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thevoilinauttheory · 6 years

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Entry #7: Only Lies Are Skin Deep

FFXIV Writing Challenge Prompt #7: Broken Leaf

**All characters mentioned belong to me**

Not a day went by that the boy barely turned man felt the itch to fight - for himself, for his friends. For his country. He had trained for this. Lived for this. The chance to make his life better while aiding his fellow Ishgardians.

Except.

He was stuck on the patrol routes. The ones that barely see even a bell of action. The ones that came home exhausted from the trek around the Coerthas Highlands, yet not a gil in their pocket for it. The ones that made him feel as if his expertise as a lancer was for naught. Perhaps he should have become a medic, at least they get to experience a Dravanian attack. And yet, he did not. He wanted to face a dragon and live to tell the tale; he wanted to kill and claim it for the update in his lacking status.

At the age of twenty-three winters, Maximiloix was rambunctious, fiery, and so...so...

"Ugh, Ald, I'm so boooored - there's nothing on these patrols, why do we even do them? The commander just keeps trying to get rid of us, I swear it." The young man groaned in the painful agony of boredom and exhaustion; and his friend, ally, and brother-in-law had to bare the brunt of his complaints.

"Maxim, you have a wife and two kids, do you really want to face a dragon and come back home in pieces? I didn't think so. And I don't want to have to be the one to tell my sister that her husband went chasing dragons and faerietales." Alderic pointed to a small encampment of Temple Knights ahead on their path. "Look, you can take a break but I swear - I kill you myself if I hear another word about how boring our shifts are. The commander assigned us for a reason." But his words were only met with a sigh of defeat, Maximiloix was not going to get his day to do anything but pretend he was some hero to be applauded by the common man.

Instead, he was spat on. For what hero is a man who grew up poor in a city ruled by the rich? Why didn't he just pack up his family and leave? There were many places to travel, and being a merchant offered the chance at some form of income. But like any man or woman of his age, fame was the dream at the top of the pillar. Capturing and killing a dragon was the epitome of striking a line of ceruleum - a veritable gold mine.

Upon their arrival at the checkpoint of their break, they were greeted and were bid farewell to by the next patrol to make rounds. A few others remained, manning the station that was supposed to treat any wounds or exhaustion created by the strenuous routes. Maximiloix took the chance to plop himself down by a nearby tree, armour clamouring in rejection of the action. Another sigh left his mouth as he stripped his gauntlets and boots, laying them beside his discarded lance. "Ald, how do you remain so positive on these patrols? They're troublesome and tiring." He rested his head against the trunk of the tree, using his arms as a pillow crossed behind his head.

"Positive? Have you met me, Maxim? I'm not positive, I'm angry. Bitter, resentful, and angry." A small smile formed on Alderic's face as he pulled off his helmet, letting his longer hair finally free from the heated confines of it. "'Tis the best way to live, brother. I suggest you think of changing your own frame of mind someday. It'll save you a lot of hassle; no one wants to bother the bothered."

The sound of clanking metal sabatons caught the attention of the midlander; the cobbled path sounded like it was being beaten to death by the boots of their comrades. "Formation! Formation!" The lead of the patrol that had just left shouted at the smaller encampment. Before anyone could react to the unfinished warning, massive dragons and aevises crashed down upon them. The head of the patrol had already been slaughtered before their eyes. No one had any time or preparation to gather their bearings; Maximiloix had no time to even grab his weapon. An aevis had trapped him against the tree; but even with the terror in his eyes, he couldn't seem to call for the aide of his comrades - no sound was made as he seemed to almost accept his death right there and then.

He heard the cry of his friend, his brother - oh, Halone, they both could not meet their end there. If one died, the other must live; that was their motto. He had no gloves, yet all he could think to do was throw a punch at the creature in front of him. A distraction, that's all he needed to grab his spear. He could feel the cracking of the bones in his fingers as his fist met with the scales of his foe; the burning of the broken joints had him recoil from his idea. The pain did not end; as he drew his arm back, the sharp teeth of the dragon had caught his forearm. They sank and crushed into his flesh and bone, they broke the chainlinks of his armour and embedded the metal in his muscle. His own cry was let out, he screamed - and he would have begged for mercy if he felt the creature might give him any.

"Grab your weapon - now!" Alderic voice had cut through his fog of pain; he was not yet allowed to embrace death - and his friend had seen to that. The sword of his comrade pierced itself under loose scales, and sliced through the flesh as it's wielder ditched his shield to put all of his weight and force into cutting through it. Maximiloix wasted no time scrambling across the bloodstained grass to grab his lance. But it was useless in his hands; he could not wield a weapon so large without both working arms. He tried, and he faltered, and he tried again, only to have the pain cripple him. So he stood there, watching as one of his few friends put his life on the life to save what Templars he could. Terrified. Angry. Even the gods would tremble at his rage.

He placed the butt of his spear on the ground and smashed his barefoot into the wooden shaft; breaking it down to a smaller, more accessible size; though it splintered into his foot. "Alderic, move! Out of the way!" He warned his brother to back off of what he now considered to be his prize. This was the chance he was waiting for and he was going to kill a dragon if he could, even if it would cost him his life. He held the broken spear as if he were wielding a short-ranged javelin and jumped at the dragon. Pressure pushed the splinters further into his skin, but he couldn't pay any mind to it. Not now, not while his patrol was dying. The shattered bones of his left arm tore through the surface of it as he grabbed onto one of the beast's wings, only for the shortest of moments as he stabbed and forced the spearhead into its eye and skull. And the dragon fell as hard as it landed. He did it, he --

He fell to the ground, tired. Exhausted. He couldn't breathe, the pain caught up to him; he couldn't feel his arm, his foot; all he could feel and hear was his own heartbeat. He was still alive. Barely. His eyes glazed over the field...so many of his patrol was dead. Alderic fell beside him, the heavy thud of his body scared him - worried him. "Ald...Ald, are you--" "Shut up and lie still, Maxim." He didn't need to be warned twice; at this point, playing dead was better than actually being dead. He laid still for what felt like bells, he could hear the bodies of both man and dragon collapse in front of his own; but he did not move. Not that he could if he wished to, the pain was unbearable.

"Son of man...I soared without you..."

A hushed rasp of a growl forced Maximiloix's head to turn to the aevis he had slain. For a moment, he thought he had heard words. For a moment, he thought he had murdered his own kin - the eye of a man, not a dragon - the tears of lost friends and family, not the shriek of a dying beast. Hunted man, and hunted prey. The dragon's claw loosened to reveal a pendant, a symbol of heresy, a symbol of peace. He reached for it, though he knew not what to do, nor what to think.

"Maxim, Max...Maximiloix, wake up - gods damn it all, I can't carry you like this." The grumbles of an injured man bore his entire weight upon his back. He was forced to open his eyes, yet his body would not move. "Ald...Ald, is that--" "Can it, Max. Can you walk?" "I...I can't feel anything..." Alderic cursed under his breath, continuing to trek with his brother on his back; he had traveled some time - and they were almost to Falcon's Nest. It wasn't a large settlement, but at least there would be medics and succor there. Even then, the journey still proved too much for the poor man; and the ground was up to meet him, when his face hit the path. Not even Maximiloix could do much but roll off his back and lay there, staring up at the sky. There were no thoughts to think. No words to give. He grasped at something on his neck - the heretic's pendant; and his eyes witnessed the truth - yet he would not believe the lies and slander of his home. See you at home father - Yah Moh

Yah Moh; the dragon he killed had a child. A family of his own. Like he did. Yah Moh was never going to see his father again - and most Ishgardians would believe that the heretics deserved it. Even the children. By proxy, anyone related to them would be convicted of heresy. Yet...Maximiloix's belief was always that no one should live without family. And wherever this Yah Moh was, he would be ridiculed by his kind for being alone. And it was his fault.

Perhaps they'd meet in the future. Perhaps he could still be forgiven. Perhaps he would give himself up, to be crushed like the broken, dying leaf he was - finally falling from the tree of his faith.

Lesson Number 41: "Only lies are skin deep."

#FfxivWrite2017 #prompt #day 7 #history will be written #about: Maximiloix Voilinaut #the cold truth

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coffeedrivenfiction · 7 years

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Twintelle’s Tale

Chapter 1: Twintelle’s Tale

That voice… soft as silk, lighter than a feather….

She remembered that voice all too well, and the words were coming back to her.

“Mon amour… you will go on to do great things, so have no fear. Stand tall, stay strong… and remember… you can do anything. You are a star.”

Those words echoed throughout her subconscious, replaying over and over again like a cracked record, until her eyes fluttered open and she sat up, chest heaving.

Waking up sweaty was never a thing Twintelle liked to do—she abhorred it actually—but she was too preoccupied with her latest dream to dwell on how her nightie clung to her like a second skin. What would happen this time…? It seemed every time she dreamt of her mother, no matter the capacity, like clockwork, a major shift rocked her world. The last time, a little more than a year ago, she woke to find herself wearing this strange black mask that seemed utterly defiant to leave her face, and with it came the surprising ability to control her hair like an extra set of arms.

Apparently, this odd phenomenon was sweeping the world, so much so that it gained its own silly little sport, aptly named the ARMS Grand Prix.

That didn’t matter to Twintelle, who initially thought that her acting career was ruined by this strange occurrence, but it didn’t take her long to add in some action films to her repertoire, many of which were major hits at the box office. Critics lauded the fighting scenes and the choreography, and the world went absolutely crazy when Twintelle’s agent revealed she did all of her own stunts.

“Twintelle is the most versatile star in the business right now,” she remembered him saying ecstatically, “she can act, she can sing, we learned real quick that she can box with the best of them—she’s not letting this change to her life slow her down at all, she’s using it to her advantage! There’s no stopping the Twintelle train!”

She sighed, flomping back down on her bed. “The Twintelle Train, eh?”

Her room was vast, filled with the luxuries that her talent had earned her throughout life, including a lengthy table that housed a generous collection of perfumes. That was one of her main loves, buying and sniffing perfumes. The cornucopia of scents always set her mind, got her in the mood to take on the day.

“And speaking of starting the day… excusez-moi, really? This early?”

She spoke to her hair, which would seem odd by itself if not for the fact that both her length pigtails were currently lifting fifty-pound dumbbells.

“Honestly, can I not even shower first, obtenir frais?” she questioned with some annoyance, but her hair continued the set.

While fitness was something she always made time for, as her body was something of a temple worthy of worship according to a majority of her fans, Twintelle didn’t fancy the slight level of cognizance her hair seemed to gain since that mask appeared. Sure, it made daily tasks easy and fun, but sometimes, like now, her pigtails liked to go overboard….

As if she weren’t sweaty enough, she could fell the strain her hair was going through, which only caused her heartbeat to climb and her breaths to come out in heated pants. She would never not find that odd, how she felt the effects of working out through her hair, but she wasn’t going to complain either because she also received the benefits.

“Fine,” she relented, bringing her knees up and wrapping her real arms around them, “but this is the last set, d’accord?”

Her hair gave an energetic bounce.

“Alright then, allons-y. Un… deux… trois….”

Moments later, Twintelle was stepping out of the shower, towel around her figure and her sopping wet hair piled into a ridiculously high pile. Even though her body was sore from a workout that she hadn’t taken part of, the wash had done her good and she stared at her reflection in the mirror after wiping the mist away.

Her hair vibrated somewhat.

“Your guess is as good as mine, cheveux magiques” she sighed despondently, hearing the question without it being verbally asked.

That was another thing: so far as she could tell, besides being the only one afflicted with the ARMS epidemic and still retaining her arms, her hair could talk. In her mind. Where only she could hear. Smartly, she told no one about that little side effect and could only assume it was due to her ARMS being her hair, which was connected to her head. And that made her wonder if others afflicted, if their arms talked to them…?

Almost as if reading her mind, which it could, her hair vibrated in a ticklish fashion.

“No one else so far, hm? So I continue to be unique.” She smirked, whipping her towel off to wrap it around her hair in a playful jostle. “And how do I know I haven't simply gone insane over the past few months? You are attached to my head after all, you could be controlling my every move!”

Stifled by the towel, her hair gave a lackluster twitch and she giggled.

“True enough, I suppose. I never was one to be controlled… although taking a sign when I see it….”

She was leaning toward the mirror now, hands on either side of the sink. Her eyes were resplendent, and her shoulders firm. The hourglass shape of her figure, the delectable shade of her skin, the way her smile caused passerby to double-take, an attitude that was both firm and decisive yet tender and caring….

Many of those traits were the reasons beyond her immense popularity, why her films were considered box office hits before they even came out, why entire city’s turned up at her autograph signings. She had a built-in platform, she had the talent and determination….

“So… why not?” she wondered softly at first, clenching the sink, and now her heart was beginning to beat very fast. “Why couldn’t I master this as well?”

By ‘this’ she meant, of course, the ARMS Grand Prix.

Silly though it was, and utterly barbaric, it was something that had been on her mind ever since waking up to find her hair in the midst of making her breakfast. To participate in any ARMS sanctioned bout, one had to naturally have a pair of ARMS, and while hers may not have been literally that, her hair would surely qualify, right? Right. So why not give it a try? Why not venture into new territory and take her chances?

She was smirking now as the thoughts in her head began to swirl towards a conclusion that would no doubt flip the movie industry on its head if she decided to do this. Currently, she was set to appear in at least four films over the span of the next couple of years, one horror, two action, and a spy flick.

All of that would have to be cancelled if she wanted to take on the ARMS circuit. The training, the promotions, the matches and showdowns… Her mind was racing, she could see it… she could see herself standing at the final leg, fighting Max Brass, holding the ARMS championship belt over her head, the roar of the crowd….

You can do anything… You are a star….

That clenched it.

Hearing those words again, all worry and doubt was expunged from her mind and she whirled around with flair, hands on her hips with a defiant snort.

“Then, it’s settled!” she declared as though there were an audience before her. “I, the silver screen queen, Twintelle, am throwing my hand – er… hair! – into the ring!”

This was it, it had to be, what her mother was alluding to in that dream, how she could be whatever she wanted, that she was a star.

A few seconds passed with her just standing there, poised and still dripping from the shower, when her hair suddenly trembled. Whenever her hair moved on its own, it gave off emotions that translated itself into expressions in Twintelle’s mind, hence ‘talking’ to her, and right now, she was getting vibes of embarrassment.

“Moi? Embarrassed? Why should I be?”

Another shiver followed the first and it was then that Twintelle felt a chill slide between her legs.

“Ah… I see.” She facepalmed herself with a sigh. “Yes, I suppose standing naked and speaking like I just overcame a dragon is a tad bit – yes, I understand, right….”

If she could have melted in the floor, she would have, right then and there, but she couldn’t so she snatched her towel of her sentient locks and covered herself again.

“Ahem… now! As I was saying… oh forget it, le moment est parti…”

It didn’t help her bruised pride when her hair began vibrating, essentially laughing at her.

“Oh, tais-toi,” she snapped, unable to keep from smiling a little.

No amount of embarrassment could keep away the butterflies in her stomach. She was about to launch herself down an entirely new direction in life, one that she had no idea what the outcome would be. She had some experience using her hair as an ARMS weapon thanks to a few action films, but enough to take on a league filled with professionals? Could she rise to be a top contender? Was this even a feat worth attempting, or was she just chasing delusions brought on by her dream around a sensitive subject?

“Hm…?”

The way her hair started to shake… it was almost inspiring, like it were trying to encourage her; she felt it's confidence, that invigoration.

“You’re right,” she agreed aloud, a fire blazing behind her cerulean pupils. “You are absolutely right. Why not? Why not moi? The ARMS League… that's the next leg of my journey. I'll do it, because I can do anything.”

And she would have felt empowered in the moment were her hair not trembling with silent laughter.

“Yeah, yeah — arms, legs, I get it, hahaha….”

#ARMS #twintelle #fanfic #videogame #nintendo switch #adventure #friendship #twintelleislife #twintelleisbae

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