#The LeBeaux

[sivar-ffxiv-hub]

𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘹 𝘵𝘰𝘺, 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘯, 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳 ~ @blackrose-ffxiv

#gposers #ffxiv screenshots #ives #elezen #male elezen #ffxiv gpose #ives x lebeaux

[blackrose-ffxiv]

19. Weal

CW: Needles (non-hypodermic)

"If you do not stop squirming and whining I will give you something proper to whimper about." The chirurgeon threatened, fingers curling tightly around the wrist that he had pinned to the table. A small dining table where the remains of afternoon tea sat a short ways away growing cold in its neglect. Medical tools and tinctures scattered between plates and saucers. He gripped firmly enough that the points of nails manicured to wicked points began to bite into skin. "It is unseemly for a Knight." The title was spat as though it was a four-letter word.

The Knight forced himself to still, his gaze turned aside to avoid watching the other work. It was never pleasant and sometimes it was better not to know when treatment would resume. How many bells had this been dragging on for now? Barely even one, if the nearby chronometer was to be believed yet it had felt like an eternity.

"If you had simply come to me immediately, we could have avoided all of this. A fresh wound is far easier to treat than one already several moons' healed." Lebeaux continued to chastise as he lowered his eyes back down to his work. "Fixing or removing scars is so much more tedious and time-consuming than preventing them to begin with. I suppose painful as well, if your carrying on is anything to go by." He noted before he slipped another long, slender needle into the damaged skin along the taller elezen's skin and drew another quiet noise of protest from the impatient patient.

"I do not mind the scars. Is it not stranger to be a survivor of the War with only the one? It speaks of cowardice, of fleeing the field rather than risk injury..." Anselme countered carefully, turning to look back at the chirurgeon. As soon as he turned his head it was immediately turned aside again with the force of Lebeaux's backhand. While the strike itself smarted, it was the seething anger he'd seen in icy blue eyes before the strike that hurt far worse. He lifted a hand absent-mindedly to gingerly touch the weal already rising red and angry along a sharp cheekbone. The contact stung fiercely, but it was nearly a pleasant distraction compared to the pain when the chirurgeon resumed treatment.

"Why is it honorable to bear the evidence of your mistakes in your skin for all to see." Lebeaux demanded, directing searing aether into the needles lined up to create a precise point of focus under scar tissue. "Where is the glory in having to be reminded of your failures each time you catch your reflection in the looking glass." He continued as he worked. An argument they had time and time again without ever reaching common ground. The discoloration slowly burned out of the keloid to leave it matching the skin surrounding it, though the raised mark remained. Near-invisible save for close inspection or direct touch.

"Nonetheless, you yourself agreed to assist me however I may need. Are you intending to go back on your word." Lebeaux accused, suspecting the Knight was no longer listening as Anselme had lowered his forehead down to the table and begun banging his other hand slowly against the surface with his fingers clenched into a tight fist. Firmly enough to rattle teacups and silverware. "Stop that. Would you rather I dug the scar tissue out and sealed the skin behind it."

"... no." Came the miserable response, half muffled against the wooden surface. "To both." Slowly he picked up his head, trying to distract himself by changing the subject as he looked to his brother again. "I think you have mastered the technique. The coloring has not come back to any of the scars you have treated. Is it not already perfected? Are you intending to use it on-"

The question was left unfinished and more certainly unanswered, silenced by a firm strike to the other side of his face to balance the reddened skin. Indicating that Lebeaux would not be fielding any more questions. Anselme sank lower in his chair to rest his chin in the palm of the hand not currently pinned to the table. His palm digging firmly into a freshly-stinging cheek until it near made his eyes water. The familiar pain a welcome distraction from the burning in his shoulder as well as the ache in his chest.

#klynkwriting #lebeaux #anselme #lebeaux desrosiers #anselme de haillenarte #ffxivwrite2023

[iron-roots]

6. Ring

Again. Run through it again. It must be perfect. Anything less would result in a guilty verdict. Or trial at Witchdrop. Perhaps he could press for combat. If she named him her champion... what were his odds against who the Tribunal may name. Certainly it wasn't a matter worthy of the Heavens Ward's time, was it? He was getting distracted. Back to his testimony, run through it again.

A small knock warned him of a visitor and Anselme turned to face the heavy door. The room was sparse, yet at least his name had afforded him some few luxuries. A table with parchment, ink and quill should he decide to pen a confession as he awaited trial. A simple bed rather than a straw pallet on the floor.

Heavy locks were undone before the door swung open, admitting a stern guard. Rather than manacles he carried Anselme's personal effects bundled into the Knight's cloak. The bundle was set down on the table and the soldier bowed lightly before departing without a word, making way for the second visitor.

Anselme looked with outright confusion between the returned items and the man who came through the door next. Taller than when he'd last spoken directly to him, rather than glimpses in passing, yet not quite fully a man grown just yet. Lennaux stood just within the doorway, folding arms over his chest and staying well away from the frame to keep from smudging his white cloak as he stared at his older brother. The expression on his cherubic face carefully neutral.

"You have been acquitted. Your armor and weapons have already been returned to the manor. You are not to speak to anyone on your way back." He explained flatly, his voice just as carefully even. "Visit Mother before returning to duty. She has cried every day since your arrest..."

"Then there is time still to make it to the Tribunal..." Anselme did not move as he interrupted, rooted to the spot as he tried to process the information his brother passed along. Recalculating his plan for the daring rescue.

Lennaux tilted his head slightly, a small smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.

"Oh, no. Her trial is already over and done with. Did you truly expect to be permitted to testify on her behalf...? Did you believe you would be granted leave to fight for her in trial by combat?" The younger brother wondered, clearly amused. "Such a shame the trial was moved to this morning. Take heart in knowing that she did not implicate you. Not that she had opportunity to..."

The room swam, cold stone spinning as the Knight reached to brace a hand against the rough-hewn bricks of the wall.

"Why, Lennaux?" He demanded, his voice sounding thin even to his own ears as he struggled not to be sick. "Hate me if you must, but why this? Make your grievances known and demand satisfaction, I will not run from your challenge! Enough of dragging others into this petty feud." Anselme pushed away from the wall to take a staggering step towards his brother, large hands curling into fists as he crossed the small room.

Lennaux's hand struck out from under his cloak like a serpent, something small that flashed in the dim candlelight thrown directly into his older brother's face to stop his blind rush cold. A small ring, sized for a slender finger. Pale gold adorned with glittering diamonds bouncing off of Anselme's cheek before hitting the floor with a gentle tinkle of delicate metal. It hadn't been to her tastes, but she had accepted the promise gift nonetheless and laughed off his solemn vow to have something befitting her made before the ceremony.

The Knight knelt slowly to retrieve it, the glitter of precious metal and gems blurring in the grief and anger that gathered stinging hot along lower lashes before sliding down his cheeks.

"There is no mourning period for heretics. Do not wear black... and choose more wisely in the future how you try to escape your responsibilities." Lennaux informed his brother casually rather than answering his questions and demands. Lingering a little longer to watch the Knight grieve. "Oh, do pull yourself together. You barely knew her... perhaps she was even a heretic in truth."

#klynkwriting #anselme #anselme de haillenarte #lebeaux #lebeaux desrosiers #ffxivwrite2023

[sainttropic]

Every drow has to have a twin. This is the rule. Anyways,,, Rhiannon and Sorren LeBeaux, the viscountess and heir!

#dnd #drow #sorcerer #wizard #lgbtqia+ #lgbtq #lgbt #saints characters #twins #lebeaux twins #rhiannon #rhiannonn lebeaux #peach #sorren lebeaux #sorren #lesbian #gay #art #digital art #queer #wacom #firealpaca #june 2023 #2023 #call of the netherdeep #oc #original character

[kingsgraveicons]

CHERYL LEBEAUX - GOLDIE VANCE

character: cheryl lebeaux icon count: 296 series: goldie vance

please like or reblog if you use! do not whitewash! please consider tipping my ko-fi page ♥

[ GOOGLE DRIVE LINK ]

#cheryl lebeaux icons #goldie vance icons #cheryl icons #rp icons #comic icons #roleplay icons #skin tone: dark #hair color: dark #hair style: long

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #1: Cross

Characters: Idristan, mention of Lebeaux @blackrose-ffxiv​​​

The room was old, worn-down, and drab, lit only by a single hanging light that mostly served to illuminate the copious amount of dust floating in the air. The linens on the bed were a dull grey after countless washings in hard water, the furniture chipped and battered. Compared to even nearby Black Brush, it was a pitiful sight.

It was a good thing that the Ishgardian wasn’t planning on staying for long, or he might have been sorely disappointed.

Fortunately for him, though, he had mostly wanted a place to patch himself up, away from the dozens of prying eyes he could feel on his back whenever he went outside.

A heavy sigh leaves his lips as he gazes at himself in the cracked mirror he was fairly sure hadn’t been cleaned properly in over a moon. He could still make out his face in the clouded glass though, ordinarily tanned skin marred with the black and blue of bruises and the crimson of dried blood. Fingers reach up to press against the red, a wince twisting his lips at the subtle sting of pain.

That wouldn’t do. None of this would, in fact.

He reaches out for the cloth laid next to the washbasin, then pauses, eyeing the fabric somewhat dubiously, for he had a feeling that, whatever color the rag had started out life as, it had not been that dusty grey. Instead he plucks his own handkerchief from his pocket and, after dunking it in the water, starts to rub at his face. Given the heat of the day, the chilly water is a balm in it’s own right, one he savors for a few moments before letting the handkerchief slip down onto the sink. Silver magic dances around his fingers as he starts to work, flesh knitting under his touch and ugly colors starting to recede. Before long, all physical evidence of what had transpired that day would be gone.

It was a shame that he couldn’t do the same with the thoughts it had left in his own head.

“You could have killed him all.” The words had been true. Even before his transformation, they had been true. And now... well. What threat could a band of dusty, dirt-covered miners bare against him now? The very thought was preposterous, laughable in it’s audacity.

And yet, he had stilled his hand.

And see where that had gotten him.

Lebeaux. The name alone is enough to bring a foul taste to his mouth. He spits contemptuously into the basin, but it does nothing to drive it away. For even though he had bound him by ancient magic and law, he knew the other man all too well. There was a game in play, a double cross already prepared.

So there was only really one thing for it; he’d have to come up with one of his own.

Straightening up, he gives himself one last look in the mirror, making sure that his clothes were about as neat as he could get them. Then he turns back to the rest of the dusty, drab room, before shaking his head once. And then, in the space between one breath and the next, he’s gone, leaving only a flicker of stars and moondust in his wake.

#idristan agache #with mention of #lebeaux desrosiers #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2022 #writings #rp followup

[le-journal-catalan]

Quatre Grizzlys U20 aux portes de l'équipe de France

Quatre Grizzlys U20 aux portes de l’équipe de France

Après 3 journées de détection, 4 jeunes Grizzlys ont été sélectionnés et vont tenter d’intégrer l’équipe de France U20 ainsi que le championnat du monde qui se déroulera en 2023. Il s’agit de Jonanin Perez (tight end), Mael Kamba (runningback), Nathan Lebeaux (receveur) et Jonathan Albuixech (joueur de ligne offensive). Les mots du coach offensif et quarter back Jérémy Poinsignon “ C’est une…

View On WordPress

#équipe de France #Grizzlys Catalans #Jérémy Poinsignon #Jonanin Perez #Jonathan Albuixech #Le Journal Catalan #Mael Kamba #Nathan Lebeaux #perpignan #Pyrénées-Orientales

[wondertrio]

I doodled the new crew months ago and just never posted it?? wtf?

Dr Harper LeBeaux and Wendell Tinselfoot joining ogs Orlyn Deublewm and Danris Dustwood on the trip...... back to barovia. gasp

#wendell #harper #orlyn #danris #dnd

[c-moineau]

Romy Fans--looking for a fic

In late March of this year I read a Romy fic on AO3 but I can't remember the title or author. Search results are no help.

Here's what I remember:

It's a one-shot light fic about them getting into an argument published, I believe, late last year or earlier this year.

Two random details I remember is at the start of the fic, Remy is getting annoyed at Rogue for cutting carrots the wrong way (he wanted them julienned) and later on Rogue is annoyed that Remy put his motorcycle insurance policy in her name.

I'm throwing this out in the Romyverse to see if anyone can help. I need domestic LeBeaux fics now more than ever, as I'm sure a lot of us do.

ETA: Found by @vrepitsorrynotsorry

#remy lebeau #anna lebeau #gambit and rogue #romy fan fiction

[mondaybear21]

I finally remembered to make an art recap for this year unlike 2022; I couldn't fit everything here sadly but whatever 😅

(I also made another version highlighting the characters I've created and designed this year alone as well!)

All of the alt text for both photos are underneath the cut (which I highly recommend checking out)

Photo 1 alt text: All art pieces shown starting from the top-left from left to right, top to bottom: one of my OCs Zolo McWave, one of ItsTokish's OCs Gunner, one of Tedzstarz OCs as part of an art trade, Viola and Ash from the game Wandersong, one of my OCs Tezzi laying on a rock on the beach, one of my OCs Juniper Kealoha sitting looking at the sunset, of Bluey, of one of JUSTICEBEETLE's characters made during Artfight 2023

Photo 2 alt text: All characters shown starting from the top-left from left to right, top to bottom: Jules Janzen, Funnyflower, Zolo McWave, Porkbelly, Dexley Twintail, Detective Hobbs Luxwood, Fuyajo, Gooana LeBeaux

#digital art #art vs artist #art vs artist 2023 #original character #original character art #bluey #wandersong #character design #itstokish #justicebeetle #my art #mondaybear21

[sivar-ffxiv-hub]

𝘎𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦

@blackrose-ffxiv

#gposers #ffxiv screenshots #ives #elezen #male elezen #ffxiv gpose #ives x lebeaux #lebeaux

[blackrose-ffxiv]

1. Envoy

Fifteen turns was a terrible age. The age were the comfort of private lessons taken in the solitude of one's own home were being exchanged for 'real world' experiences. Squiring to an accomplished knight, apprenticing to a master craftsman or, in the case of Lennaux, enrolling in seminary. A terrible age to be cooped up with equally terrible children learning how to behave as adults in a terrible place. Studying theologies and the history of a war that had spanned for generations. Every student at the Scholasticate's fathers, grandfathers, great-grandfathers and so on had served that war effort in some way or another. When death and destruction were constant companions at birth, it was never a matter of 'if' bad news would happen but rather 'when'.

The somber envoys were a familiar sight for those attending classes within the Scholasticate's hallowed halls. While the lesser-born nobility may receive a single courier, those even less important often received only a letter, the solemn approach of a dark-clad entourage was the sign that someone of some import had died. No sooner did they enter the grand entryway did the rumors begin to fly. This time their somber march took them to the courtyard where Lennaux was, appropriately enough, holding court over the small group of fellow future-clergy he had bullied into serving as his associates. Never 'friends'. A pleasantly warm late spring drizzle had forced them to take refuge under an alcove as idle chatter of summer holidays whiled away time between classes. Talk of the warm moons spent out at the country estate or some relative's hunting lodge in the mountains. The chatter faded away as the envoy of three entered the courtyard under heavy cloaks against the light rain. One stopped to wait in the arching doorway as the other two made their way towards the small group. A few quick calculations of which of their merry little band could have warranted such a visit resulted in the realization that they were there for him.

"My father or my brother. Place your wagers quickly." Lennaux muttered under his breath.

"Brother." The others answered in near-unison, having already heard tales of their 'ringleader's' foolhardy elder sibling.

"Well, that certainly takes the fun out of it if no one will bet against me. Very well." He complained quietly, falling silent as the knights approached and immediately knelt respectfully. "A mourning period is certainly going to put a damper on my summer plans..."

"Young Master Lennaux de Haillenarte, we have been sent to bring you home on an urgent matter." The first knight explained as she rose back to her feet. The second knight offered a sympathetic smile from under the hood of his cloak. Neither would be so crass as to simply state that there had been a death. Nor to announce outright who it may have been. It could yet have been a cousin or uncle for all he knew.

Lennaux nodded solemnly, adjusting the lay of his hat before he stepped out from under the alcove into the rain. The third knight did not move as they approached, allowing the first two to pass before he stepped out to block Lennaux's departure. The student looked up slowly, icy pale eyes rimmed with dark lashes settling on a face he did not recognize at first. His father's strong chin and thick brows paired with his mother's summer sky blue eyes. A man grown now, though he had been only the very same age Lennaux was now when he had last seen him this close. Those bright blue eyes were not red from grief and his jaw was set in a grim line. That answered the question neatly. Terrible news for a terrible boy who would now even more quickly have to grow up into a terrible man. His father was finally dead.

"Lennaux, I-" Anselme began, yet he was never allowed to finish the sentence. The younger brother threw his shoulder forwards into the knight's chest as he pushed past him. Long strides carrying him to catch up with the other two messengers without a word. Anselme stepped aside with the blow, allowing Lennaux to pass unimpeded. He watched him stalk away rather than following immediately. The shoulder-check had not hurt in the least. Truly it would not have even moved him out of the way. It had been the pure, glacial hatred in his younger brother's eyes for the brief moment their gazes met that pained him far more deeply.

@iron-roots

FFXIV Write 2023

#klynkwriting #lebeaux #anselme #ffxiv rp #ffxivwrite2023

[iron-roots]

28. Blunt

"Well, perhaps if you were not so terrible to everyone you would have someone else to ask for help." Anselme pointed out with all the subtle grace of a hippo. "Have you considered /not/ calling your friends 'heathens', 'beasts' or 'mongrels'?" He suggested helpfully before grunting with the effort of moving the heavy armoire a few more ilms to the left after it had been declared 'off center'.

Lebeaux scoffed from his spot comfortably resting in an arm chair, dumping more brandy into a teacup that hadn't had actual tea in it in bells. Clearly displeased with his brother's blunt assessment of his social skills.

"Have you considered /not/ being an insufferable imbecile." He countered sharply despite the saintly smile on his lips. "First off, they are not my friends... they are my associates at best. Second, they are heathens and beastly mongrels both and therefore I see no reason not to call them as such." He continued, waving his hand to indicate that the Knight should shift the heavy furniture back to its original position. "Finally, they are all woefully unsuited for such work. If I stacked them atop each other perhaps they would reach your height and they are more accustomed to lifting books or wineglasses than priceless Ishgardian imports-... take /care/ with that, I do not want to have it refinished!" The chirurgeon snapped when the armoire tilted dangerously during its shifting. "I know the Fury saw fit to gift you a headful of rocks rather than brains but do try to use a little common sense."

Anselme stopped short, taking his hands away from the armoire to let it tip over fully. The heavy furniture crashed to the ground with a resounding boom that drowned out his brother's high-pitched screech of dismay. Somewhere further in the apartment a bird echoed the sound, though it wasn't clear which of the two had been more gratingly shrill. The Knight folded his arms over his chest, thick brows furrowed in annoyance as he stared over at his brother.

"Oh, apologies, I was too busy trying to think to focus on holding onto the armoire as well." Anselme explained, heat creeping into his tone. "If you insist on being terrible to me after calling me for help... then perhaps I may not answer the next time." He threatened, fingers digging into his own arms.

The bridge of Lebeaux's nose wrinkled, eyes narrowing into an expression of outright fury before it was quickly smoothed back into a derisive smile. "Will you now... will you finally cut ties fully. Will you give up on whatever ridiculous crusade this is to try and lure me back to Ishgard. Will you finally allow our uncle to declare me dead. Will you be content to become the only son of our withering branch of that miserable thorn bush. How fares Mother, by the by, surely you have been to see her recently... perhaps thinking me gone will ease her troubled mind. Mourning may suit her well." Lebeaux demanded, words spilling out rapid-fire and each one dripping sickly-sweet venom.

"It would kill her, I cannot do that."

Lebeaux lifted a shoulder for a nonchalant shrug as he leaned back in his chair again, settling his elbow on the arm and propping his chin in his hand as he smiled sweetly at Anselme.

"Nor can you tell her the truth of the situation. So you will continue to come when I call. It is not as though you have so many others you may run to. Now pick that up. /You/ are going to pay for its refinishing."

#klynkwriting #anselme #anselme de haillenarte #lebeaux #lebeaux desrosiers #ffxivwrite2023

[thedarknesssings]

Prompt 23: Classified

Prompt 23:  Suit - FFXIV Write 2023 Characters:  Kyllian de Fosse, Davor de Sarconne; indirect reference to Lebeaux @blackrose-ffxiv and mention of Grym @gorgagne-viperidae

“Oh, come on, Davor”  Kyllian exclaimed.  He was hard-pressed to keep the exasperation from his voice.  “I’ve been an excellent inquisitor for the Tribunal for near on a dozen years. I rarely miss a mark and you damn well know it.”

The Inquisitor in charge of his particular division Kyllian could almost call a friend.  Davor de Sarconne was his elder by about fifteen years and had been his mentor in the early months.  When the man took his current position, Kyllian was one of his staunchest supporters.  Davor ran his hands through his hair, the short strands standing on end and making the grey streaking through the mahogany starker.

“Look, Kylli.”  Davor stared at him across his desk.  “I hate to do this to you. I really do.  You’re right.  You always get your man, but this time–”

“A desk job?”  Kyllian planted his hands on his hips and let his head hang.  “I’d rather resign.”

“And do what?  Half of Ishgard will hold your parentage against you and the other half will balk at your former position as an inquisitor.”  Exasperation crept into Davor’s voice.  “Yes, sure, pushing papers is dull, but it’s good pay in your pocket, Kyllian.  Maybe in time, you’ll be well enough for field work again.  If I put you out there now, it’s too risky.”

A disgruntled noise rumbled in Kyllian’s throat. He turned to pace across the office.  “Who is getting my case?”

“That’s classified and you know it.”  Davor grunted at him.  He settled back in his chair, watching Kyllian pace and wincing every time he limped. “I can tell you there’s no further leads.  This Grym’s just vanished into the snow again after her cronies blew that barn sky high with you in it.”

“I can find her again, Davor.” Kyllian turned back toward his supervisor.  “Just give me the chance.  I’m the only Inquisitor best suited for tracking her down.”

“Even if that’s the case, Kyllian, the best I can do is leave you on as a consultant for the case.”  Davor fell quiet for a moment, then reached across his desk to tug another file out from the bottom of a short stack of case files.  “Tell you what.  I have something a bit more domestic.  Mostly here in the city.  He was once one of us and the Tribunal wants him watched.”

That stopped Kyllian’s pacing. The limp in the man’s gait was starting to wear on Davor to watch. In his opinion, Kyllian should still be home on leave, resting. They were two of a kind on that front, never able to keep idle for long when there was work to be done.  Kyllian picked the file up off the desk and flipped through it, reading the contents with care.  

“You’re going to have to acquire a slightly new profession. You’ll be considered deep cover.  Anyone comes asking here, and we’ll say you quit due to the injury.”  Davor narrowed his eyes on Kyllian.  “And I do mean anyone, Kylli.”

“That’s fine by me.”  Kyllian waved away the concern, his attention still fixed on the file.  “I remember this guy.  I’ve worked with him.”

“Thought you might.”  Davor smiled briefly at Kyllian.  He dug a tomestone out of a desk drawer and sent it skittering over the desktop toward Kyllian.  “Here.  Use this to report anything you find to me.  It’s secured.”

Kyllian leaned over to claim the tomestone, taking a moment to familiarize himself with it.  “Got it.”

Davor studied him.  Not for the first time, he admired the view Kyllian provided. The smile on Davor’s lips curved light, his gaze lingering.  “Happier?  Not going to quit on me for real now, right?”

“Yeah.”  A smirk curved across Kyllian’s lips and he tucked the tomestone into a pocket.  “Happier.  I also want to be a consultant on my former case.  I know civilians can be if they have important information to share.”

“Kyllian.”  Davor growled out, hands planting on his desk.  He rose from his chair, eyes narrowing.  “You’re not holding out on me, are you?”

“That’s classified, Davor.”  He turned on a heel and limped from the office, the new case file tucked under his arm.

#ffxiv write 2023 #prompt 23 #writers on tumblr #ffxiv writers #ishgard #inquisition #tribunal #Kyllian

[cappurrccino]

does this.. does the lebeaux guy have to hoof it through the weeds and over his little bridge and around his little explosive anti-intruder devices out to his truck he's hidden in weeds everytime he wants to go to the store to get snacks or more cleaners for his drug making or whatever?

#//juri speaks #true detective lb #this feels insane

[glowinggunmetal]

“I know you lied to me.”

The new workshop nestled in the cold stone of Ishgard was quaint and cozy - a fireplace kept the stones and walls warm, the windows frosted in the chill that held Coerthas in a grip as firmly as the dragon's claws which rose to the once-there moon. Lucien had let his hair down after the last consultation had concluded - a noble with a desire for replica armor made to fit a stomach that would never have survived a war's needs - and the hair fell over his shoulder while he looked over the tome cracked open on his desk while he braided the long ends together.

The hair prickling the back of his neck had the man freeze and eyes slid to the side to see who had stepped in to the smithy before he lifted a brow.

It had been turns since he had seen Lebeaux.

Actual turns. He had expected the man had found a new angle to play against Idris and then grown bored of it - it'd served a decent purpose and gotten him the connections he'd needed. But now, the chill wind snapping the door closed in a gust behind the shorter Ishgardian, here he stood.

"I know."

The tilt of Lucien's head hid the momentary pause he needed to recall the accent he'd used - the thick Limsan crafted and chosen to highlight being a bumpkin. "An' what is tha'?"

Lebeaux had always moved quite quickly and the smile was familiar - though the last time had been when he'd reviewed the thumbscrews, if the man's recollection was right. Which was why he'd crossed the office in three steps and a finger then hand dug then grabbed the smith's fairly plain garb and pulled like he wanted to drag Lucien to his feet from the chair he was in. "You lied to me."

The hand lifted up then released. Speed had never been matched with size or heft, only power.

"I found out the truth." And mercies, but for a moment Lucien had to wonder what the man meant because there were so many possible problems in what he'd said-

"You're not Praux's bastard."

When Lebeaux swept back out again with his smirk, his gloating expression as if he'd found a puzzle piece and slotted it where it belonged, Lucien finished the braid.

And then the silence grew in the smithy's shop.

"....Praux was a real Lord?" Well, fuck.

#it's only 4 years late #it's okay #I am terrible I know #but hey #writing exercise #prolly entirely ooc but writing #yay writing!