voidgates | IC Inbox

[ In a way, he's far more comfortable having his life directed by a woman, for all that his matriarch was killed a decade ago. He's tired, and he doesn't have a reason to fight what she wants, when it's not something that's hurting her.

And the world she sees is better than the one he lives in... and it doesn't matter if he deserves to be there or not. He's not the one who gets to decide that.

He seems to give himself a little shake, like shrugging a coat back on as he tries to remember how he even talks. ]

Yeah, well. You're not a dragoon. So you really don't.

[ She'll change her mind eventually. It may be inevitable. But pathetic as it is, he'll take what he can get until she does. ]

I bet you don't even know what I am.

[Besides "not a dragoon", which he's right about, but still. She bends her knees a fraction, testing, and then gradually lets go of his hand, allowing their impromptu connection to fall by the wayside.

She feels better, at least. Not nearly strong enough to attempt another use of magic, but better. Not empty. She could make it home without him if she really wanted.

Naturally, she's not going to tell him that.]

Wait here a moment. I need to get Ultros.

You're a fuckin' thaumaturge or something close enough to the like. [ He snorts. ] I'm not a complete idiot.

[ Because he's seen that staff, and it is nothing like what a conjurer or white mage would carry. Which is one of the reasons he didn't immediately flee the area without saying a word when he first laid eyes on her.

He feels strangely bereft when she lets go, and half reaches for her hand again, but... no. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. He's too starved for any kind of touch; it's fucking pathetic and he shouldn't advertise it. ]

...Ultros?

Oh, you know what a Thaumaturge is.

[And that's the thing he should be saying, probably, when black magic is still considered a dark art by so many. The Thaumaturges' Guild, at least, comes with a certain level of respectability. Tradition. None of the associations of Shatotto and the like.

She sees the way he thinks of taking her hand again, but doesn't comment on it, going first to retrieve her staff and replace it on her back before heading off to find Ultros...hopefully where she'd left him.

Or, well. Having gotten into some abandoned boxes discarded on the rooftop, the little criminal.]

What about a mammet? Have you ever seen one?

...why wouldn't I?

[ He sounds more confused than annoyed, rubbing his forehead. But... yeah, it's not like she knows anything about him. Because he doesn't talk about himself at all, for a lot of reasons.

But this? Safe to mention. Probably useful so she can stop being surprised that he knows how to blow his own nose or something. ]

I've served in the Maelstrom for ten years. Been in the Crimson Fleet for the last five of 'em.

[ ...oh. Mammets. He grimaces. ]

Yeah, I seen those before.

Well, that's why. You don't have the look of someone who spends a great deal of time in Ul'dah.

[Clicking her tongue, she bends and retrieves the misbehaving mechanical menace, holding it against her chest the way one might hold a stuffed animal, clasped in loosely crisscrossed arms.

...Ultros, the little lech, seems content with that state of affairs, and wriggles approvingly.]

This is Ultros. He's a horrible little thing.

[She says, with adoration.]

There're thaumaturges in the Maelstrom. All sorts in the Maelstrom.

[ Himself as exhibit number one, really. A Keeper of the Moon who is a dragoon and nearly as far as he can get from both Gridania and Ishgard. He crosses his arms, ears going mulish. ]

And I been to Ul'dah. Plenty of times. It's too bloody hot. And bright.

[ As had been Ala Mhigo, for that matter, but... he doesn't want to think about that.

He regards the mammet with the same level of disturbed suspicion that he might a large, hairy insect that Summer was holding against her boobs. ]

Yeah, looks pretty horrible.

Edited 2022-06-09 04:02 (UTC)

Pirates in the Maelstrom.

[That's really just proving his point, but regardless. She hangs on to Ultros a little longer, letting him be properly examined and inspected, and then gently deposits him onto the ground again as she starts leading the way to the stairs and down off the roof.]

You've never had a mammet? A lot of people do. Or mayhap that's just something they do in Ul'dah...rich people have all sorts of funny ideas that way.

[ He shrugs, as if to say, and what of it? His respect for things like governments is... not high. If he was going to end up serving anywhere, the pirate city state certainly made the most sense. Still, his lip curls in a slight smirk. ]

'til the sea swallows all.

[ He shakes his head. Admitting this is probably a major mistake on his part, but he doesn't generally like lying if he doesn't have a reason to lie, because the more lies one tells, the harder it is to remember them all, and he's not that smart. ]

Don't really like 'em. [ He hesitates, trying to figure out how to describe why, and finally settles on: ] They move around but ain't got souls. 's weird. And rich folk are real weird too, so that makes sense, aye?

Why d'ya have one? [ Squint. ] You don't act rich.

Edited 2022-06-09 04:12 (UTC)

Not souls, no, but they have something. The goldsmith's guild has one that's assisted the guildmasters for ages.

[Up close, it quickly becomes apparent that Ultros makes faint squishing noises when he walks. It is either adorable or profoundly annoying, depending on one's point of view.

Summer's voice, meanwhile, takes on the slightest hint of a rebellious edge.]

This one, someone made and then decided it was a mistake. They were going to dismantle him, so I took him instead, and now he's mine.

[ Ezar is definitely not of the opinion that it's adorable. He keeps an eye on the mammet like he's half expecting it's going to attack him. At her tone, his ears flick and he gives her a considering look. ]

Don't think you want to hear my feelings on your toy. It's yours and it brings you happiness so it ain't my business.

But I'd rather you keep it away from me, aye?

I admitted he's horrible, didn't I? Just don't kick him, I don't know if I could repair him on my own if something happened to him.

[She shrugs a little, continuing to lead the way. Ultros, never one to take direction when he could be committing crimes instead, divides his time neatly between following Summer and wandering over close to Ezar, almost as though he's doing it deliberately.]

What toys do you favor, then? If not mammets.

I'll try not to. But if it touches me, I make no promises.

[ He's watching you, Ultros. ]

...toys? [ He looks genuinely baffled. ] Why would I...?

[ I'm not a child. But obviously, she's not either. So she apparently comes from a very different... social setting where that's a normal thing for adults to do. ]

You must've had them once. Or something you collect? Something pointless you favor even though it's pointless?

[SURELY YOU MUST HAVE FUN EZAR. SURELY.]

Nothing like that?

You mean stuff I do for fun?

[ Thal's balls, why not just ask the question in a normal way? ]

Played with toys when I was too young to hunt. [ He shrugs. ] Then I was... [ He hesitates; this is getting too close to things he doesn't talk about. ] ...I was one of our hunters.

I still hunt, when I've leave. Fish, too. Read, sometimes, but I'm not much good at it. [ All things, notably, that he can do by himself. ] I grow orchids. Grew orchids, I guess.

You do anything other than play with toys?

Edited 2022-06-09 07:41 (UTC)

I was supposed to be a huntress, but I was never much at it. No good with lances or bows. I like listening to stories, though, and telling them. Maybe I could've been a fair bard, but for the bit about the arrows.

[She's quiet for an interval, thinking it over.]

Do you ever think about how big the star really is? How much that's really out there, farther than the eye could ever see. All the lasting remnants of everything that ever came before. I like finding out about places like that.

[ He does not find it in the least surprising that Summer likes stories. She certainly talks more than enough to be a bard. Nor does it surprise him that she wasn't much for hunting. A person can train a certain amount of coordination into their body if they don't come by it naturally, but he'd wager she wasn't overly inclined to try.

These are both opinions he keeps to himself. ]

Sailing with the Crimson Fleet, I've seen the ocean. Water stretching so far that it's all you see in any direction, and from the top of the mast you can see the star curve away beneath you.

[ He looks forward, reminded of other, older things, the way she says lasting remnants. A dangerous topic to admit to any knowledge of; this is why it's best perhaps to avoid others from Eorzea. He's not that good of a liar. ]

A single malm of the forest is a world unto itself. What dwells there is older than anyone's imaginings, and it carries more secrets than anyone'd be able to learn in their life.

What is it you're lookin' for?

[If the measure of a good bard is the ability to keep an audience engaged, Summer thinks idly, then mayhap she really could've been a good one — at least as far as Ezar is concerned. She wonders if he's noticed that not only is he at a point of volunteering information on his own, he's asking questions without being prompted or baited into them.

Hopefully he hasn't noticed. She's certainly not going to tell him.]

You mean what secrets? It sounds funny, but...I'm not usually the one who knows what we're looking for. I just listen to the people who do. My friends, usually.

[Which. Feels odd to admit, somehow? It's not as though it's any new revelation. It's just a little new to put into words and say aloud.]

Or were you expecting me to say something like, "I'm looking for who I really am"?

[ There is an overly long pause as Ezar tries to make sense of that, and further tries to figure out if there's a way to repeat his question, in a more specific way, without it becoming obvious what information he's fishing for. Because Summer's not dumb, she'd sniff it out, he's certain of that, and if he admits to anything at all, she'll just hypnotize him or whatever it is she does and then he'll say even more he shouldn't.

What he really wants to know is if he should turn around and run now, because he might have been terribly wrong to think she as safe to be around as anyone from Eorzea potentially could be. There is no good way of asking that.

A little of his consternation shows by a shift in the angle of his ears, back just a few degrees more. Worried. He isn't sure how to divert away from that, either. This is just one more reason he doesn't talk to people, as a rule. ]

Aye, isn't that why most people go poking about where they shouldn't?

[ A suitably grouchy answer, he hopes. ]

They're either huntin' for treasure or huntin' to fill some other emptiness.

Or hunting the things that like to stake out a domain in secret places, because most people are smart enough not to go poking about where they shouldn't.

[A single malm of the forest is a world unto itself, he says. She's never much felt at home in forests, preferring the savannas and deserts that more closely resembled home, but thinking of thickets and green canopies and the horrible many-eyed things that live in them has her thoughts spinning back to the Qitana Ravel, and the Vii who took up the cause of protecting it, and the Lightwarden that found all those circumstances perfectly suitable for a permanent home.]

Everything feels like a secret when you're not much of a scholar, I suppose. Even small things.

[She pauses, and then before she can think better of it, she adds one last thing.]

Maybe it's a little like being at the top of the mast on the ocean. It's the sort of place where you're supposed to feel lonely. You sort of...feel lonely along with it, instead of feeling lonely on your own.

I'd want to think many of those places got their own protectors. [ His lips twist bitterly. ] But I wager a good many of 'em been killed or driven out.

[ When you're not much of a scholar. Well, he can hardly argue with that, since he isn't and never has been. But it grates at him somehow, all the same. ]

Mayhap bein' much of a scholar means a person gives secrets less respect than they're owed.

[ It's dumb to even say these things. He should just be smiling and nodding. Why isn't he? ]

Mmm. Can see how you could feel that way. [ He tucks his hands in his pockets, shoulders rising in a shrug. ] Climbing the mast never made me feel lonesome, though, nor bein' out in the Shroud on my own. Just makes me feel... small. And that ain't the same.

Not just protectors. Invaders, too. Parasites.

[His remark in rejoinder to the topic of scholars has an odd effect, though — it actually gets her to laugh, bright and more than a little unintentional. Because what an apt description of people like Y'shtola and Urianger and G'raha: unwilling to leave any stone unturned, always poking and prodding and forming theories at every turn, determined to shine light into every nook and cranny of shadow.]

...You're right, though. Small still belongs — you to it, and it to you. That's different than standing in a place that isn't yours.

[ He certainly can't disagree with her mention of invaders or parasites. All manner of things find their way into hidden places. But further commentary on that would be too revealing, probably. It's hard to know when to stop talking... probably why it's better to not start. ]

Small just means you're part of something bigger. Better'n being cut off.

But the only places I ever been like that [ "a place that isn't yours" ] were made by the fuckin' Garleans.

[ So she probably means something even more different from that. ]

Did you feel like you belonged in the Maelstrom?

[That could so easily sound like it's a rhetorical question, challenging or sarcastic, but it...isn't. It's wholly genuine, and in a way almost tentative, as though Summer genuinely doesn't know either way which way his answer will go.]

Or with the dragoons? Or...whoever you served with. Your companies.

[ Another long silence as he contemplates how to answer that, and what the true answer would even be. ]

Think it depends on what you mean by that.

[ It isn't even an attempt to be evasive; it's a question of what that kind of feeling is like. Which may be its own answer, that he can't immediately classify a place being somewhere he's belonged. ]

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