s deep mastery of Nymian mathematics and beyond. Feedback loops, unusual geometries, all leading to complex and deep combinatorics.

She practically had to move the spell works over mote by minute aetheric mote, checking as she went along, making sure nothing was lost.

A puzzle. A challenge.

It would be worthwhile, she decided, to make this a gift unto her friend.

A knock at the door went ignored. But as it persisted, she sighed. “You may enter,” she called out, setting the glasses down for a moment. She could probably use a break, anyroad, if she were honest with herself.

She smiled at Y’mhitra as her sister walked in. “Did we not have lunch a mere sennight ago? I was not aware you found me such good company. I promise I have not found any trouble in such a short span.”

“You are trouble enough left to your own devices, I should think. Thancred tells me you’ve barely left this room.”

“My report to the Forum must needs be exacting. I shall leave out no detail, no matter how minor I may think it. For if travel between the shards is to one day become a reality, then we would all do well to face it with as much preparation and knowledge as we can muster.”

“And I don’t disagree, but this can’t be good for you. All work and no play makes my sister an isolated old hermit rather too much like her former master.”

“I would hear you say that to her yourself.”

“I think not! Still. I think you could tolerate a day off from this drudgery. A day off, and around people, not mammets and books. What say you, Shtola?”

Well, she had been working fair hard for some days. And indeed, she was not quite sure when she had last sought company. Surely more recently than last sennight’s luncheon.

Maybe not.

“Let us say that I agree with you. Whatsoever are you planning?”

“Well… I was thinking … maybe you could go out on a date.”

Y’shtola looked at her sister incredulously. “Again with this? But my my, what an imagination you have if you think I have any potential candidates for such just now. Or have the rumors of supposed flirtations with voidsent fully taken on such life of their own as to reach my sister’s ears?”

“A blind date.”

At this, Y’shtola felt her expression and ears go flat.

“Certainly not.”

“Oh, come on, Shtola. Might be fun.”

“And whomst have you picked out for me?”

Y’mhitra just smiled at her, and Y’shtola shook her head. “You are still yet young to be able to still entertain such flights of fancy. I am rather busy, and I think I shall not be making time in my schedule for such frivolity.”

“Frivolity is the point, Y’shtola. Get out. Have some fun. Entertain a new face. Practice your famously sharp wit on them, I know that is a favourite pastime of yours. A decent night out, perhaps get a good meal out of it, have a good time, and for the love of the gods, actually get out of your room for a reason besides flinging yourself bodily into harm once more.”

“I think too much more of this conversation and I shall be flinging myself heartily back into my work.”

Y’mhitra tapped her knuckles against her chin, tilting her head as she looked thoughtfully at Y’shtola.

“I’ll make you a deal.”

“I am certain you have naught with which to bargain.”

“Do this for me, and I’ll leave you alone for a season.”

“As though you can resist the urge to meddle in my affairs.”

“Y’shtola,” said Y’mhitra, and Y’shtola took notice of the sudden change in formality. “We are women not only of the Jaguar tribe, but daughters of Rhul. Our word is as good as bond, for we could be no other way. And I, your sister, am worried about you. You grow older and wiser and you have your allies - for now. But you are not getting any younger, and I would not see my sister become another Matoya, as wise and capable as she is, all alone in a cave. Do this for me, and I give you my word, I shall not breath a word of finding you companionship for a season.”

Y’shtola desperately wished to go back to her work, but while she could match and usually exceed her sister’s stubbornness, it would mean time and effort she did not wish to spare just this moment.

And the offer was a tempting one. To not be pestered with such nonsense for a time. Though of course, Y’mhitra’s offer was, purposefully, a low one.

“Offer me one summer of such respite, and I shall -consider- your words.”

“Two seasons.”

“One summer, or I shall stay in my little room, blessedly alone, continuing my important work, and shall delight in frustrating your efforts the entire time.”

“…fine,” said Y’mhitra, scowling. “I would leave the matter closed for one summer, but if and only if you put forth a good faith effort. You never have to see them again, but see them the once, at least.”

“If I say that I shall take the matter under due consideration, will you let me return to my work?”

“Gladly.”

“Fine. Then I consider the matter settled for now.”

“Alright, but if I do not have your answer in a sennight, I am coming back,” said Y’mhitra. “And I will be bringing others with me. I am not the only one that worries, you know.”

“I am certain,” said Y’shtola, dryly. “Why, with so many worrying after me rather than themselves, it is little wonder that I ever feel in danger at all. Perhaps all this worry can summon a primal to keep me company.”

“Very funny, Shtola.”

“Now, if you don’t mind…”

“One sennight, and then I am coming for you.”

Y’shtola just waved a hand in the air as Y’mhitra left, and sighed.

~*~

Ryss was keeping an eye on Zoissette, without looking like she was keeping an eye on Zoissette.

She was worried about her, and wondered idly if this was what it was like to be Zoissette all the time. She had long been a confidant to the Elezen, after all, and Zoissette had frequently confessed her various worries about others to her. About Klynt and Apple, and whether or not they were being fulfilled by their work and reaching their potential as much as they wanted. Worrying about Meya and Erick, and hoping their relationship was well. Worrying about her brother, hoping his life in Ishgard was continuing to treat him well. Worrying about Riven and Astrid. Worrying about Mathye and whether she was doing right by him. Worrying about Thalia and her weird shyness around training with Augustine.

She did not complain much, and she often kept her true feelings tight to herself, but she did seem to worry a lot, and now here Ryss was, worrying about Zoissette.

Well, if this worked, then all would be well again. In a far corner of the workshop, where she could not be heard, Ryss saw Apple take a linkpearl call. Apple nodded a few times, before lifting her head, facing Ryss, and waving to try to get her attention.

So much for subtlety, but if Zoissette noticed, she wasn’t paying it much mind. Ryss sighed and waved back, and Apple gave her a thumbs-up.

If she was reading the situation correctly, that meant Y’mhitra had just called in, and with good news.

It was time to move in. Ryss ambled over to where Zoissette was.

“Say, Zoi, I had a thought.”

Zoissette did not look up from her work. “Hopefully more than the one, since that is what we get paid for.”

“Say, Zoi, I had a -lot- of thoughts.”

“Oh very good. I suppose you wish to share some?”

“Yeah. S’about what we talked about the other day.”

“I still think the merits of the Nymian systems of measurement shall rule out over the current standards one day.”

“…not about that.”

“Oh! Well, I had thought the matter settled, but I am open to suggestions.”

“Not that either! … wait no actually I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What we should get for the tea tin.”

“Oh. Oh, no, not that, either. Wait. Since you brought it up I think that we should get honey now that we’re here in Gridania. I hear they have the best honey.”

Zoissette lifted her head up to yell. “Apple! Add Gridanian honey to the supply list!”

“Okay!”

“Alright, but still not that either,” said Ryss, putting her hands on her hips. “I’m talking about love.”

There had been a few changes in Zoissette’s demeanor since she had returned from the events of the laboratory incident. One of them was that while before her face had often had an aloof expression of Ishgardian politeness, now it seemed that every emotion she had danced across her face at the slightest prompting.

Like just now, as she passed through several expressions so fast that Ryss blinked and missed a few.

“I do not know that there is much more to talk about there, Ryss.”

Well. The Ishgardian stoicism may have been gone, but the person behind it was still the same.

“Girl, look, you’re sitting down here thinking about it when you should be out there doing something about it. You gotta get back in the saddle! We gotta get you out there! And most importantly of all…”

Ryss trailed off for dramatic effect. When the silence began to stretch into the awkward, she nudged Zoissette in the shoulder.

Zoissette just looked flatly at her, and she threw up her hands.

“Fine, I’ll just say it. You need practice! Science demands research, Zoissette!”

Zoissette continued to look flatly at her, but then after a moment, she cracked a smiled and laughed, and Ryss knew she had her.

“Alright, fine, what do you have in mind.”

“Dating. Get out! Meet people!”

“I am not inclined to inflict myself on anyone else just yet, Ryss.”

“Whatever, you’re a delight, you just haven’t found the right person yet. And how are you gonna find them if you’re not willing to search a bit?”

Zoissette just shook her head. “I’ve not the social calendar to be a gadfly and sort through potentials just to inevitably be letting them all down.”

“Letting them down? I’m not talking about courting, Zoissette. Dating! Just dating. Casual meet ups. Lunches that don’t have to go anywhere, dinners that are just for fun. Practice for when you’re ready to go looking for the one. And if you don’t like ‘em, you can just tell them no thank you, no hard feelings, and be on your way. You can tell people no, right?”

“I tell people no all the time, Ryss. Like every time Erick tries to sneak a trebuchet into the fabricator’s planning schedule. When Aeryn starts to get that look in her eyes that tells me that she’s thinking of chasing something over the horizon again. Or when my friend tries to tell me that me dating is a good idea.”

“Aw, come on, Zoi. Science demands sample sizes!”

“I thought it demanded research?”

“Which can be done through…” said Ryss, making a ‘go on’ gesture with her hands.

Zoissette just looked at her with a small smile, then let out an exaggerated sigh.

“Tell you what. Say yes, and I’ll even do all the hard work. Get you dolled up, find you a nice place to eat, pick out someone for you to get you started. Call it a blind date. It’ll be fun!”

“I will think about it, Ryss.”

“Good enough for now!”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Apple give her a thumbs up, and she resisted the urge to facepalm. Fortunately, Zoissette didn’t seem to notice.

~*~

“I am not at all sure what has gotten into my sister lately,” said Y’shtola to Thancred. She was certain she was on the last bit of work needed to restore Zoissette’s glasses fully, but needed a break, and had elected to make time for tea with her fellow Scion. “She has always worried after me and been quite insistent on meddling in my personal affairs, but her efforts have rather increased as of late.”

Thancred shrugged. “Maybe she just thinks it’s a good time. It’s quiet in our collective lives. For once. Interrupting your report writing for the Forum is certainly better than trying to divert your attention while we are trying once more to save the star from something or another.”

Y’shtola just sighed. “I don’t imagine you have any insights as to what she may be planning after her little attempt to rope you in over lunch the other day.”

“Well of course I do,” said Thancred. “She’s been coming to me.”

Y’shtola set her tea down, and glared at Thancred over it. He shrugged in response.

“To be clear, I do not wholly agree with her,” he said. “After all, I know you well, Shtola. You are an independent woman, of unimpeachable character, with strength enough to rival the star. Indeed, I dare say if more of us had been blessed with the Echo and felt the need to step into the role of being a true Warrior of Light, why, I think none of us would be as well placed to fill the role as… G’raha Tia, naturally, with his long tenure of experience as the Crystal Exarch.”

Y’shtola chuckled, and Thancred gave her a grin before he continued on. “But it would be a close race, and if he was to place second to any of us, I daresay it would be to you. Your sister might make mention of your strength, but I’ve witnessed it. And I will not indulge your ego any further by speaking to your knowledge. But I cannot help but think that the crux of our last discussion was the ways in which you have found the wisdom to applying both, whether by yourself or with allies. So no, I don’t agree with her that you need a partner.”

“Do not think I do not detect the faint whiff of self-deprecation there, Thancred, that you fail to count yourself amongst the more capable of our little group.”

He waved a hand at her. “Perhaps with Urianger to help make up for my shortfall in aether. But never mind that. Y’shtola, I love you like family, and as family, I say, your sister may be wrong in the specifics, but I think she’s right in a broader sense. A partner would suit you. You’re not perfect, despite how often you pretend to be, don’t look at me like that, we’re being honest right now. And if I am to be honest, which I am, I don’t think you need a paramour. But imagine having someone to truly share yourself with. Someone to weather our various trials, side by side, another half. Who understands who you are and what you do and why you do it whole heartedly. Someone who can look at all of this like you do, who understands your point of view, and can match it with theirs. I think the idea has more merit than you are pretending to give it credit for.”

“Truly?”

“Yes, ‘truly’. That is my vaunted insight, if you’ll have it. Maybe let her have her fun. Let this play out. See where it goes. And then you’ll do what you want anyroad.”

Y’shtola was quiet for a moment, and Thancred shrugged.

“If nothing else, it does get you out of your room for a spell. Even if she’s wrong about everything else, you have been working too hard.”

“This from you?”

“Who would know better?”

“Well. I shall certainly not belabor the point,” she said. “I shall consider your counsel, Thancred.”

“Just leave me out of it if you decide to get mad at somebody. Don’t shoot the messenger and all that.”

“I believe I shall be cross with whosoever I wish, should such come to pass,” said Y’shtola archly, and she laughed when Thancred threw up his hands in defeat.

~*~

“I hope that ending my courtship with Mathye has not put your relationship with the Lady Fortemps under any strain,” said Zoissette.

Ement was practically living at Gage Acquisitions for the time being, helping out around the place and keeping an eye on his sister. They made a point of catching up often, and were just now alone in a quiet corner of the workshop where they would not be bothered.

“Riven? Heavens, no. She’s been an utter lady about the whole affair.”

“Good. I am glad,” she said, and Ement watched, as she fidgeted. “I… I told him I thought I loved someone else.”

“So I heard. Anybody I know?”

“…it does not matter.”

“Oh, good. You only ended a courtship over it. One you were trying your very hardest at, as I recall.”

Zoissette gave him a dirty look, and he shrugged back at her. He watched her long enough to see the change when it happened, as she went from stubborn to resigned.

“… it’s Archon Y’shtola.”

“Oh, fantastic taste, and I mean that sincerely. She threatened to turn me into a frog when I made half a pass at her. I love a woman that can ruin my life.”

“Ement.”

“Zoissette. Okay, but really, Sette, you could do worse. I barely know her, but I know she was there when you needed her to be, and every step after. And you’ve certainly prattled on enough about her to me. Wait, did I say I barely know her? With your stories, I think I could tell her life story.”

“You mean like those awful songs you sing at the tavern?”

“Those songs get me drinks.”

Zoissette sighed. “It does not matter. If she was interested, I am certain she would have made that clear long before now. She has not, and, well. Love her or not, I am content to play my part in her story.”

“Might just ask her about it to be sure.”

“I should,” Zoissette conceded. “But what if I am wrong? If she does not love me, that is fine, but what if I do not truly love her? I just… I do not know. I told Sebastian I would try after Heavensturn, but I do not know. And in the meanwhile…”

“In the meanwhile.”

“Ryss thinks I should try dating.”

“Great! Try that out, let me know how it goes.”

“I do not think that I should be dating anyone when I am not certain about the truth of my own heart,” she said.

“Is that what’s going on? Come on, Sette. Look, I get being cagey about approaching her, but you keep saying you’re not sure of the truth. Not sure of the truth? I’ve never known anyone in my life more obsessive about the truth. Say it with me. What’s the first duty?”

“… to the truth.”

“To the truth. Face her, face it, and find out the truth. Or don’t. I know it’s not like you to rush in, and you like to sit and think about things entirely too much. So, hey. Tell you what, here’s an idea. Keep doing that. And in the meanwhile, put yourself out there.”

“Put myself out where?”

“Dating. Going out. And, since I’m not out of good advice just yet, here’s some more. Forget about whoever you meet. Stop trying to be the perfect shape to fit them. Find out if they can be a shape to fit you. What I’m trying to say, is go out and get some practice being yourself. I’ve known you your entire life, Zoissette, and what you are truly in love with is making yourself miserable to be what everyone else needs you to be. And when you’re not doing that, you love to pretend you don’t exist, and it almost got you killed. Well, stop it.”

Ement was looking at her, and for once, his usual jocularity was entirely missing. Zoissette felt herself sitting up a little straighter, looking back at him square on, and meeting him where he was.

One dutiful child of Ishgard to another.

“Your self assigned duty is to the truth. So stop living so many lies.”

Zoissette felt her eyes watering, and she reached up to wipe them away with the back of a hand, and she nodded. She took a deep breath in, and she straightened her shoulders and stiffened her back, and she nodded.

“And there we are,” said Ement, relaxing back, reaching down a hand to fiddle with his rebreather, letting out a sigh of relief as he increased the airflow feed.

“Thank you,” said Zoissette.

“What are older brothers for, if not dispensing sage wisdom that they’ll never need or follow?” he said, his humor back, and the edges of her lips twitched. She closed her eyes to keep the tears away, and let herself laugh.

~*~

“Okay so it’s not so important what she wears, so long as she’s comfortable in it, gonna ask if Meya can help.”

“Oh! Maybe I should drive them both in a chocobo carriage! That’s romantic!”

“Right. So, I just linkpearled Klynt, and I told her everything that’s going on to get her advice, but all that happened is she laughed so hard she disconnected, and I’m choosing to take that as a good sign.”

“Now that she’s agreed to our deal, she’s not like to renege on it, but we still must needs be certain to not give her a reason to cancel.”

“Didja happen to get us tickets to be off the continent when they meet? I’d like to live to next summer.”

“I’ve fully booked the fabricator on these days! And I’ll ask around to make sure all the leves get filled, too!”

Ement and Thancred watched with some level of detached amusement and bafflement as the others dashed around making last minute adjustments to their master plan.

“You want to know the really funny bit?” asked Ement.

“Hmn?”

“This could all probably be upended with a five minute conversation.”

“What, and deny them their fun? Perish the thought.”

They continued to watch as the plans were fully assembled.

“At least Y’shtola’s not like to blame me for this mess,” said Thancred, and Ement just grinned at him.

~*~

There. Her work was near finished.

All she had left was to finish checking those enchantments that she could. Overall, she was quite pleased with herself. Without knowing the depths of Zoissette’s various magical disciplines, she had, nevertheless, managed what should have been an impossible task. The glasses were repaired, and the enchantments were restored. No matter how complex or tricky they had been, a look at their aether showed that they had been perfectly preserved, and now only wanted for their owner.

She could not check all of the enchantments, but those that she could, she had carefully been examining for the last bell. She had some time before Y’mhitra would show up to escort her to her arranged date, and she wished to see the work through.

As she reviewed them, she found herself smiling, as many of them brought back memories of her various adventures alongside Zoissette. The glasses were a useful tool, and Zoissette oft used their many capabilities to study aether, detect the positions of magitek in the field, get a closer look at some creature from far away, and more. Zoissette was inventive and clever, and that cleverness was reflected in the complexities of every enchantment, every decision that had been made in the manufacture of her glasses.

And the enchantments formed a history. Recent ones were fairly complex, with interlocking functionality, but they grew simpler as Y’shtola checked older ones, until she began to came across those that any beginner to the art may’ve created. Why they were still present, Y’shtola was not certain, but she checked them as well. An indicator for aetheric aspects. A range finder spell. A magnification function. And then, at last, she came to the final enchantment she could check. It was not quite as simple as many of the ones of similar age, requiring more than a novice’s knowledge. It seemed to form a method for storing images that had been drawn with aetheric ink.

She gave it a pulse of aether to bring it to life.

An image flared up on the lenses, and Y’shtola felt as though the world had come to a sudden stop. She was full certain that she was not, could not, be seeing the image that was now projected onto the lens.

It was a simple enough image.

It was comprised of two sketches. The first was the outline of a kite shield, drawn in blue. And the second existed in the middle of that shield, a shape that was most familiar to Y’shtola, drawn in red.

The witch’s wand, drawn to be the standard on a shieldmaiden’s shield. The full composition had been drawn by two children in Sharlayan, over twenty summers ago, and inscribed for posterity in the very enchantment she had just restored.

~*~

Zoissette felt bewildered and more than a little overwhelmed.

She had decided, ultimately, to take Ryss up on her offer to go on a blind date. If she just set aside her feelings for a moment, it promised to have the potential to be fun. She could just go out. Without a care in the world. Whatever happened, happened. At least she would not be screwing up another courtship. And there were no expectations of her. Just show up. Right. Just be herself. Right. Get some practice being out in public. Right. No disasters, no being unintentionally off-putting, no weirdness, just act normal.

Right. Learn how everyone else did this kind of thing.

She took a deep breath in. Her friends had been trying very, very hard to make sure this would be a nice night for her. Apple had taken over her responsibilities for the night. Klynt was away, that was fine, she was in training. Dark had seemed very amused when she had asked for her shift change, but had allowed it.

Meya and Ryss had helped her pick an outfit, something with colors that supposedly complemented her complexion. And something, Ryss had stressed, she would be comfortable in. She had tried her hand at wearing the latest fashions before, but this time, something simpler. Something more her. Lots of pockets. Very comfortable boots. A nice overcoat. She already had moved several journals in and out of their pouches, unable to decide whether to leave them behind or not. It would be rude if she brought them out in the middle of doing something else.

She absolutely had to do this. She absolutely should not do this. It was not too late to beg out. Probabilities and possibilities coalesced in her mind. Different paths and different outcomes. Infinite possibilities in infinite permutations. Each thought a note, each note a noise. A cacophony. A discordance. A swell, thoughts running over and into one another, like an entire musical orchestra all playing every note on every instrument all at once, overlapping, overwhelming.

Zoissette was moving mechanically, now. Almost on autopilot. She knew Ryss would be here soon. To pick her up. To take her to this blind date. All she had to do was be dressed by then. Put her hair up. Use the bow that Ameliance taught her how to make. She liked that. Kept her hair out of her face. Reach for her glasses except they were not there and she really missed them just now.

She looked mournfully at the spot where they were supposed to be, and looked at herself in the vanity, and second and third guessed herself.

But this was a good idea. This was a good thing. Ryss meant well.

She glanced to the single earring on the vanity, one which she wore nigh continuously. A gift from Y’shtola, meant to symbolize their deep friendship. Two black carnations, with two tiny silver threads holding two beautiful pearls. She should leave it behind, she thought.

But then she reached out and touched her fingers to it, and memories came to her, and the noise in her mind seemed to recede of its own volition, quieting, becoming a single solitary thread, a melody carried by a single note.

She looked at it, and time seemed to slow, to allow her to stay in a gentle moment.

~*~

The shieldmaiden.

Y’shtola set the glasses down in disbelief.

My, how she had grown.

The shieldmaiden had been young, her complexion darker, and her build had been wiry. She had been awkward, someone who had not yet grown fully into their height, and when she had first seen her, why, Y’shtola was not sure if she was dealing with a young man or a young woman. Her hair had been shorter back then as well, and her mouth too wide for her face.

Zoissette Vauban.

She had not known her name at the time, due to a singularly foolish game they had played at, but Y’shtola reached down and tilted the glasses up to look again, and there was no mistaking it.

Her one time companion in mischief, and she had returned to her life for full on many summers now.

Ser Zoissette de Vauban of Ishgard, noble, knight, warrior.

Shieldmaid.

She was quieter, now. The shieldmaiden had been boisterous and chatty, stumbling over her words, exuberant and full of energy and that awkward smile. Just… like Zoissette could be, when she got excited about something, when she lowered her guard long enough to truly let herself be free. The awkward smile had been replaced with a somewhat distant and vaguely polite one, but nevertheless.

They were both insatiably curious. They were both willing to put themselves in harm’s way for others. Both were honest in that sort of way that demonstrated that they knew no other way to be.

Their eyes always searching out truth. Their heart always finding the good in the world. Their shield arm always strong, to protect any who were in need. Foolish and brilliant and that was her Zoissette, her shieldmaiden grown into shieldmaid, her friend.

Zoissette could be foolish at times, it was true, but it was the foolishness borne out of a most earnest desire to do the right thing. Even when they had their differences, and such happened often, Y’shtola still felt a great fondness for her. That she could hold her own against Y’shtola’s intellect was endearing, not off-putting. And truly, her feelings were more than just fondness.

She had changed from the young girl who she had remembered, true, but what was more important was the many ways in which she had stayed the same. She had grown up into a fine woman, possibly the finest that Y’shtola had ever known, the obvious result of a lifetime of lessons hard learned, but the core of who she was, well.

It had stayed the same. After all these years, she felt as though she recognized her, fully, now. Seeing her in a way that she had never allowed herself to see her before.

What a fool Y’shtola could be.

~*~

Zoissette sat down at the vanity, picking up the earring, and rubbing her thumb gently across the petals of its flowers, careful to not disturb them any more than was necessary for enjoying the sensation of touching them.

Y’shtola had always had that affect on her, had she not? A calming influence in a chaotic life. She had been there from near the start of Zoissette’s misadventures upon arriving in Eorzea, and she had been by the woman’s side ever since, sometimes leading, often following.

She was a lodestone, an anchor, and Zoissette never had to put on any pretense for her. When she prattled on excitedly about some new discovery or deep recollection of a beloved topic, Y’shtola had always listened with patience. When she outlined some stratagem, Y’shtola was often the first to see it. When there was some challenge to overcome, Y’shtola was always quick to stand by her side to face it. When something needed to be done, well, Zoissette and Y’shtola were the kind of women to do it.

When the world was noise and chaos, Y’shtola was a powerful quiet in it, her courage and steadfastness as stable as they came. She could be short with people, and she was famous for her sharp tongue, but Zoissette knew what few people did, that it was a tool for cutting not to the quick, but to the truth. Y’shtola did what honesty demanded, and Zoissette always respected her for that.

And now, Zoissette knew she had to do what honesty demanded of her.

~*~

Y’shtola curled her hands around the glasses, and she smiled. Her heart felt light. It was as though the clouds were parting after the rain, and she could see the majesty of the history she full shared with Zoissette.

She gingerly picked up the glasses, releasing the aether keeping the enchantment going, and closed them upon themselves, tucking them away, to keep on her until she could see them safely back to their owner.

And when she did so, they would have something new to talk about. Their shared past.

And perhaps, a shared future.

~*~

Zoissette picked up the earrings, and slowly, almost reverently, put them on. She looked at herself in the mirror as she did so.

The truth. The truth was, she loved Y’shtola. And she had loved her for a very long time.

And the earrings were a reminder, of sorts, that she had always known that, hadn’t she? The world was an often confusing place, and she often felt like she would never be part of the shared human experience, like an outsider, looking in, but Y’shtola never made her feel that way. Even in her sharp moments, Y’shtola was always inviting her in, offering her wisdom, showing her truths and knowledge.

Zoissette felt fear and uncertainty become replaced with resolve.

~*~

Well, in any situation, these were truths that could be faced later, matters that would hold for one more day. For now, however.

Y’shtola Rhul looked herself over in the mirror one last time, and satisfied with what she saw there, headed out to satisfy her sister’s need to meddle. That it might not matter shortly did not matter. Y’shtola was a woman of her word, and she would keep it.

Zoissette Vauban checked everything one last time. Pens and journals and tools secure in any of a number of pouches and pockets. She nodded, and headed out. Regardless of any personal revelations, Ryss had set this up as a favor to her, and she would not let the woman down.

Besides, thought Y’shtola, as teleporting magicks gathered around her, if her company for the night turned out to be a boor, she could simply tease her sister for her poor planning and foresight for the foreseeable future. But she would tolerate this evening well enough. And then, after, she would go visit her dear friend, and that, she looked forward to with relish.

And anyroad, there would be no real consequences for this, would there be? With the earring, it would be as though Y’shtola was there with her, and Zoissette felt a bit of light giddiness as she decided that perhaps she could just regale her would-be date with her research. If they enjoyed it, then she would happily share, and if not, then so what? She could be a boor for once in her life with little real consequence, and she could share an amusing story with Ryss, and Ryss would bear the burden of having such an awkward friend with good humour. And then, after this, she would speak to Y’shtola, at long last.

Conversations, perhaps, overdue. But first.

~*~

It was a clear night in Limsa Lominsa. The sun had sunk down over the horizon some bells past, and now the stars were out, sharing their light with the ocean below them. As one looked out past the tide gates, the twinkling of lights reflected in the waves met the twinkling of the light shining from the stars, and at the horizon, it seemed almost as if ocean and night sky were one, seeming almost to be a way to glimpse into infinity.

The Bismarck was famous not just for its food, but for the ambience it provided, the view over the starry ocean accessible from its balconies, the open kitchen ensuring its smells were shared with all. The noise of the fires in the kitchen met the sound of the ocean waves crashing far below, and tonight, the two sounds met and intermixed to form a deep whisper that seemed fit to speak to the very soul of those diners fortunate enough to meet there this night.

One of the hostesses led Y’shtola on a path past the other diners to reach one of the higher up balconies. As they arrived, the hostess bowed, and politely went on her way, leaving Y’shtola to take the last several steps herself. A table for two had been set up, and none else. A private spot, with someone already there, seeming to be looking out over the bay.

Y’shtola walked up the steps, and as she got closer, she slowed, as she recognized that outline. Broad shoulders, appropriate for a knight. Tall, even for an Elezen. Hair in a ponytail held in place by a neatly tied large black bow. A familiar set of earrings hung from one ear.

And her aether, still that calming shade, fair brimming with a power that was belied the potential of its depths, hugging her outline, tightly controlled. A faint glow that Y’shtola had come to find comforting, over the many summers she had known it.

She felt a flash of annoyance. Her sister was going to be insufferable, and she was going to skin her alive.

It evaporated nearly immediately though, and she laughed at herself. How upset could she be? Her sister had merely lead her to conclusions she had already full reached herself. Let her sister think herself clever; the benefits would be hers to have.

She climbed the stairs, and the other woman heard her as she approached.

Zoissette turned to face her, and oh gods, how had she not realised the connection earlier. Her eyes, in any sight, held kindness enough for the star, even as they darted across Y’shtola in confusion as a frown creased her forehead

“Shtola?” said Zoissette, surprised. “What are you doing here? Uhm, I mean, not that I mind. It’s just, it is just, well, uhm, unexpected. I am supposed to be meeting someone here shortly, they are not here yet…”

Her voice trailed off as Y’shtola reached a hand out towards her. “Hello, Sette,” she said. Zoissette only paused a moment before taking her hand in hers, and oh, the levin rumble at her touch, fair tingling her fingers.

“…hi,” said Zoissette, feeling a bit light headed and breathless. She was ready to confess her feelings to Y’shtola, but had not expected to need to do so tonight. She could feel the noise beginning to rise again, but as she looked at the soft smile on Y’shtola’s face, she calmed. There was surely a rationale for what was going on right now. She would solve this mystery, and then tackle that question.

And the answer was obvious, really. Zoissette squeezed her eyes shut and groaned.

“Ryss set this up,” she said.

“Ryss and my sister both,” replied Y’shtola.

“I am so, so sorry.”

“I find that I am not.”

Zoissette took a deep breath in, and let it out, and when she opened her eyes again, Y’shtola was looking up at her with that mischievous smile, and a wicked glint to her eye. As full of confidence and poise as ever. Y’shtola could meet any situation, and oh gods, Zoissette would meet the challenges of life with her forever more if she could help it.

“I believe I have an idea that will allow us to make the most of this,” said Y’shtola, leading Zoissette by the hand to her seat. Bemused but willing, Zoissette sat down, just watching Y’shtola curiously as she went to go stand by the railing and look out over the bay.

She was not a tall woman, not by Miqo’te standards, and certainly not by Elezen ones. But despite that, her posture, her poise, all made her seem so much larger than she was. She was such a strong woman. The very figure of a wise and powerful sorceress. Many found her intimidating, as they should. Zoissette found her beautiful, especially now, silhouetted by night sky, a sea breeze ruffling her dress and somehow highlighting her figure.

Y’shtola turned away from the bay slightly, and their eyes met, and oh, Zoissette wanted the moment to last forever. Just the two of them. Or to grasp the moment and make the most of it, to confess, and let whatever may be happen.

But first.

“I have a storytale I would share with you,” said Y’shtola, as she began to pace slowly to come around the table, one foot solidly in front of the other. “Perhaps you are familiar with it. It deals with the shieldmaiden of your history, and takes place, I think, not so long ago, and not so far away.”

Zoissette just watched her, uncertain where the conversation was going, but curious all the same.

“The shieldmaiden left her home, I believe it goes,” Y’shtola continued, “to travel far away. To a land of learning, of wisdom. Of green rolling hills, and of tall white towers, which were said to hold many of the books of the world. Her curiosity would not allow her otherwise, you see; she would seek wisdom, whatever form it might take, and wheresoever it might be.

“And in that place, she was scorned by the witless and set upon by fools. A lesser woman may have been discouraged, but not she. For even in her youth, she had her bravery and her determination, and while she sought no quarrel, she also would not allow herself to be driven away. And it was well, for in this place, she met another young woman, one much like she. Not as strong, perhaps. Wiser, perhaps. It is in that place, she met the witch of this storytale.”

Zoissette frowned. This was not one of the storytales of the shieldmaiden nor of the witch that she was familiar with, and she knew an awful lot of them. However, as she listened to Y’shtola tell her tale, she thought she could feel a certain tug in her memories, a certain sense of familiarity in the tale.

“The two went on many adventures, though perhaps not as many as they might have liked. The shieldmaiden learned of a witch’s magicks and peoples, and the witch learned that the world was perhaps more than she had previously imagined. Alas, fools fell upon them, but with the strength of her heart, and guided by the witch’s hand, they overcame them, not once, at a bridge, not twice, at an atelier, but three times, under the roof of a powerful man.”

Y’shtola’s path had taken her behind Zoissette’s chair, and instead of twisting around to keep her gaze following her, Zoissette just sat and frowned. She was listening very carefully to the story, and there was a piece that would solve this puzzle in it somewhere, she just knew it.

“And in that place, it was neither the wisdom of the witch nor the strength of the shieldmaiden that carried the day. Nay, it was their trust in one another, their unwavering dedication to their truth, and the honesty of their testimony. Thus was it that the fools were thwarted, and the witch and the shieldmaiden won the day.”

Y’shtola had drifted behind the chair now, and came to place her head next to Zoissette’s, her mouth close to her ear, as she dropped her voice to be dark and low, and Zoissette craned her neck to listen to the last of the story.

“Before she left, they stopped where they had began, at the place they had first met. From there, they parted ways, but before they did, they agreed they would meet each other again, some day.”

Y’shtola wrapped her arms around the chair, resting them on Zoissette’s shoulders, and in her hand was a familiar pair of glasses. Zoissette glanced at her briefly before reaching out to take them, noticing that an enchantment had already been activated, and as she looked, the last puzzle piece fell into place.

“I believe I still owe you a boon,” purred Y’shtola into her ear. “If you would have it.”

Zoissette turned her head, and looked deep into Y’shtola’s eyes. A thousand thoughts crossed her mind, but they quickly distilled down to only one.

“I would,” she whispered, and she reached up, placing her hand on the back of Y’shtola’s head, and gently pulled her closer, and they at last met, and fell into one another freely, as their lips met and they kissed.

The stars’s light reflected in the ocean and the ocean’s light met the stars, but that was not the most beautiful sight in Limsa Lominsa that night.

#final fantasy xiv #biot writes #year of the otp #yotp 2023 #blind date #zoissette vauban #ryssthota sundstyrwyn #y'mhitra rhul #y'shtola rhul #ement vauban #thancred waters #apple silverberg #witchshield

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prahacat · 5 months

Text

Bend, Break

It's been three days since Dooku saved his life, and all Obi-Wan can do now is push until they break. Continuation of Brush, Bend, an AU where Obi-Wan and Dooku desert in favor of exploring their weird, obsessive relationship dynamic. This also (very liberally) fills my Obi-Wan x Dooku YOTP2023 December prompt "moving in together". cw: (mild) sexual content, mentions of abuse and violence. 3k words.

The black clouds hang so low, Obi-Wan can almost split them with the tip of his blade. Not much longer now and it will rain. An icy wind whistles across the bare plains, where nothing, no trees, no grass, breaks through the volcanic rock. Obi-Wan lifts his saber and swings it in a flurry of swift strikes. Far away, the horizon flashes red and orange below the crushing mass of clouds. He slashes at empty air until sweat soaks through his tunic and drips into his eyes, until he is trembling and breathless, and the first cold raindrops pat against the back of his neck.

When he looks up, the lone figure watching him from the terrace turns and melts into the shadows.

Obi-Wan lowers his lightsaber, and the blade, purple like a dying star, extinguishes in a hiss and crackle.

They haven't been warm for days. The ruins offer hardly any protection against the harsh climate, or against each other. What remains of the collapsed tower nestles between the basalt rocks and the leaden sky, and it's cold inside, always too cold; in the morning, a silver sheen of frost covers their blankets. But there is no point in leaving. Out here, on this bleak hunk of a planet, nobody looks for them.

Obi-Wan mounts the hewn stone steps into the room that was once, presumably, the tower’s main hall. Time has chipped away the golden mica on the ornamental carvings, and the ceiling painting has faded beyond recognition. The fireplace takes up most of the back wall, a black mouth spitting sparks and soot. Apart from them, the sole guest who visits is the wind: it barges in through the broken terrace doors, fans the flames, and tugs at Dooku's cloak before it lets up when he doesn’t react. He stands like a statue below the arcades that frame the terrace, his back turned toward Obi-Wan as he stares somewhere into the far distance. Black sheets of rain now curtain off the world beyond.

Obi-Wan slips out of his clammy boots and wiggles his bare toes. Frozen, numb. "Have you eaten yet?"

A cup and a half-empty bottle of wine sit on the table, the glass fogged up with the cold. They look lost among the few pieces of equipment they have salvaged from their ship and arranged into a makeshift command center. Two datapads, the map, a radio—and the encrypted com that has been silent for nearly seventy hours.

Dooku watches the clouds churn and flash along the horizon. "An electromagnetic storm." His voice, though quiet, echoes through the cold hall. "Communication is out. No signal penetrates these clouds."

"She'll find a way to contact us." Obi-Wan throws a broken chair leg into the fire. Ventress is more loyal than he will ever be, a relief as much as it is an inconvenience, and Obi-Wan wonders whether that knowledge doesn't also pester Dooku in quiet, calm hours such as these. "We should eat something. She'd make me berate you if she were here. Let me warm some soup—"

"Leave me."

Slowly, Obi-Wan rises to his feet.

Dooku's back remains turned. Obi-Wan listlessly regards the bottle. "The wine won't help with the pain." But Dooku ignores him with a stubbornness that annoys Obi-Wan more than any rudeness would. He drapes his drenched cape over the mantelpiece. Steam rises as the wool begins to dry. Dooku stares at the storm in stony silence, and Obi-Wan thinks: I could grab the bloody ship, I could fly off and leave you stranded here, but it'd never make you stare at the sky like this, longing for me to come back. He wipes the damp hair from his forehead. "There's no need to worry yet. If the Jedi had captured her, we would know. They would make demands or try to negotiate."

"If the Confederacy had captured her, we would know as well," Dooku says dryly. "We would be under attack already."

"You think Ventress would betray our location?"

"The Confederacy has recently invested considerable resources in the development of new torture droids.”

Obi-Wan rounds the table and joins Dooku below the arcades. "Maybe we should move." His gaze lingers on Dooku's side, but the dark tunic covers any hint of bandages. "How is your wound?"

"Fine." But there's not much privacy when you've been stuck together for three days between walls that no longer have ceilings. In this hollow tower, Obi-Wan can always hear the whisper of Dooku's tired footsteps somewhere, and it's only late at night that he catches him leaning against walls and archways, resting his weight, letting go. This morning, Obi-Wan saw Dooku hunched over the edge of his bed, eyes closed, the hazy light melting on his face, one hand pressed against his stomach as if he was afraid of tearing and falling apart as soon as he stood up.

There's a feverish shine to his eyes now.

Without thinking, Obi-Wan says, "The Jedi would help us."

"The Jedi." Dooku grimaces. The wind has tousled his hair and a few stray strands fall into his eyes. "Always the Jedi. And what do you expect the Jedi to give us? Forgiveness? A pardon for your crimes? Pity and a bowl of hot soup?"

"Protection, I should imagine," Obi-Wan says. "They would at least see to Ventress' safety."

"You are willing to trade her safety for our freedom?"

"What freedom? All we do is run." He gazes out into the pouring rain. In the distance, the mountain peaks float above a sea of darkness. "We have no allies, no supporters. A temporary truce with the Jedi would grant us some respite at least, and a place to lie low. Ventress could reunite with us at the Temple. Once we know she is unharmed, it will be easier to decide on a course."

"So it is Ventress who worries you?" Dooku turns toward him. "Or do you seek to save your own hide?" His black cloak parts and flows like dark, heavy water that Obi-Wan needs only to step into to wash away what remains of him. He wants to. "Bravery and dedication," Dooku says, "those qualities come easy when you believe to be backed by the establishment. But only those who are not afraid to fend for themselves will bring about actual change in this galaxy."

Obi-Wan scoffs. "As if you ever knew what it meant to fend for yourself, Dooku. You only ever made a move when you had something to cushion your leap: a new, comfortable life as a Count, your wealth, your armies, Palpatine's protective hand. Now you have lost all of it and look where it got you. Ex-leader of the Separatists and disgraced Count of Serenno, hiding in a drafty—"

Dooku grabs him by the neck and yanks him close. "Don't insult my intelligence, Obi-Wan," he says, his voice low. His thumb digs into the soft skin behind Obi-Wan's ear. The smell of burnt wood and thunderstorms clings to his cloak; the fabric rustles against the length of Obi-Wan's thigh. He's right here, and Obi-Wan touches his wrist, allowing his fingers to slide into the warmth below the sleeve, where Dooku's pulse is thumping as fast as his.

"I know what you are after," Dooku whispers.

Do you, Obi-Wan wonders, and the thought sends a sudden rush of heat through his body: want; fear.

"It would be such a relief for you if I swallowed your bait." Dooku tightens his grip on his hair and pulls Obi-Wan's head back to gaze down into his face like Obi-Wan once saw a butcher do with a nerf calf to inspect its teeth. "If I took the choice from you and dragged you back to everything you betrayed." This is how he used to hold Obi-Wan after frying or strangling him with the Force, but as the cruelty has grown rare, so have the caresses. Obi-Wan leans in, and the sharp tug at the back of his head eases.

"How you dream of liberation," Dooku murmurs. "You cannot bring yourself to break free from your torn existence. Freedom scares you, but misery has become a familiar comfort. How do you want to cope without it? You are truly lost, Obi-Wan."

"Then so are you, considering we're stuck in the same place." Obi-Wan presses his nails into the tendons on Dooku's wrist.

Dooku smiles and lowers his eyes. The fire pours a river of gold over the left side of his face. "I've seen the color of your blade," he says softly. Obi-Wan feels his touch on his belt, fingers brushing the hilt resting at his thigh. His skin tingles, but he keeps his eyes on Dooku's face, watches the flames paint strange blue shadows along the sharp lines of his nose and under his lashes. "What a shame your lightsaber no longer knows what it is supposed to be," Dooku says, but he can't even begin to imagine how terribly wrong he is. It's not misery Obi-Wan can't do without, but this: the feeling of being hollow and porous, so close to all these fleeting, liquid secrets; gold and shadows and melting light, and Dooku's blood pounding against his fingers.

Outside, rain and wind battle for possession of the tower, for this whole rotten, forsaken planet.

Obi-Wan lays his hand flat on Dooku's chest, pressing against the half-moon scar and his heart: strong and steady, but chained to its own obsessions. Dooku's face is a mask, unmoving except for his slowly drooping eyelids, like he is about to fall asleep. Idly, Obi-Wan brushes the moisture from his cloak. Dooku's body simmers under his palm: warmer than the fire. "The state of my lightsaber doesn't concern me as much as the state of your mind, Dooku," Obi-Wan says. "You've already lost everything. What is left that you're so afraid of losing that you growl and raise your hackles?"

Dooku sighs and lifts his gaze to the vault where nothing is left of the murals that must have once depicted gods and creatures, men and beasts, floating in the skies and glimmering like golden stars. He closes his eyes as if the sight gives him a headache. His grip on Obi-Wan's hair loosens and he caresses it with his fingers instead, carefully combing down the wet strands Obi-Wan is sure stick up in every direction. Dooku bends down toward him; and something caves and swells inside Obi-Wan's chest when Dooku presses his mouth against his sweat-damp forehead. "What you did three days past, during our attempt to seize the droid factory," he hears Dooku murmur into his skin, and his voice floods Obi-Wan like ice water, "you will never do that again."

(What part of it? The taste of Dooku's blood, the smell of his skin, rust and sunlight, and his eyes: wide and dark like liquid amber? The cold tingle of Bacta, the rustle of the gauze? Dooku's limp weight and the faint thump-thump-thump of his heart when Obi-Wan laid his head against his chest? What part of it? The heated discussion in the factory's control room?—how Obi-Wan stormed off, first blinded by rage, then by the sudden detonation, then by something else altogether when he crawled from below the debris and Dooku's bleeding body? What part of it does Dooku want to forget?)

Obi-Wan pushes at him; he needs to see his face.

But Dooku pulls away. "You are not a prisoner.” He retreats behind the table and lowers himself into the chair, the movement stiff and without his usual grace. "If you wish to leave, the door is right there. Although I must warn you: I will not give up the ship without a fight."

Obi-Wan lifts an eyebrow. "You are injured, Dooku."

Dooku pours himself a glass of wine. The cold has tinted the skin beneath his nails an unhealthy, bluish shade. "That should level the field somewhat."

"Going at each other won’t improve my mood, let alone yours."

"Stabbing me in my sleep would be the most efficient strategy, though I wouldn't think you a spineless coward who—"

"Just shut up!" Obi-Wan plants both his hands onto the table, leaning toward Dooku. "Who are you trying to distract with this petty jabber? You cling so desperately to your belief that everything has to be paid in misery and suffering that you’re denying yourself even the slightest bit of—"

"The last thing I need is your pity," Dooku hisses.

"Oh trust me Dooku, I do not feel sorry for you."

Dooku stares at him from over his glass. "Get out."

"I'm not leaving," Obi-Wan blurts out. Dooku keeps staring at him with that dumb face, and the heat rises inside Obi-Wan. It crushes his lungs, pushes against his throat, and his body tingles with the urge to move; shake it off, crawl beneath the table, maybe throw more logs to the fire, or hit Dooku. He swallows. His mouth is so dry that his tongue sticks to his palate like old gauze to a wound. "I'm staying."

Dooku straightens in his chair and raises his chin. "And yet, moments ago, you were entertaining the idea of crawling back to the Jedi."

Obi-Wan clutches the edge of the table. "You know that's not what I said."

"Isn't it?" Dooku samples the wine, his eyes never leaving Obi-Wan's.

"Kindly cease twisting my words, Dooku," Obi-Wan says coldly. "And stop drinking. Are you hoping to make this tower your grave?" He snatches the wine glass from Dooku's hand and downs it himself. The alcohol is bitter on his tongue, but it sends a pleasant burn down his throat.

Dooku's hand snaps up and grips his wrist. Wine spills over Obi-Wan's sleeve; the glass slips from his fingers and shatters onto the floor. Obi-Wan knocks forward, his knuckles grazing Dooku's throat before he braces against the backrest of the chair; it creaks and shudders.

Beneath them, a thousand tiny shards gleam upon the floor, like stars, like teeth.

Dooku has no eyes for the destruction. He is staring up at Obi-Wan, his right leg awkwardly stretched underneath the table to reduce the pressure on his wound. Scabbed scratches litter the left side of his face, and all Obi-Wan can think about are the scars hiding below Dooku's clothes, the ones he put there, the ones Dooku put there for him. He shivers; a gust of wind sweeps under his wet tunic, but Dooku's face is warm when he touches it. Dooku presses into his hand, tentatively, as if still wary whether this will veer into care or cruelty. Obi-Wan exhales soundlessly: don't, he wants to say, don't do this, don't trust this, me, us. He brushes his thumb along the corner of Dooku's mouth.

Dooku closes his eyes, licks his lips. "Obi-Wan ..." he mumbles.

What remains of Obi-Wan's reason burns up in that breathy whisper. He falls forward and crushes Dooku's mouth beneath his. Dooku stiffens, then opens with a groan, and his hands are back in Obi-Wan's hair, both of them, burying into the wet strands, just like Obi-Wan buries himself in Dooku. He sways and falls, or maybe Dooku pulls him; the chair scrapes over the stone tiles as Obi-Wan crawls onto Dooku's lap and wraps himself around his heat, and it's all Obi-Wan has been craving: Dooku's body against his when nobody is watching, because everybody is gone.

Their teeth clash; Dooku angles his head and his fingers clench in Obi-Wan's hair as he kisses back, his breath heavy and wet and his nose pushing against Obi-Wan's cheekbones. The taste of him makes Obi-Wan dizzy. Wine, he thinks, something that is bitter at first but reveals layers of addictive sweetness the more you drink of it. When Dooku gropes at Obi-Wan's back and makes a noise like he's drowning, Obi-Wan's stomach gives a startled twist. He rolls his hips, grinds down until he feels Dooku growing hard beneath him. Dooku breathes wetly into Obi-Wan's neck and groans again; maybe with pleasure, maybe with pain, Obi-Wan doesn't care, and he isn't even sure which possibility arouses him more. He tilts Dooku's chin toward him and pushes his tongue between Dooku's bared teeth into the soft, searing warmth. Dooku's eyes change color like Obi-Wan's saber: they're soot and smoke and embers that swirl in his irises. He keeps them open while they kiss, watches Obi-Wan from below heavy lashes, and it's weird how this sight ignites a giddy heat in Obi-Wan's guts, similar to when he finally sunk that knife into Dooku's chest after weeks of skirting him. This, he thinks, I can still win this, I can still wound you, you feel this too. He slides a hand below Dooku's tunic, runs his fingers along the wound where the skin is hot and swollen, and Dooku moans around Obi-Wan's tongue.

When they part for air, they are both panting like animals. Dooku cups Obi-Wan's face in his large hands and traces the curve of his cheek with his thumbs.

"Stay with me," he breathes against Obi-Wan's mouth; it's barely louder than the wind howling against the tower, but Obi-Wan is close enough to taste his words on his tongue.

"Stay." His mouth grazes Obi-Wan's neck.

"Obi-Wan." He draws him flush against his chest.

Obi-Wan's hand is squished between their abdomens. He presses harder; digs his fingers into Dooku's ribcage, the softness below, and it's all so familiar and yet strange, the same skin he has touched and ripped apart and restitched countless times. He can feel the rise and fall of Dooku's chest and the pulsing heat trapped between his thighs where Obi-Wan straddles him. The blade guard on Dooku's saber stabs into Obi-Wan's stomach.

Obi-Wan drops his head on Dooku's shoulder. Distantly, he realizes that he is warm, almost hot, for the first time in days.

Outside, he can hear it: the last, gentle drip of water as the storm finally dies down.

#star wars fanfiction #obi-wan kenobi #dooku #yotp 2023 #obi-wan x dooku #dookuwan #this has been one exiting year in the fandom #seemed appropriate to end it with a bit of spicy goodness about my two favorite idiots #they're allowed to have some good things too #prahacat writes #my ff

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