#Oliver Jen Luti

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(( Gloria in the present day, and also Oliver!!! :D ))

(( I’m in pain ))

#art #Gloria Jen Gallus #Oliver Jen Luti #she may be extremely messed up but at least she looks cool af #rip ollie

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Specula Imperatoris

A tower comes falling down. Parts: [1] 2 3

1 - Smoke Break

Set during events of Stormblood - CW: Strong language, war, loss

The cloudless skies stretch on, near-infinite over Gyr Abania’s natural splendor. Specula Imperatoris mars it.

The monstrous watchtower spindles over the skyline and casts a constant shadow over the land, as black as the metal it’s made out of, and today, a pair of slackers goof off at its peak. Only specially authorized employees are allowed to be up this high, but Oliver Jen Luti has his ways. With the outside breeze blowing strongly against their cheeks, he and his guest enjoy the view while idiotically trying to get a cigarette to catch in the wind.

Flick. “Fuck.” Flick. “Fuck.” Flick. “Fuck! Ollieee, it keeps getting blown out!” His visitor wails. It also doesn’t help that the wind keeps tossing her ginger hair into her face, blinding her for seconds at a time between attempts.

“Here. Let me just --” Oliver first tries to guard the lighter’s flickering flame against the wind. Another powerful gust tosses her hair right into the fire, so he decides to grab onto her ponytail instead. “Try now, Gloria!”

“Oww, you’re hurting me. My head isn’t a turnip, you dumbass!” She whines loudly.

“Yeah, cause you’re not a turnip, you’re a goddamn carrot. Now stop complaining and get on with it!” Oliver claps back with a laugh.

Gloria mumbles swears under her breath as she gets her cigarette to light. Then, the two of them stare vaguely over the landscape, gazes eventually drawn towards Baelsar’s Wall in the east. Oliver breaks the silence.

“The Alliance broke through. So...this place is next,” he says. Somehow, the exhaustion in his voice prevails over fear, and Gloria squints in irritation.

“What? Noo,” Gloria replies. She’s heard differently (assuaging nothings from management), but Ollie tends to have his ear closer to the ground. She takes half a second to reconsider. “...Oh shit. You think we should run?”

“And desert the XIIth?” Oliver says, glancing at Gloria. She grimaces as he continues. “Look, we’re noncombatants, so other people get to fight. And even if we do lose this skirmish, I think we’ll be fine. You ever heard of the Ironworks?”

“Shut it, Ollie! We’re not supposed to talk about them!” Gloria hisses. She bumps her shoulder against his and he laughs with his cigarette still balanced between his lips.

“Yeah, I know.” He taps ash into the drop below, smiling. “I know.”

The conversation dies down again, although the silence is comfortable and meandering in the way it tends to be between old friends. Gloria leans her head against Oliver’s arm and decides to look in the other direction instead, and the sight of Castrum Abania comes as a much needed comfort.

“Why don’t you switch departments and come work with me and Florus? There’s endless shit to do when it comes to the cannon,” she suggests. The idea of any of these strongholds falling is difficult to believe for Gloria, but then again, Baelsar’s Wall apparently fell. Better to play it safe.

“Are internal transfers still happening? I thought there was a freeze.” Oliver blows out smoke and gives Castrum Abania a considering stare. That’s where Gloria and Florus were stationed and, if Florus’s stories were to be believed, management made working there a living hell. Still, some distance between him and danger would probably be wise.

“Oh fuck, yeah. I’m not sure...But I can ask when I go back. Put in good word. You know, all that jazz,” Gloria promises with a smirk. 

Even in wartime, the technology department had its benefits. That’s why she’s visiting Oliver during her downtime and why she’s sheltered from the reality of how bad things are. Anything to keep calm and carry on, so what’s a little more censorship on a population that’s already bombarded with propaganda? Oliver finishes his cigarette and crumbles it into his pocket with a sigh.

“Yeah, thanks. Let me know,” he mutters. 

Gloria pouts and tugs down on his jacket.

“Hey, meathead! I’m going out on a limb here, and the least you could do is not look so down!” Gloria exclaims. Oliver sends her a pained look, then glances away, pissing her off even more. She tugs harder. “Out with it, Ollie. OUT. What’s bothering you?”

He fixes his hat and lets out another sigh, but Gloria doesn’t take the hint. She tends not to. 

“...I don’t know. I guess I’m tired,” Oliver eventually says. These aren’t the right words for the mess that’s spiraling around in his head, but still, he has to try. Otherwise Gloria’s going to be on his ass 24/7. “It’s just...enough is enough. Something has to change. I don’t know what, but just. Something.”

Gloria frowns, expecting another drawn out rant about the wonderful Populares and the terrible injustices within Garlemald, but for once he doesn’t deliver. Instead of filling the air with hot takes and salty calls for action, Oliver is silent. He’s squinting at something beneath them with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Hey, are people rioting?”

#ff14 rp #Gloria Jen Gallus #Oliver Jen Luti #my GOD a year later these two go from names and vague 'ok they were in specula imperatoris' #to being real and fleshed out

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Specula Imperatoris

A tower comes falling down.  Parts: 1 [2] 3

2 - Floor 36

Set during events of Stormblood - CW: Strong language, war, loss

“Oh fuck,” Oliver says.

The elevator’s blocked. Troops have priority, and they’re packing down.

“Oh fuck,” he repeats.

Papers are scattered everywhere. A spilled cup of coffee rolls across the floor, staining the rug brown.

“Oh-fuck-oh-fuck-oh-fuck.”

Oliver looks left, then right. He’s got Gloria’s hand clenched in his and he’s looking for the room that civilians are supposed to hide in until the conflict blows over. A soldier yells at him to get out of the way, so he presses himself and Gloria against a cubicle wall to let armored men march past. She shakes like a leaf beneath him and her palm is cold with sweat. Oliver pulls back and grabs Gloria firmly by the shoulders.

“Gloria. Gloria!” Oliver calls out. “Gloria, stay with me, okay? We’ll get through this. We just gotta keep going.”

Gloria dry swallows between hyperventilating. “T-this isn’t happening. This isn’t...”

Oliver grits his teeth. Mentally, she’s gone, but he refuses to leave her behind. He gives her a quick hug before tugging her onwards, weaving through fallen chairs and whiteboards to make their way towards the fire escape. With how much the floor is shaking from this conflict, the thought of hunkering down and waiting for salvation doesn’t sit right with him. He needs to do something, keep moving, stay alive. He doesn’t want to wait to be rescued.

He charges into the fire escape door and slams it open, and the sound of echoing footsteps down the near endless stairwell tells him that he’s not alone. Fuck, he just had to take Gloria up to see the sights today, didn’t he? They’ve got the longest way possible to run down, but for some reason, he still wants to go for it. Until his feet are on solid ground, he won’t rest easy.

So floor 50. Gloria’s stumbling behind him. What a day to wear platform boots.

Floor 40. He feels like his lungs are burning from the inside out, and Gloria’s faring even worse.

A terrible sound deafens them by floor 36. The entire building goes on a tilt, steel moaning as it leans.

“What was that?!” Gloria shrieks. 

Already manic with fear and now, exhausted from the descent, Gloria stumbles as Specula Imperatoris begins to collapse. Oliver picks her up and rushes out of the fire escape, sees that everything is set on an angle, narrowly dodges an office chair wheeling past. Worrisome plumes of smoke cloud the windows and, for the millisecond that it parts, they both see the great cannon of Castrum Abania pointed straight. At. Them.

“O-Ollie, they couldn’t have...No. The Alliance! They must’ve snuck in, did this to us,” Gloria rambles.

“That doesn’t matter right now,” Oliver forces himself to say. If it weren’t for Gloria he might’ve lost his marbles, but he’s driven by a need to be there for her. “We just have to get out of here.”

Every second tilts the world more and more. Floor 36. There’s a launchpad for drones on this level. Smaller, weedier ones meant for communication, but -- it might be a safer bet than trying to run down the stairs of a collapsing building. He slides down the floor and lands next to the workshop with a grunt. 

The launch bay door is already open. Fuck, someone had the same bright idea.

The room is nearly empty save for a single, pathetic drone that was deemed too scrawny to be used in the escape attempts of whoever came before them. Seeing that is both horrible and relieving to Oliver because he just so happens to a passenger to match. He dumps Gloria on top of it and squeezes her hand.

“Okay, I know this is crazy, but if the tower tilts so much that you end up falling out, use this,” he says quickly. Gloria furrows her brows at him.

“What the fuck? Ollie, this is /real life/ and you’re not making any sense,” she says.

“I know. I --” Specula Imperatoris writhes and nearly throws them out. Oliver, with one hand holding onto a pipe and the other onto Gloria, wheezes with effort. “--oh-my-fucking-god.”

“FUCK. Okay, okay. Okayokayokay.” Gloria uses her free hand to flip the shitty drone on and looks up with broken determination. “Come on, you meathead! This place is about to explode!”

An awful cacophony of rending metal and splitting circuits sings out and Oliver doesn’t know what to do. What to say. How to resolve the desperate urge to live with the unbelievable circumstances he’s in. He looks at the drone that’s just barely carrying Gloria’s weight and lets out a sound he can’t quite identify. It falls between relief and despair.

These aren’t the right words for the mess that’s spiraling around in his head, but still, he has to try.

“I’ll catch up with you later, but tell everyone I love them, okay?” Oliver’s voice cracks. Everything’s falling apart but he’s holding on. “Now get out of here!”

He shakes her off like the limp spaghetti that she is and doesn’t look away as she falls, her eyes wide with horror as the drone struggles to slow her descent. She disappears backwards into the smoke, and seconds later, so does he. 

Specula Imperatoris clings on for as long as it could until, just like that, it couldn’t. The tower splits into two and lays down with a great sigh, resting its carcass of ceruleum and cermet atop a bed of blood and bone. The Alliance and Empire bleeds below, pulverized and made one again, death indistinct.

Something had to change. Something did.

#ff14 rp #Gloria Jen Gallus #Oliver Jen Luti #aaaaahahhahahahahahhahhahahahahahahha #DESPAIR #VAGUE BULLETS FINALLY FLESHED OUT AND DESPAIR

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Folly

CW: Swearing

Oliver’s car is an eighty miles-per-hour iron deathtrap of barely contained bubblegum pop and takeout. Even through closed windows, others can hear (feel) sound rattle every inch of his car on tempo, and it’s immeasurably worse inside. The music’s loud enough to drown out a plane, the smell of fast food is heart-attack inducing, and Oliver drives like he’s shaking off cops. He jovially sings along without a care in the world as Florus, riding shotgun, struggles to balance a jenga tower of packaged food and drinks on his lap.

“OLLIE!” Florus yells as he frantically catches a soda from spilling. “TURN DOWN THE FUCKING MUSIC, OLLIE! AH -- SHIT?!”

A box of takeout slips free from the tower and flips over at Florus’s feet. Oliver doesn’t notice.

“SO COMFORTABLE WE’RE LIVIN’ IN A BUBBLE, A BUBBLE! SO COMFORTABLE WE CANNOT SEE THE TROUBLE, THE TROUBLE!” Oliver screams, because he can’t hear himself over the music otherwise.

Florus makes a desperate sound between laughing and crying. With his hands full, Florus bites a straw from the top of the Leaning Tower of Takeout, yanks it out of the soda cup it’s stabbed into, and then spits it at the side of Oliver’s face right as he presses on the gas. The car swerves violently, and it’s a miracle that Florus doesn’t end up slathered in spilled food.

“Yo, what the--” Oliver stops. If he can’t hear himself then neither can Florus. He turns down the music. “What the shit! Are you trying to get us killed?”

“Maybe,” Florus dryly responds. “Because this is worse than death.”

Oliver laughs. “My car, my rules, bitch. Deal with it.”

Oliver attempts to dial the volume back up, causing Florus to reach over and stop him. The left half of the takeout tower collapses as Florus slaps Oliver’s hand away.

“HEY. You had one job!” Oliver says as a chicken tender bounces off the stick shift, shedding puddles of grease.

“I swear, if you turn up the music again, I’m gonna open the door and throw all of this shit out,” Florus rants. “And then myself.”

“You wouldn’t,” Oliver says.

Oliver really should be paying attention to the road, but. He chances a quick glance at Florus and finds him staring at him.

“You wouldn’t,” Oliver says again.

He steals several more glances and continues to see the same thing. Florus, still staring, still silent. Oliver nods to himself and looks straight ahead thinking: Yeah, everything’s fine. Everything’s cool. Just keep driving.

Oliver slams his hand on the child locks right as Florus yanks on the door. More food topples over.

“Suck-my-dick-you-fucking-giant---” Florus tries the car window instead.

“FLORUS, PLEASE! I’M DRIVING!” Oliver screams. He looks away from the road towards Florus again, sees the window rolling down, and counters by pressing a finger on the master window controls. The glass jerks up and down.

“OLLIE!” Florus shouts.

“FLORUS, SOMETIMES I HATE YOU SO MUCH,” Oliver yells through a manic grin, going insane.

“THAT’S--” Florus pauses. That’s fair. Wait. “NO, OLLIE, THE ROAD!”

Oliver sees a turn a second too late and slams on the brakes. All the food flies forward and slaps wetly against the inside of the windshield, then squeaks down as the car sputters to a blind stop.

“.......” Oliver, with his hands deathgripped on the steering wheel, turns to look at Florus. There’s a fry in his hair. Oliver returns to staring forward.

“Can--” Florus coughs. His throat has gone bone dry and he’s crying from adrenaline. “Can the car start?”

“Uh. Let me check.” Oliver presses on the gas and a whimpering gurgle wheezes out of the jalopy.

“The ignition?” Florus suggests as ketchup drips down and stings his eye. He drags a hand over to wipe it away.

“Yeah. Good idea,” Oliver says. He shifts the car back into neutral, turns it off, then turns it back on. The same sad sound shudders out of the tortured car. No dice.

“Jumper cables?” Florus tries.

“In the back,” Oliver says. 

Oliver clambers out of the car and forgets to release the child locks, so Florus crawls after him and exits out of the driver’s side like a worm. They end up waiting outside with a cable each, standing stiffly while reeking of burgers, awkwardly hoping that a kind stranger will pull over and help them jumpstart the car. After a minute, Oliver leans over and eats the fry that’s poking out of Florus’s hair.

“.......” Florus looks pained at first, but eventually, he turns. Sure enough, there’s another fry embedded on the other side of his hair. Oliver eats that one too, and after sharing a disbelieving silence, the two of them crack and start laughing.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING,” Florus yells through laughter. “IS THIS A NIGHTMARE?!”

“M-MAYBE?!” Oliver hacks on the fry. “Wait, your nightmare or mine?”

“What? Why does that matter?” Florus asks.

“Quick, make Ulala from the Songbirds appear!” Oliver commands, already deciding that it’s Florus’s nightmare.

“Piss off, Ulala sucks,” Florus laughs. 

“You take that back!” Oliver says as he half-heartedly whips Florus on the arm with his jumper cable.

“Ulala sucks!” Florus repeats, and he earns another smack from Oliver in response. Giggling, he stumble-runs away from Oliver.

“Then I shall defend my lady’s honor! Where are you running off to, you fiend?! Hhehhhyhhahhh--” Oliver spins his jumper cable over his head and accidentally lets go, tossing it past Florus and into the snow. “Shit!”

Florus’s laughter continues as Oliver gives chase. Just two idiots dicking around on the pullout of a highway, covered in fast food, slapping each other with jumper cables. Nothing unusual.

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Gloria slips off her noise canceling headphones, closes her laptop, and lets out a tired sigh. There’s more cramming to be done, but at least she managed to hyperfocus and make a lot of progress. She looks around herself from the backseat of the car and finds herself alone, childlocked in and confused. 

“Florus?” She presses her face against the car window. “Ollie?”

#ff14 rp #Oliver Jen Luti #Gloria Jen Gallus #Florus Jen Celsus #more of the deranged gamer trio #i love writing them. it's pure chaos #takes place in the past again!!! probably during magitek academy days

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(( So...I have this huge collection of secret art that I’ve just. Sat on for months. Gonna try to post some, grouped by topic! ))

(( The gamer trio! Florus, Oliver, and Gloria. A pic of them as kids, too! I love them ))

#art #Florus Jen Celsus #Gloria Jen Gallus #Oliver Jen Luti #afjsdkl some of these are VERY OLD and some new #I just draw into a black hole

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On Oliver

CW: Suicidal tendencies

He suspected you were dead, but there was hope. Uncertainty fosters that sort of thing.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know for certain, but logically speaking, there was no way you could have survived that attack. You, Gloria, the others. Almost nobody did, so how could you? When Specula Imperatoris was stabbed in the back with cannonfire, you were probably on one of the top floors as it collapsed. Maybe you were sending off one last email to your supervisor? Maybe you were trying not to think about the Alliance and what could happen? Maybe you died while burning from fear and confusion and literal fire?

He doesn’t want to think about it. Your death. Hers. Others, too. 

How often does he find himself in this position? Stuck suspecting something he doesn’t have the courage to face, wielding denial deliberately, shielding himself with willful ignorance. It’s a bandaid to a deeper problem but he’ll bleed if he rips it off, so he keeps it on despite knowing that the wound is festering beneath the surface.

Your death was inevitable anyway. You raised your voice and painted a target on your back because you, unlike him, were brave enough to speak out against the Empire. He told you that you were being foolhardy and thought yourself naively invincible, but that’s just what he said. You knew that he knew the unspoken truth. That you fully understood the risks. That he was too uncomfortable to acknowledge that. 

That you wanted what he was too scared to want.

Yet he helped you (sometimes, maybe often) without admitting it. Insider knowledge from untraceable sources, unexplainable outages, coincidence and happenstance. He was never one for the spotlight and you didn’t want that for him either, but crippling isolation isn’t better. All these short-term fixes stretched long would kill him someday, and that’s part of why you fought.

He thought you were going to die from taking action eventually. You thought that he was going to die from doing nothing. In the end, you bet risk against attrition and lost. You’re gone and he’s left, dying in slow motion without you. He doesn’t want to think about any of this but in the end, despite his bitter nature and despite what he claims, you know he’s consumed by it. 

It’s called living in denial because it lets you live. 

So confirming was a mistake. He can’t pretend that you’re out there against all odds and he sees you as a phantom sometimes, backpack slung over your shoulder and hat on despite being indoors. Your voice living in his head, drunken rants and heated smacktalk, foul-mouthed and annoying and alive. Denial bandaids him together but circumstance keeps peeling them back one by one.

Is it flattering to know that your death helped shake him into action? That the action he took was to step into the sunlight and wish for it to burn him for his sins? But over and over, others die and he lives. He has to live with that but he can’t. Still, he lives. 

At this point it’s more accurate to call it existing. He doesn’t know if he’s awake when your ghost speaks with him, but he talks back anyway. He doesn’t remember tying this noose around his neck, but there’s no one else who could’ve done it but him. He is mad and going mad, but maybe that’s a good thing? Because your end was prophesied by him and his end was prophesied by you. Suffocating beneath the weight of everything that’s happened, he is pushed far beyond his limit. Negative becomes positive and flight becomes fight. 

Blinded by rage and insanity, he is fully realized, and he will fight against this fate. For you and for everyone else, he will fly into the sun to endure a baptism by fire and emerge as a god...Garlemald has none, after all.

#ff14 rp #Oliver Jen Luti #Florus Jen Celsus #dubious timing of this #Oliver died waaay back and Florus learned during the distortion arc #so theorize away on where this falls XD

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Happy Drunk

CW: Swearing, drinking

Three Garleans walk into a bar. The first one orders a scotch on the rocks and takes his drink to a corner booth. The second gets a mai tai and joins her friend. The last one doesn’t order at all. He argues with another customer, which escalates (somehow) into shots, several worrisome games of darts, more reckless drinking, and shitfaced shenanigans. People keep picking each other up, someone’s doing sit-ups on the pool table, somebody’s lost their shoes and, holy shit, it’s chaos.

Florus squeezes out of the crowd and wobbles towards his friends with a crooked grin. Oliver smiles back while Gloria gives him an peeved glare.

“Are you having fun? Yeeaah? Had your fill?” Gloria says bitterly.

“What?” Florus dumbly answers.

“Did you forget? Gloria’s presenting her big project tomorrow, so she can’t go ham tonight. I thought it’d sink in after she complained about it the hundredth time,” Oliver replies, though that’s not stopping him from getting slammed. He downs his drink and gets up to order another. Gloria tugs him back down.

“HEY! I don’t want to be the only sober person in the room!” Gloria whines while holding onto the corner of Oliver’s jacket. “Solidarity! Solidarity, Ollie!”

“Hhhghhmnhhg--” Oliver stares longingly at the drunken situation™. “Wait! What about Florus?”

“Well, it’s already too late for Florus, isn’t it?! Just look at him! Look at that stupid smile!” Gloria jabs a finger in Florus’s direction.

“Wow, you’re not happy that I’m happy? Fuck y--” Florus attempts to take a seat in the booth and misses. He hits the floor with a grunt. Neither Oliver or Gloria move to help; they’re too busy laughing to care.

“Ow, shit. I think I broke my ass,” Florus groans as he pulls himself into the actual seat.

Gloria scoffs. “You know what? That might be good for you.”

“Excuse me?” Florus manages to drum up enough energy to appear shocked, though sloppy remains his primary expression. Gloria crosses her arms smugly.

“No, you’re not excused, you rude motherfucker. Excuse you? Fuck you is more accurate, cause you know what? I’m saying it! I’m just gonna say it!” Gloria raises both hands in the air as Oliver looks like he’s dying internally (oh god, not this again). “You’re a goddamn kitchen sink when it comes to--”

“HEY. Is she calling me easy?” Florus looks at Oliver. “Is Gloria calling me easy?”

“Please-give-me-a-drink-Florus,” Oliver begs.

Florus happens to be holding a shot from earlier, and he tries to slide it over to Oliver. Gloria puts her hand in between theirs.

“Come on, Gloria. You should just drink too,” Florus says. “Don’t worry about your presentation or whatever the shit...”

“What about my presentation?!” Gloria snaps.

“I found this hangover cure that works. Just take that after,” Florus says with a smirk.

“Does it work, or does it actually work?” Gloria asks through clenched teeth.

“Yeah,” Florus lies.

Gloria frowns in disbelief. She knows that Florus has no cure-all for her today because he didn’t have one the last time, or the time before that, or the time before that. Still, she always ends up folding to impulse, although at least she can pin the blame on him. Gloria grabs the shot that Florus was trying to give to Oliver and downs it.

“HEY, that’s mine!” Oliver exclaims.

“Another!” Gloria commands, ignoring Oliver.

“Haha, okay.” Florus gets up and staggers off. Hopefully he’ll remember his mission long enough to come back.

“Hey, what about my drink? Hey! Hey?” Oliver, trapped on his side of the booth by Gloria, sends her a pleading look that asks her to move. When she doesn’t, instead of using words like a sane person, he bends down and tries to escape from beneath the table.

“Are you a crazy person?! OLLIE?” Gloria grabs him for the second time and attempts to pull him back up, but he’s significantly stronger than her. She ends up being dragged beneath the table as well. “OH MY GOD, OLLIE?!”

By some miracle, Florus manages to come back to the booth with an armful of drinks, though at first he thinks nobody’s there. Instead of asking around or looking for his friends, he blankly slips back into his seat and ends up stepping on the disaster unfolding beneath the table.

Gloria grabs Florus’s ankle with her icy cold hands.

“FUCK!” Florus jerks his knee up into the table in shock, and he doubles over in mute pain.

“Hahaha, I gotcha good,” Gloria taunts.

Florus remains silent.

“You alright? Florus? Flo-flo? Flobro? Florry? Oh god, he’s not responding to the names, Ollie. He might actually be dead,” Gloria laughs again.

“Great. Here lies Florus, a salty smartass to the end,” Oliver says curtly. “Now let me go, I wanna drink!”

“Solidarity, Ollie,” Gloria teases. “Solidarity!”

#ff14 rp #Oliver Jen Luti #Gloria Jen Gallus #Florus Jen Celsus #three absolute idiots and I love them #it's a constant deranged comedy with this trio #takes place in the past obviously!! before ARR

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Status Quo Ante

Sometime in the past, in Garlemald...

As the day comes to a close and white-collar workers shuffle out like zombies, a lonely monitor glows blue in the now darkened space. Without warm bodies to fill the building, the empty cubicles feel eerily haunted. Vestiges of life - a half-finished coffee, a chair pushed out, a scrunched-up paper ball ilms away from a waste bin - remain abandoned, left behind as tomorrow's problem. 

Oliver Jen Luti leans back in his chair with a weary groan. Neck arched over his headrest, he takes off his glasses for a second to rub his eyes, tired from sitting all day and staring at the screen...and then, it's right back to work. The Garlean shifts back forward in his seat and studies open diagrams, reads over countless reports, grumbles about poorly documented code. The sunset gives way to fiery hues and then cools to black, leaving nothing but artificial streetlight to filter through the window by his desk. A brown sparrow flits over and perches on the outer sill, pecking incessantly at the glass until Oliver finally notices. With a slight smirk, he pushes the pane up and allows his visitor in.

"I--"

"Why aren't you online? Get your fucking absent ass in game. Right. Now," the sparrow drone nags, a low voice piping out from its speaker. "And are you seriously still working? God, why?"

Oliver shakes his head with a soft chuckle. Now nothing was going to get done. "Unlike you, I actually care about career development and not making enemies of my coworkers. That, and I want to get work done early so I'll have time next week to help with...well, you know. You know!"

The bird sighs. "Populares crap?"

"Hey, don't call it that. I think--"

"No, Oliver, shut up. You've already gone over this a thousand times with me. You know what I think? I think you should stop painting a target on your back. I get that right now the Populares are hunky-dory...ish. But like, shit. That could change. Stop while you're ahead, man." The voice behind the bird sounds genuinely worried and that makes Oliver smile.

"Thanks, Florus, but I won't be joining you guys tonight. I have to do this."

"What? Come on, you're our third. Also, it's been hell filling in your spot with a random."

"Well...yeaah," Oliver trails off, gaze meandering away from the sparrow and back to his screen. He starts idly typing, a small part of him hoping that Florus will take the hint and ease off. But he also knows that there's no chance in hell - Oliver can't even hide behind the 'offline' state when the man can hound him with clockwork birds! 

"Gloria's gonna be real sad that you chose work over us. Again."

"Guilting me isn't going to work this time, asshole," Oliver deadpans, glasses glazed over with the light of his monitor. Another sigh leaves the bird and it flutters over, landing on the top of his hand this time.

"Look. Seriously, you've been working too hard. What if I help you out tomorrow? So you’ll have a second tonight to kick back, grab a beer, and shoot up some scrubs."

This piques Oliver's interest. Florus, offering to help? It almost makes him suspicious. He flips over his hand so that his palm is facing up, forcing the bird drone to scamper off and regain its balance on his fingertips. "Really, Florus? You promise?"

The sparrow presses its head down into its neck fluff, eyes narrowed. Florus complains quietly to himself and all Oliver can make out are f-bombs punctuating incoherent mumbling. But finally, the bird nods. "Yeah. Now hurry up before I change my mind."

Oliver breaks out into a wide grin. He clenches his hand around the bird and then stands up suddenly, sending his rolling chair flying back. It hits the desk opposite of him with a loud clatter while the sparrow peeps frantically in his grip, held like a cudgel.

"WATCH IT IDIOT! These things are a bitch to make!"

But Oliver is too elated to care. He plants a little kiss on the sparrow’s pecker and then sprints down the office hall. "AYyy, let's fucking GOO!"

#Florus Jen Celsus #ff14 rp #Apex legends playing IDIOTS #AHAHA #Oliver Jen Luti #making myself sad that their gaming trio is so broken in the present #uhgh