#l'selle ran

[furymint]

'Cause I hear the music, I feel the beat I am free!

#not sure abt the movement! #but i wanted to do this in under an hour #jillian's prophecy strikes again #new flo song new bri edit #bri edits #l'selle ran

[kukurubean]

🦅🐁🐁

#I CANNOT UNDERSTATE HOW MUCH I KNOW THIS IS LATE #IM POSTING IT ANYWAY #rothe aubrey #l'selle ran #bri's peeps #mypost

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You wanna go where the light is? You wanna know what a life is? 🌊 Then you take it day by day

#i took that screen #exactly #one year and one month ago #to celebrate gull #it doesnt feel like that long ago and YET KSJDFHSJKDFH #l'selle ran #bri edits

[furymint]

👍

header | non verbal starters | wc: 635

Send 👍 for my muse to approve of something yours did. i totally forgot the point after resuming this 2 months later but yknow

Ninira had been on international panels of realm-shaking importance before. She had observed the polite confusion when Admiral Merlwyb outlined an action plan with nautical jargon; when an Ul'dahn ostiary turned his palm out for a tip, she had coached the Elder Seedseer herself on the Ossuarry's practices; on a half-night's sleep she had been summoned to interpret Dozol Meloc's nervous squawks for a Halonic Inquisitor.

Part of her wanted to admit that each experience paled to the council afore her.

"If it's called the Sea of Clouds," L'selle went on, "and instead of depth, your traveling is measured in altitude, that makes--what?--the heavens your ocean floor?"

Every eye in the Congregation moved to L'selle. He returned his cider to his lips with a bastard's contentment and a foreigner's disregard. Across the table, the bastard and the foreigner mulled through their grief. Ninira sank under her embarrassment.

"I just think so," L'selle started again.

"Then don't--" Rothe hissed, but Estinien interrupted:

"No, no, let him have it."

Ninira prodded L'selle and transitioned one of her biscuits to his plate. Momentarily distracted, he broke a chunk of it free and stuffed it into his evil mouth.

The others regrouped.

Estinien was still trying to keep from laughing after the first outburst to L'selle's conclusion. "None of us can say the man's wrong."

"Neither can we say he's right-headed for it," Rothe insisted. "If he and I are to be arrested--again--then surely the Inquisition will be less forgiving than the Alliance towards that rat's complete lack of documentation. I have enough funds to collect ingredients from the Crozier, not to post bond."

Estinien was of no help: "Bond? One would think the clergy venal enough for such an institution, but no, sir, not here."

Ninira sympathized--especially under the continued judgement of the Congregation regulars. "If the Holy See has permitted you thus far, you should be in no danger of rejection at this point."

"That's right!" L'selle asserted. "If airships wanna hawser and gaff their way into other city-states for their markets, they ought to think about what truths and lies they bring back in new perspectives. The horizon may be neverending but this world's small."

Rothe whined something about Rhalgr moving in skies too far east to protect them. For his part, Estinien renewed the debate when he gave a half-formed contribution about there being the cardinal directions to account for in addition to altitude. 

"Oh, aye, that grasshopper thing you do," L'selle said contemplatively, though still talking around a mouthful of food.

Estinien pointed his knife in Rothe's direction, wagging it with no concept of how plainly threatening it was, and squinted as he struggled to recall, "Not that chapuli debacle?"

Rothe slapped his palms to the table. L'selle howled at the memory and roared his pride, too far distracted now to correct Estinien. And Ninira smiled sheepishly into the face of the approaching guard.

"Gentlemen. Lady Ninira," the knight began his censure--and never continued. L'selle sprung up from the bench, already "in the know of what a swad's got to say," and bounded for the exit.

The first to grumble "leave him" was also the first to follow. Rothe tightened his scarf about his face and chased the ever-more-faraway sound of L'selle's raucous chatter.

Estinien dismissed the gaping soldier with a curt shove at the man's regiment badge. He turned to offer Ninira his hand, but he hesitated when formality seized him. It was too late--Ninira took hold of his palm and gave a tug for his attention. He bent to her.

"How long until they have half the Pillars on alert for renegades and drunks?" she asked, the last one to lose her reserve.

He felt the return of his laughter in the squeeze of her hand. "Fury knows I'm looking forward to it."

#bookshop au gave me POWER and INSPIRATION #i had the beginning of this already done in my drafts #but didnt actually #remember the prompt so uh #i just went off on what felt right instead of sticking to it KJSHDJFHS #bri writes #l'selle ran

[furymint]

🎼⚠️. If you're up for it! <3

Send 🎼 for my muse to express something to yours through music & ⚠️ for my muse to throw something at yours.

wc: 613 | header

The Bobbing Cork shook with claps and stomps. From the brook outside, all the Shroud was the same--no song but the birds', no dance but the winds', no life near to the wild uproar of one man sitting cross-legged on a table, beating the wood under his fists and belting words the forest had never heard in their ages.

Karoseika opened the door to his madness: booze spilling from the bar tap, luggage thrown in dangerous stacks, two dozen travelers roaring the responses to his ancient sea chants. She skipped around the wild dance of a child drunk on the atmosphere and waved to the cawing ringmaster.

L'selle's attention snapped to her. His face alighted. "Hey!"

"Hey!" screamed the audience's enthralled echo.

The concert splintered when L'selle leapt from the table. As he bounded through the chaos, the barman took reign of the crowd by pounding a bubbling mug to the counter. People surged for refills; L'selle finally emerged from them and shook Karo's hands.

He laughed as he hollered, "You sing?"

"What?"

"You sing? Don't care if well--just in front of people?"

Before she could respond, realization entered his face. He smacked his forehead, laughed, and turned in the same motion--yes, she was an outsider, but not in the same way as him. She could not know the words.

He shouted the bartender's name. As if rehearsed, the bartender pulled a slim beer bottle from the counter and lobbed it at L'selle. Confusion erupted over the flying bottle. Senseless hands stretched for it, fulms over their reach.

But Y'lantaa caught it. She sprung from the crowd ahead of L'selle, skid another yalm to land, and tossed it to him.

It barely glanced his hands afore he threw it to Karoseika.

Having no one to hot popoto the booze to, Karoseika spun the remaining ilm of liquid. At L'selle's urging, she ripped the cork free and knocked it back.

He gave a thumbs up as if that explained things, then sprinted back atop the table at the inn's front. "Okay!" he clapped for order. "Karo's my accompaniment now. Just flick an arrowhead against that jug with the beat!"

The audience's attention swayed between the two. Y'lantaa quietly took the bottle from Karoseika and set it to the floor.

"Let's box that compass. This time all you bastards're gonna shout this place down. That's the only way the wind listens to us."

He continued his rambling, outlining the next return chorus, slapping his knees in time with the next measure.

The only two as yet untouched by excitement's spell, Y'lantaa took Karoseika and strung their fingers together. She stamped the ball of her foot and her heels to different beats, leading Karoseika through them, and assured her through the jumps of the dance.

When L'selle wrangled the crowd's voices into something resembling a tune, he commanded a start to the hour's revelry. 

Up jumps a crab with his crooked legs,

Saying, "You play the cribbage

and I'll stick the pegs."

Nonsense parted them from life. The warm lamps and glinting wine glasses swayed with the frolic of Y'lantaa's skirts. She and Karoseika beat their shoes into the wooden floors, feeling the song in their bodies mix with strength. The arrows on Karoseika's back went weightless. Strangers spun around them, mimicking the rolling dance they invented by the seconds. As water surged beneath the boards, the world tilted and bobbed like a ship on the Rhotano, the sweet pine seemed almost dyed with fresh tar, the journeys that brought them to this place hummed from a past life.

Singing, blow the wind westerly, let the wind blow,

By a gentle nor'wester how steady she goes.

#the scale kept moving in and out here but i think its ok! #ive been in a list kick lately it seems #the diction in this is more complicated than it should prob #but i think that helps in a way #bc it is madness #but its a little bit of a calculated madness #song is blow the wind westerly! #i hope u like it! #ALSO ITS BEEN...........MANY YEARS......... #but y'lantaa is sel's wife #i rly struggle w her a lot! bc i can't get her voice right #y'lantaa fhey #l'selle ran #bri writes

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😉or 👣for non-verbal starters

Send 😉 for my muse to wink at yours. / Send 👣 for our muses to go for a walk together.

wc: 509 | header

L'selle walked backwards through the sailor's quarter. Women with swaying baskets of fruit and flashing skirts dove around him; children clutching kites and flaring strings hurtled passed; a man barking commands around a tobacco pipe stepped clear. Upstream, oblivious to the parting waters, natural in the chaos and grinning pure mortal folly, L'selle walked backwards.

Ninira didn't care that he'd meant to bring her to the Salt Strand. The place was barren. Wind ripped through the weeds, bobbing ship lights sunk into the mist, the waves churned out empty shells. Life existed there, to be sure--but it was hidden in suggestions and remnants, not roiling in the shouts and raucous laughter around L'selle.

Fish slapped their tails against the sun-bleached deck, sailors crawled aloft to the screaming gulls, L'selle stamped his feet while describing last night's dream.

"You ever been in a thunderstorm like what ghosts'd tell about if they had tongues?"

Ninira nudged the rim of her hat up to glance pointedly at the sky. Cloudless, pure azure."Twice, mayhaps."

Nodding with unnecessary gravity, L'selle folded his hands behind his head, puckered his lips, and thought aloud, "Ghosts? You see 'em?"

"In a way," Ninira started, not intending to finish. She hustled closer to L'selle to avoid the raging path of a pirate group. The skirt of her coat bustled in her fists.

"I was thinking, in my dream, that it was like that. Wind going by so strong its voice'd gone hoarse, and lightning marking the clouds with its writing." L'selle swung a leg out, clapped his hands, and turned down a perpendicular dock. "And they might not got tongues, but they got other ways of communicating what they have."

Less bustled around him. The drone of people and shore bells faded behind a second curve and the shelter of an alley wall. As if he missed the noise, his pace increased towards the next thoroughfare. "I was just thinking, when people jab that they swim as fine as a pebble sinks, they forget we've boats. Sure, the boat gets zapped, wrecked--they drown, but so will I. We've lungs, not gills. The ocean does what she wants once you're in her hands. Ain't it the same in your sky? Not one of us is meant to fly. But folk go up there anyroad. In more boats."

He stepped back into the vortex of people, face tilted towards the sun's warmth. "Because it feels right to be there. By no means should it be that way but it does feel right."

Under the caws of distant merchants and a bickering set of siblings, Ninira thought to defend the Churning Mists. It was spectacle, wilderness, and a certain type of isolation--but a qiqirn shrieked by to chase a cat and the moment left with it.

L'selle winked, turning around to face forward, and said, "All this means is that I'll no sooner take you to my death trap if you leave me outta yours. I've a feeling the ghosts in the thunder upstairs don't care what tattoo I call protection."

#i think this is a little #incomprehensible #and im too sleepy to think v much harder abt it #but the gist is that lselle is trying to draw a parallel #thru danger #and Places Ppl Prob Shouldnt Be #to get those hashtag relatable feels #out of experiences that have no true equivalents #meanwhile he belongs in this chaotic city #while nini doesn't or doesn't nearly as much #ksjhdf thank u nini for letting me borrow ms aery #bri writes #l'selle ran

[furymint]

✏ Just because. <3

Send ✎ and I will write 10 5 headcanons about our muses interacting

one time l'selle was like, its an ancient special miqo'te secret that putting sea grapes in ur ears helps u see underwater. and karo was like, ok i know thats absolute bs but ill do it anyway bc the twelve know im gonna try to get someone else to do it too

l'selle yanks out a pocket gramophone, cranks it up, and lets it play when karo is having a conversation with someone else and he wants her to pay attention to him. she starts giving him song requests for next time

lselle, karo, and the south shroud are a weird group. sel doesn't think too hard about the way karo moves through the shroud--the hesitancy, betrayal, and confidence in what paths she remembers or thinks she forgets just feels like 'the calamity experience' to him. he hated the area until the calamity destroyed it, so it's like an unfamiliar home to him too.

l'selle starts a convo off with "sooooo u like climbing right." and karo knows he knows the answer is yes so she just stares at him until "ok so i stole ahlis' hair comb because i needed it to comb out the knots in my blanket's tassels and i need you to put it like, on her windowsill even though its on the 4th storey of this one inn"

karo and graha wake up one morning to the clinking of a spoon on a bowl in the morning because l'selle literally broke into their apartment bc "hi. i ran out of food and the stores aren't open yet. but i know ur the most 'has their shit together' ppl i know so im here now. i made breakfast for u guys tho"

#jillian saw the header was like #the Bastard #its the BASTARD #shes right #l'selle ran #rp #thank u karo!!

[furymint]

wc: 412 | header | cruise au | cw: alcohol

If anyone was going to show up at their muster station drunk, it was L'selle Ran.

Lifting a beer bottle and a miniature saucer of donut holes above his head, he tip-toed through the complaining throngs to the proper place to assemble when the 200,000 ton ship sunk: the midnight lounge.

It was a horrific place during the day. Even with dozens of bored patrons clogging the couches, or the maps and brochures spread across the tables, every unnatural green and shimmering gray stuck out under the lights. If it was the psychology of dim lights which turned this dive into a site of culture, then by god--and whoever else was concerned with humanity--let the damn lights dim now.

He stuffed a donut in his mouth and leapt a trio of stairs to the next level. Music poured from speakers in the back of the room. If he could fill his brain with Elton John lyrics--or whatever made wine taste sweeter and a sinking ship less catastrophic--then he wouldn't have listen to the old man tell the old woman that a lightning bolt struck the radar and zapped the captain.

The captain had enough of a stutter over the intercom for it to be believed.

No one listened to the staccato announcement when they could be watching the child ripping the curtains back and forth.  L'selle whistled to goad her on. In the same instant, her father pinned her against his chest and lugged her back to the family's table.

Allen whistled back. He towered through a collection of rampant teenagers, pardoned himself through a circle of chatty aunts, and strode directly in front of the waitress admirably attempting to demonstrate the proper way to equip a life jacket. The four people actually paying attention to her cawed at his indiscretion.

L'selle waved him up the stairs, swapped places with him, and jabbed the plate of donuts into his grip. Descending to the floor, then ascending the stage, he smiled to the poor waitress and yanked a life jacket from the extras pile. The coarse fabric shrieked and hissed as he wrangled it on, one arm ripping the straps as the other held his completely empty beer bottle safely above his head. 

Allen, cocking his head back to down his own drink, thought whatever made wine sweeter was probably L'selle flailing his arms above a captive audience of screaming kids and pearl-clutching grandparents as he taught the least efficient back stroke imaginable.

#HHHHH #i had most of this saved thankfully #rewrote the last 3rd tho #its still in the aether :') thanks tumblr #@halone if i lose my work a 3rd day in a row #im fighting u personally #ANYWAY. #this is incredibly convoluted and i refuse to edit it rn #thus #i go eat lunch now JDNDBBEHE #bri writes #ffxivwrite2020 #l'selle ran #ill add a readmore when i get home!

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#ty hyana for this #l'selle ran

[furymint]

misfit. getting out of bed too soon, insisting they feel much better, and collapsing / passing out.   Because I’m a sucker for this trope

wc: 992 | rest prompts

L'selle smacked the bottom of the hammock, flinging Rothe's legs up towards the berthdeck ceiling. "Poor bugger," he spat, shaking his head. The tips of his ears dragged across the wood as he circled the seasick wayfarer. "Two suns on a ship o' this size and you go dead man on me. I'd take your share of grub if it wasn't its own punishment to swallow."

Rothe opened his eyes to madness. The waves sloshed beyond all sense, constant and brutal, pelting the sides of the ship without order. His ears rung with the shriek of the pulleys, and his lungs seized under the musty, humid air of the cabin. People hauled crates from somewhere aft to revert the deck into a haphazard common area. The haze of morning seemed as impenetrable as as the thick taste of salt that lingered on his teeth.

L'selle continued. "You keep where you are, then you can start counting the seconds it takes for the rest to wrap you in that sheet and stow you in the orlop. Less jumpy there."

Rothe covered his eyes and moaned. "The hell is that? Aught's better than here, you bastard."

L'selle stomped his feet. "So far below as you can go without crossin' waves. Might spy some barnacles yet though, so don't hold your breath until it's scuttle-check time."

"You say this nonsense on purpose."

"Glad you noticed. Now get up afore you're tarred; I know you got the cards to know what that one means."

The hammock strained against Rothe's weight as he leaned to the side to free himself. It creaked, adding to the incessant complaints of the ship, and he hated himself for contributing to the same racket that tortured him. His body rebelled, but he forced it from the clinging tarp.

The ceiling beam clipped his forehead as he dropped the yalm to the floor. L'selle, lucky enough to have the very limit of height to stand unperturbed, watched Rothe writhe up from the floor and throw his hand out for help.

L'selle reeled him up, patted him on the back, and watched him hit his head and sink back to the dark floorboards.

"You're a bad case, bucko. Let's get you up top."

"Yeah, yeah." Rothe struggled back to his feet. His socks skid against the layer of oily brine, and as he hobbled for his shoes, a bottle rolled into his ankle. He stared.

"Ain't mine," L'selle shrugged. He tore down the hammock, bundled it with the rest, and moved to support Rothe to the ladder.

The sky was cerulean above. Covering their eyes from the scathing glare, they tumbled into a cover of fresh spray. Water rained across the deck in unpredictable spurts. People tramped about, adjusting tack and lines, shouting over the winds. Despite pressure from the elites, uniforms had fallen quickly from favor; Alliance and Resistance members worked independent of direct orders to keep the peace. Maelstrom ship or not, more than red-clad hands were needed to sail it, and desperation was the best advocate for fellowship.

Besides, it took at least five Ala Mhigans to tell the full story of their goal--not because they each had variations of the tale, but because no one (especially a Gridanian) would believe a ghost city of lights and steam existed a week's journey off the coast. To hear them tell it, salt pillars gated any ship from entering, but lost and sea-turned sailors could wash through the bars at night, and find themselves in the company of knowledge unmet by the years. The granite floor tiles were separated by a grout made of polished gold, and chimeras of every beast and make would trudge passively by, unjudging. A monk even trained amongst the gardens, where trees bore fruit year-long with the calm silence of the grave.

It sounded Allagan-y enough to check out. If naught else, they could claim it was a team-building exercise.

Rothe navigated to the rails, rubbed spots of water from his face, and apologized for the trouble with the same mix of revolt and gratitude he'd shown towards the bag of "chakra rocks" L'selle gifted him a year back.

"I heard you didn't see my tomato growing in the seaman's quarter when you visited," L'selle said, leaning his back into the rail. His head tilted back to the sky, but he kept his gaze trained on Rothe. "Bet you'd've liked it."

"One of your bird friends probably up and carried the first bulb on it off."

"Then what?"

"It took the tomato back to its mates, and squaked about how some dude just left it on a shanty rooftop when it's much more useful in his belly."

"Damn. Bird must've spent too much time on the shore of Thanalan. Any brain's like to rot when all they see is sand and barely a ratio of water against it."

The blue-gray waves hurled across the horizon, hiding the final consistent thing in the world behind the sea's tyranny.

Rothe inhaled and stood taller. "And what's a brain do when there ain't any sand?"

"Drown," L'selle said simply. "But you're right about the tomato. Food's only worth something when it's eaten. You gonna join me to lock up the cook or not? We can use the biscuits he turns out as bricks, and the gravy like mortar, and build a hovel for him like that with the promise of some cooking sherry. I read it in a book once."

Rothe wheezed. "What else your reading teach you?"

L'selle frowned. He was static as chaos incarnate swirled behind him, and he blinked as yet more spray hit him on the back of his head. His lips puckered in thought. Then, severely, he moved from the railing, confident in the value of his life knowledge. With a grave pause, he said, "That you're a little bitch" and took off down the deck.

Rothe screamed and sprinted after him. As he leapt over storage crates and shoved through crowds, his body seemed his own again, and the pitch of the water seemed to be in his blood, ardent.

#HI MY NAME IS BRIANNA #AND I DONT LISTEN TO THE PROMPTS CORRECTLY. #i dont feel like angst yet...................somehow #SKJDFHSDH #hopefully this is good enough tho #ive been missing hornblower lately sdfhj #why is bush the protag of lt hornblower.....@forester wth #bri writes #l'selle ran #limasquared

[furymint]

some misc adventures from this month!

#pics have context descs ksdjhf #i have some nice edits instead of these quick retouches #but ill post later #l'selle ran #friends #brianna babbles

[furymint]

FFXIV Write: Prompt #6

wc: 619 | feat @kukurubean​ | @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast​

Perhaps it was luck. Tensions were high, the Alliance was new, and every fresh-printed private was looking for a story to bring back to the mess hall. By all means, two unmarked men bickering over a pot pie recipe as they traipsed the border of the frontline had every reason to expect this. Either they didn't, they didn't want to jinx it, or they relished the challenge. The truth was that one fully expected it and the other just really didn't mind what happened so long as it was less boring than sitting with a caravan of Ishgardians towards the nearest outpost.

Which meant he relished the challenge.

L'selle rose his cuffed hands above his head in a stretch, looked squarely at the simpering Adder, and asked her how she felt about sick birds. "It's a shame they get zapped by the Empire's electric field, ain't it?"

The elezen woman frowned, determined not to make small talk with suspect number one.

Suspect number two elbowed him. "Quit makin' japes. No reason to aggravate them."

L'selle lowered his arms. "If they can't be fair because I'm running my mouth, they ain't doin' their jobs right." He turned back to the Adder. "I do sympathize with them ill eagles, but I ain't one of 'em."

Rothe reminded himself how badly he wished to return to Ala Mhigo for himself. Otherwise, he might have added a battery charge to his 'suspicious activity on warfront property' charge.

Why did he think for a minute that he could cross into the Fringes with this bastard. Maelstrom soldier or not, he could turn any man against him in a matter of seconds with that glib mouth. To his credit, L'selle could also recruit a vegetarian into a smokehouse and convince a pirate to share tea with a priest. But for now, that crab-brained rat seemed determined to see the gavel of a martial court.

"Aye, I'm Limsan. Here's my badge. Foreign fecking levy. Sold my soul to 'em for three years, even though the sea got first dibs. Poetic, ain't it? You can ask my mom, too. She'll tell you who I am."

"Sir, claims from family members do not qualify for identification."

"Listen, I know they tell us we get respect by joinin' up, but my mom ain't a liar like the generalissimo. I'm Limsan, and I'm L'selle Ran. Even this fool can tell you that."

He bumped Rothe ahead of him with his shoulder.

Humourless, the Adder ignored L'selle and droned through Rothe's profile. "Rothe Aubrey, under guardianship of Alrek and Auelin Aubrey. Registered citizen of Ul'dah, chef of Limsa Lominsa's Bismark. Current residence is an apartment in the city of Limsa Lominsa. Secondary residence is in Vesper Bay, of Ul'dahn jurisdiction in Thanalan." She went on through his birthday, age, religion, ethnicity, race, blood type, appearance, extended family, emergency contacts, jobs of contacts and family, and final notes.

L'selle whistled appreciatively. "You're legit."

Rothe confirmed each item and was led aside, free to go.

Deliberately, savoringly, she turned to read the next profile: "L'selle Ran. Son of Emilyn Ran. Maelstrom foreign levy private of three years."

That was all.

L'selle tried to tug on his ear but succeeded only in tangling himself and making a racket. "Where d'you think these things came from? L'riha Tia. That's my dad. He was a 'Cuda, and he was a sure tart, but he's got to be in your folders. He got offed right on one of your tubs. Check. Even criminal records."

"And it was your mother who was the pastry chef?"

"Is, you boiled shoe. Navigator help me, I need patience for this shite."

The entire office groaned in what amounted to the phrase, "Same."

#ffxivwrite2019 #i wrote this yesterday but i didnt get to upload it bc was out #jil requested this kdjhfdf #l'selle ran #bri writes

[kukurubean]

@theseventhdawn and I hit 80 yesterday! 

#THE PERSON WHO GAVE US OUR ARMOR.................................. #I DIED #thank you for my entire life #rothe aubrey #l'selle ran #mypost #bri's peeps

[kukurubean]

'you ok in there?' sel or rothe fell in antlion den or rhalgr temple or smth in the mhigan revolutionary war, GO

> Sequel to Bri’s post here. Sel’s lines are 500% written by her.

Their only goal was Rhalgr’s Reach. Should be relatively straightforward, he thought. Home of the largest Resistance faction. Got ties with the Alliance and all that. Heard it was pretty.

But the Spinner had other ideas. And with the way things were going, Oschon was probably in on it, too. 

When Rothe has asked if L’selle knew the route; he’d laughed as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Once he finished jeering–only staying upright by hanging onto a rock–he immediately shot down any hopes Rothe had.

“As if that info goes out to any glass-slugging half-private! Welcome to the Alliance, too, where the only rule what applies is that of every city-state which ain’t yours. And Gridania ain’t never gonna be fond o’ blokes with my attitude–or aptitude.”

…On second thought, Rothe was convinced at least half the Twelve were against him. Llymlaen had sent Her most frustrating agent.

Luckily for them, the Flames’ Ala Mhigan brigade was a bit more lenient with information. Across the Velodyna, count seven destroyed statues, two temples, at least fifteen destroyed magitek, and you’ll find a guard just near Mirage creek. Whether or not it was actually a mirage was left to be seen–just about everyone was into their fifth cup by the time they worked out how many statues to pass–but Rothe found the instructions amounted to “head east.”

He could follow that. He could follow it even better by tracing a straight line on the map he picked up at Castrum Oriens. From a curious guild that seemed obsessed with moogles. Apparently a division of the Adders. Pretty sure, at least. His eyes glazed over when one approached with a bright red pom sticking out of their hat.

Either way. All simple enough. Not bad for his first strike out. Save one detail: he was stuck in an antlion’s nest.

He knew that staying still was the best plan of action even though every inch of him screamed to move. He’d dealt with ants before. Giant ants, even. It took him and Keit’a more than a few ventures into Hellsbrood Holes to learn their lesson. But these weren’t just ants. These were antlions. And Rothe was pretty godsdamned sure they could smell fear. (Much like everything else in Gyr Abania, he would learn.)

“This land’s your land, mate, and it’s thrilled to have you back stompin’ in it. No welcoming party’s complete without strangers up and pretending like they’ve known you the past six years. Now we’ve made their bed.” L’selle seemed to look everywhere but at Rothe while he rambled. He seemed more than a little relaxed given his traveling partner was half-submerged in the earth. If Rothe wasn’t relying on him to save his life, he would’ve cursed. 

“Aye, well–I’ve no intention to lie in this one, yeah? Tell me you’ve got, uh, a solution to this? Grand Company training and all that.” He was getting desperate.

L’selle was not. He laughed as if they were on a lovely stroll through La Noscea. 

“Shut your gob, you’re runnin’ it like the damned river at our backs. Them things’ll skin yours, so ‘ere. Hold fast.” L’selle shrugged the Maelstrom-issued axe off his shoulder and whipped it around to offer the hilt to Rothe. He stared at it for a moment, testing to see if L’selle would yank it back up before he grabbed it. L’selle noticed, but decided not to comment. A rarity. He only shook the axe to goad Rothe on.

“I didn’t cram us through those prickly-arsed border-squints for you to bury yourself just to prove you’re Mhigan as the rest. Up!” He slapped Rothe on the back once he was back on two feet. “"If I cant get salt water, I’m taking salt and water, and by gods I’m taking you with me. Can’t bear looking at these damned cliffs no more. Dry as the wit the Ishies think they got–and near as tall. We need the sea.“

#newty #asks #i love lselle #i love lselle???? #thank you for helping with his lines i feel bad but HOO BOY you all shouldve seen what they were before #l'selle ran #rothe aubrey #bri's peeps #mywriting

[furymint]

FFXIV Write: Prompt #26

wc: 830 | feat @kukurubean | header

Rotherham--

I've attached your grams to remind you of how you missed out on a delightful lunch:

it's 4am.

yeah im awake at this time but i gotta bake bread

fuck you rat

But I am a magnanimus and forgiving man. Lets make bagels at my house so I can grind your coupon-hating face into the sand

Cheers, L'selle Ran

Rothe folded the letter, threw it into the furnace, resolved never to humor that maniac ever again, and threw his apron into his pack so he could travel easier to the Mist.

When he stood before L'selle's door, the rising sun behind him flashing in the tinsel hearts plastered to the wood, he almost calmed. L'selle was an asshole, yes, but at least he cared for his home, and unafraid to show affection to his wife as she returned--

Then he remembered it was seven moons since Valentione's and Y'lantaa was away for weeks in the Shroud with her sisters.

So the hearts were for him. Rothe pounded on the door to wake L'selle, tried the door handle, and--it opened? The door opened. A curse in Ala Mhigan growled in his throat as he stepped to the coarse welcoming mat. He knew this was a trap the moment he saw naught out of place in the foyer. In the fish tank, anchovies darted away from his approach.

Although quiet, water splashed from the kitchen. Good. The bastard's home and up at least. Rhalgr knew half the scoundrels here could pick a lock as swift as L'selle could, but it showed self-respect to bar your door. L'selle didn't have much respect or belongings, so losing some of either would be a ruin.

Rothe turned into the hall and tugged his apron free of his satchel.

Outdated whale oil lamps illuminated the counter of the kitchen. Bowls and jars of flour, grains, sea salt, and yeast cluttered the table island. The sink was filled to the brim. And Al paddled through the water, slapping droplets to the walls and floor with his tail, and squeaked his delight as he circled through the miniature waves.

That's one rat located. Then--

The front door opened with laughter. Sandals clapped, and L'selle's voice answered anothers' question: "Everyone knows bagels are boiled. I ain’t japing you. And even if they weren’t--and I wasn’t ain’t--you’ve got the poison tolerance a Dunesfolk’d be jealous of.”

Rothe started towards the entrance. He refused to be discovered. He’d rather show himself out.

L’selle’s sandal went skidding across the floor and barreled into Rothe’s ankle. “Oh good! You made it, you danger-fist. First light. Gorgeous.”

Beside him, Allen removed his immaculate dress coat and draped it atop the fish tank. Though he prodded at his hair, a scented gel secured his bangs firmly against his head, and not a strand fell from place. He smiled at the slob ambling into the kitchen, and stopped to shake hands with Rothe.

“Ul’dah is well but too usual lately,” he began. “A visit to Mr. Zhawn would not go amiss.”

Rothe grinned less easily. He never spoke of Keit’a to Allen during any of his few meetings with the Carteneau regular. “Allen, yeah? How’re the--uh--heliodrones treating you?”

“Very well. Last campaign I uncovered a roguish sort taking cover in magitek armor. Sent him straight over the edge.” Nodding to himself, he walked with Rothe into the kitchen.Rothe did not want to ask what the edge was of. He swallowed, turned to take the sea salt jar in his hands, and attempted to pry it open. The lid stuck.

Allen watched, apparently unwilling to help or comment.

From behind the counter, L’selle snagged Al from the sink and carried the wriggling rat through the kitchen and to the table. Al squirmed free to leap atop an awaiting towel. His fur curved from his body in wet spikes, off-white against the blue cloth. Most everything seemed to be blue here, except for certain red things--the Maelstrom flag, the Thavnairian rug, Rothe’s face.

The jar did not pop or squeak or budge, and when Rothe finally gave up, it made a respectable clap upon being returned to the counter.

“Don’t go breakin’ my glasses, now. Surely that’s a type of disqualification,” L’selle whined, leaving his sapping pet to drain the sink.

“Didn’t know this was a competition,” Rothe scoffed.

Allen retreated to the table and poked Al as he took a seat. “It’s breakfast, that’s all.”

“For you it is, aye.” L’selle fit a massive pot beneath the spout and wrenched the water on. “Revenge, it is for me--and a laugh.”

Rothe pulled the next jar from the counter and tore it open. Flour puffed into the air, powdered his shirt, and settled just as soon. He couldn’t manage to keep the malice in his words when he added, “It’s just ridiculous, I think, to me.”

#ffxivwrite2019 #i think i cheated the prompt but #al was gonna have a bigger part #but then i added allen #bri writes #allen ravenwind #l'selle ran

[furymint]

Life reminds me that I am no more than a boy.

#quote's wilfred owen from a letter to mary #these were #rough #i rly ran out of steam by nol #he n eph are... looking at some soldiers go by or smth aksjfasjfh #lselle took some surgery so im glad he looks #not empty-eyed lol #dont talk to me abt his outfit lmao #also jos' hair is driving me up the wall as always #sits down #i need to do my hw but im glad these turned out!! #bri edits #nolanel feran #ephemie renaud #l'riha ria #emilyn ran #l'selle ran #josseloux cadieux #my goal was to be done w these an hour ago at least aaaaa