eyemind | event } that was easy

Entry tags:

event } that was easy

WHO: All y’all who feel like playin’.
WHAT: MARKER TAG
WHERE: On Navi.
WHEN: Jan. 17-31
WARNINGS: Use ‘em in your threads if needed! And if you end up getting a marker punched through your skull, please report it on the death page.

Something weird is afoot.

Everywhere you look, you’ll find piles of markers, all shapes and sizes and colors. And without explanation, you may find yourself overcome with a deeply competitive impulse to win. Win what? Why, a classic game of marker tag, of course. Why is this happening? Who cares! If affected, the only thing you’ll care about is marking your target.

This "game" will be played out in one-hour increments. For that hour, one person will be the target, and the rest of the ship's affected passengers will have an innate sense of who their target is. Anyone not "it" will chase the target character with the aim of placing a mark on them. Once a target has been marked by another character, the impulse to chase will fade, until the next target is selected at the start of the next hour. Target characters will remain targets until the end of their hour or until they have been marked by all participating characters. After that hour, the game starts all over again with a new target.

Sure hope those marks wash off in the shower!

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Azem is not blind to what has caught the young man's attention. The reminder of what illusion pretties her window is almost enough to make her forget the agony it brings her heart to see it, however she fights against the urge. There are more important things to focus on right now than grief she knows full well will never lessen. She keeps her eyes upon her guest instead, trying to pinpoint just why he seems so familiar. The answer is close, like a word stubbornly stuck on the tip of her tongue.

"Akadaemia Anyder. The foremost university of my people, located in the heart of the capitol," she explains, doing her utmost to keep her voice free from the weight of her mourning. "My home was Amaurot."

Azem doesn't dare attempt any healing magicks while her emotions are so tumultuous. Allowing her guest time to feel comfortable before proceeding seems like it may be of benefit to the both of them.

The odd choice of words is what fully earns the young woman his attention, then.

Nothing more dramatic than simply turning fully to her, his gaze questioning as he studies those eerily bright eyes peering out from beneath the woman's mask. She doesn't look out of sorts, though. Not at all, her demeanor still pleasant and welcoming as it was when she first ushered him inside. Perhaps from anyone else, the phrasing would have been worth nothing of note. But there's a weight to that was, however slight, that doesn't escape Gaius' notice.

A familiar weight, that he feels all too keenly himself these past days, seeming heavier with each passing day.

Maybe that's why it seems to stick out, when she speaks. Maybe he's simply reading too much into it, a tired old man finding sorrow in everything he sees and hears. But his expression softens, the frown fading from his features as he listens.

"Amaurot." He turns the name over in his head, but... No. It's not a place he's familiar with, on any of the three continents he's traveled nor on those he's only studied. And again, he turns his attention to the young woman's window, where the bright light of that gleaming city still filters into the room in place of the empty dark of the void.

"And I don't suppose that it looks anything like the impressive view below, does it?"

The question is one that takes her some time to answer, if only because it is difficult. Even if her world somehow survived that sundering blow, Amaurot hadn't looked like the vision in decades.

"No," she manages, eyes downcast and focused on her fidgeting fingers. "But it had looked like that not so long ago..."

A snap of her fingers and the scene changes; sky going dark and grey, shrouding the sunlight like a mourning veil. The city is no longer bright and filled with life—the once beautiful architecture is gutted, with large pieces missing from the outer walls, the metal skeletons of what were once homes and offices are agonizingly twisted and exposed to open air.

There is no more greenery or any other manner of foliage. The corpses of malformed creatures litter the streets, though the bodies of what are undeniably robed people outnumber them by far—many of them so small that they could only be children, huddled together in fear during their final moments.

All is eerily calm and still in the aftermath of Amaurot's final days.

"I prefer remembering it as a home, not a mass grave."

Another snap shifts the illusion to overlook a crisp, clear ocean from a lush, volcanic shoreline. Perfectly unremarkable, and infinitely preferable to the void.

"...If you rest your leg on the table I can give a cursory examination, then create a suitable treatment."

Her fingers snap, and the room darkens, though not because the lights themselves go out. He sees the sunlight out the window seemingly vanish out of the corner of his eye, a small frown returning to his face as he turns once more toward it.

And the sight that greets him now...

Whatever it was that had overtaken the once bright city in nothing short of horrific, and Gaius feels his breath catch in his throat to see the broken shells of what were once proud spires and buildings. To see the smokey haze that covered the ruined streets, darkening the sky above, and the bodies...

Something twists in his chest, so horribly tight, at the small forms found among the bodies of man and monster alike, and his grip tightens on the armrests of his seat as if he makes to stand again. The image is gone again all too soon after, however, all of the horror and death and destruction replaced by a foreign coastline, serene and picturesque...but he knows the sight of the broken, twisted ruins will remain burned into his mind. As will the profound sadness that follows, a strange sense of longing for something lost.

For his own home, perhaps. For his family, that he'll never get to see again.

It's some moments before he realizes that the young woman is still speaking. Speaking to him, specifically, again gently reminding him of why he's there in her cabin in the first place, and Gaius has to blink away the heat gathering at the corners of his eyes before he can turn his gaze back to her, letting out a slow breath before he very slowly, very carefully, reaches down to pull his leg up on the table between them.

"I'm sorry." And though his voice is low, he means it. Genuinely so. He's seen too much needless destruction himself to not understand the grief the woman must be going through, and he has to take another breath. "To lose your home..."

He can't even begin to imagine how that must feel.

"It looked a beautiful city."

Edited 2021-02-07 06:17 (UTC)

Azem can sense how affected he is by the sight she shares, flooding her with a sense of guilt for exposing the boy-man to something so horrific. To hear him offer condolences makes her feel as though something has caught itself in her throat, and the corners of her eyes burn. She shakes her head, offering a rueful smile.

"A city can be rebuilt," she explains. "My home was with what was left of my people."

The quarter of them that were left after Zodiark's last meal, and lesser still after Hydaelyn's summoning.

Azem shakes her head again, though this time it is to shake errant thoughts loose from her mind, allowing her to focus instead on the injured leg before her. When she reaches out her hand it is with a delicate, fleeting touch that radiates golden warmth as it analyzes his leg, informing her of the extent of its damage. Her lips thin, eyes narrowing behind her mask.

"This is no minor wound." Her tone is a blend of accusation, sadness, and disappointment. "What makes you believe you deserve this pain?"

Now there's a sentiment he understands a little too well.

Not that he's given much chance to dwell on the fact. Though the grief is evident, both in the woman's voice and her smile, she wastes no time in examining him once his leg is propped upon the table. The painful stretch of the torn muscle beneath his wound causes him to grit his teeth, though he makes no other noise or indication of his discomfort as she reaches for him. After all, it's far from the worst injury he's ever had, now. Not the worst pain he's felt, not by far.

And the warmth that follows comes as little surprise. She did say she was a healer, and he's no stranger to such magic. The warmth brings with it some relief, however fleeting the feeling is, and he lets out a soft sigh when she pulls away, only to raise a brow at the chastisement.

"For the things I've allowed to happen, I dare say I deserve more than just this," he murmurs, the bitter words less to the young woman than himself. But he shakes his head, raises a bandaged hand in an attempt to placate her before he continues. "It would have been my companion if I hadn't stepped in to save her, and it is a small price to pay to keep another young life from being cut too short."

With a clear sense of what needs to be repaired, she brings her other hand to join the first above his leg and promptly channels healing aether directly into it. It is not a spell, but simply a malleable portion of her own aether she shapes as she guides it down from hip to toes, knitting together cracked bone and torn sinew, rejuvenating damaged nerves and blood vessels.

Healing may not be her specialty, but she has a keen grasp of anatomy and was unrivaled in her ability to shapechange—all of which serves to give her an unorthodox efficacy to her curative arts.

"A noble act," she can admit that much. "But what of your life?"

"I am still here, am I not?"

Bitter, broken, and a hollow shell of the man he once was, but he's here and alive, despite everything. And surely that counts for something.

Gaius keeps as still as he's able when the young woman finally begins to work, that same warmth rolling through him once again, though it's...different, he thinks, than the magic used by conjurers. Rather than simply soothing over the pain of the injury, he can feel flesh and bone knitting back together, and while the sensation is faintly nauseating, it's also entirely painless. And again, his pale eyes flick up to study her, turning these abilities over in his mind.

"I'm not attempting to needlessly throw my life away, if that's what you're implying." Though the tone of that statement says he's well aware that there's no if. It may have been true once, perhaps; the bloody trail of vengeance he tore across Eorzea and Othard both seem a lifetime ago now, before he was pulled violently back to his senses by the family he nearly left behind.

The family that he left. That he still failed. His chest tightens again, with a different pain, and it takes a shuddered breath to keep his voice even as he continues.

"And while I won't apologize for taking the risk that I did, I am...not ungrateful, for the aid. If there's a way to repay you, I would like to."

"I have met many who will not throw their lives away, but would let their lives be washed away at the first opportunity."

In those final months of Hydaelyn and Zodiark's battle she had watched far too many of her people choose to stop fighting to survive. Some out of tiredness, some out of hopelessness, and others out of guilt. It hurt her like nothing else, until that day—

Azem shakes her head, then rises from her seat to gather some things from her shelf to make him an ointment. Small bits of various herbs and a pinch of gold dust, all placed into a small glass jar that barely fits in the palm of her smaller form.

In theory she could simply create it with aether alone, but medicines are more effective when the key ingredients are grown. Herbs for medicinal effect, gold for aetherial conductivity...

"You allowed me to aid you. That is repayment enough," she answers. "I'm making a salve that will help with whatever else ails your flesh. Consider it a 'thank you' for making me feel useful."

She weaves together the rest of the ointment using aether of radiant gold, blending the raw ingredients with magic and creation, infusing it with restorative properties. She finishes it off with one final flourish of her wrist and ignores the way her strained soul begins to writhe in pain.

It takes her two steps until the table is within reach. Azem is quick to kneel down and place the ointment carefully upon it, but unfortunately finds herself unable to rise to her feet again. Unwilling to cause the man any undue concern, she simply acts as though this was her intended course of action; keeps her fingers clenched firmly against the leg of the table, obscuring the way they shake. Her mask is a blessing for how it hides the way cold sweat begins beading upon her brow.

"It's— It should relieve aches and pains, and stimulate natural recovery."

She rises, and in that moment Gaius takes the time to gingerly move his leg off the table and test its range of movement, slowly stretching and feeling the limb. The pain is still there, but it's less, now. Barely more than the dull ache of a small bruise, instead of the sharp, lancing agony that plagued his every step, and he makes a note to see the extent of the woman's work when he's back in his own cabin.

"I may yet have more reason to make you feel useful in the future, then, if we're to be trapped here for long," he says, with a soft hum of approval. After all, it can't hurt to be friendly with an accomplished healer. Especially for one who can't manipulate his own aether.

And while he doubts all of the damage can be so simply soothed away, the aid will at least give him the chance to be useful himself, and not the burden he has been so often as of late.

His attention is pulled back to the present when he hears the soft click of the jar being placed on the table, and the woman... She doesn't collapse, no. It's not a messy fall, but she kneels far too quickly for comfort, and her white-knuckled grip on the table is a difficult thing to miss. More difficult to ignore in its familiarity, and with a frown, Gaius moves the jar of ointment to the side as he leaves his seat to carefully kneel down beside her, taking her free hand in his own as if to help her up.

That he can feel the clammy chill of her skin, even through the bandages, appears to make his decision for him, then. And he sighs, pale eyes looking down at her apologetically.

"Forgive me for this, but-"

There's not much more warning than that. Though his movements are still somewhat stiff, he gathers the young woman into his arms with a surprising gentleness, carefully picking her up off the floor and standing again with a softly murmured "up you come, little one." She's not much larger than Allie. And without the table to obscure it, he can see the faint way her hand shakes as he holds her, and wonders for a moment if her skin is supposed to be as pale as it is now, or if her mask has simply been hiding it this entire time.

But he says nothing of it as he looks around, and crosses the room to the bed, laying her carefully on the direwolf pelt spread across it.

She isn't quite sure what to make of him taking her hand, but it is warm and calloused in a way that speaks of physical labour rather than academia. Her fingers twitch, flexing against his in reflex as she blinks up at him owlishly.

Azem has an inkling of what he's planning, but even if she had realized it sooner there was nothing she could do to prevent it, regardless.

"What? Ah—"

Being carried like this is strange. She doesn't know what to make of it, though admittedly it is difficult to think with how her head spins and her soul rebels. She swallows down a pained sound, a small hiss of air pushing between clenched teeth making itself known instead.

Somehow, despite everything, something about this rings familiar, and it's only once she has wrapped herself in the warmth and scent of her first purchase that Hemera's mind offers a groggy explanation. She rolls over to stare up at him; freckles standing out starkly against her pale skin.

"...Your name is Gaius?"

That small hiss is answer enough, really. Whatever it was she had done to strain herself in such a way, Gaius is quick to ensure she's made comfortable, helping her to wrap herself in the warm fur of the pelt as she shifts her position, and it's only once he's reasonably certain that she isn't going to attempt to get back up again that he nods to himself, turns away to collect the little jar of ointment she had generously made for him.

And that should have been the end of that. He had every intention of leaving, after thanking her and bidding her to rest. The promise to return later and check in on her is there on the tip of his tongue as he turns back to her-

But that question.

That question stops him, pale eyes widening as he looks down at the young woman. And there's a long moment before he can answer, hesitating before he speaks.

"...yes. Yes, I'm Gaius Baelsar."

Where did that come from...? He's quite sure he doesn't know the woman; he would remember someone so striking, he thinks, because such a mask would stick out in any number of the places he's been to, over the years. But there's a spark of recognition in the woman's eyes, the suddenness of which brings that soft frown back to his features, and he pauses again before he continues, a wary edge to his tone.

"And I'm...sorry, but I do not believe we've met before. Have we?"

The confirmation comes as no surprise. She forces herself into a sitting position, turning until her legs dangle off the side of her mattress. It is there, perched upon the edge of her bed with eyes closed that the memory becomes clearer. A hand shifts to place itself low on her stomach, fingers twisting the fabric of her sweater. Pain of a different, more insidious sort fills her chest. She ignores it, shifting into a different position, and thinks of more pleasant things.

"I remember..." Eyes still closed, Hemera draws her arms to her chest, as if cradling a child. "Holding your beautiful children... They were sleeping so peacefully, but you feared letting them from your sight."

It's a strange thing, how such a warm comment could make him feel so cold.

The memories come unbidden, of a time when they were all younger. Innocent, eager, still small enough to carry with ease. Of Milisandia, taking his hand and looking up at him with that bright smile of hers, slowly coming out of her shell.

He has to look away. Steps back...and sits, rather gracelessly, on the edge of the table instead, before his knees give out in a way that has nothing to do with the pain of his injuries. And it's some long, heavy moments before he can push the welling grief back long enough to form a response, his voice softer as he speaks.

"How do you know my children?"

The reaction it not what Hemera had expected (she had expected it, but hoped she was wrong—), and she rises to her feet, reflexively seeking to ease his pain however she can. Unfortunately the eagerness of her soul to reach out and soothe what it perceives to be no more than a child is more than it can handle in its current state. She collapses like a puppet cut of its strings, hitting the ground so harshly all the air is pushed from her lungs, leaving her unable to vocalize her pain beyond an agonized wheeze. The edge of her mask has cut into her cheek, mixing with the involuntary tears that trail down her face.

She had meant to do something, hadn't she? There was something she needed to do. Someone who needed her.

That thought is enough to force her into motion, struggling to push herself up with shaking arms.

A child of her people was in need of her.

It's hard to say if she moves a little too fast, or if he's simply moving a little too slow. One moment the young woman is on the bed, reaching out to him, and the next...

It's as if his memory lost a moment, in the overwhelming surge of emotions he struggled to hold at bay. She's on the ground, wheezing as if the breath had been knocked out of her, and it takes too long for Gaius to register the sight and act, as she struggles to push herself back up. He's beside her in half a heartbeat, kneeling at her side and gently helping her to sit up, his grip on her arm and her back firm but warm as he keeps her steady, and it's a wonder he's able to keep his voice even when he speaks, slightly louder than before.

"The whole point of putting you there was so you would rest. Not strain yourself in front of your patient a second time."

The discussion isn't over. Not at all, not when there's so many questions he needs answers to. But right now, the young woman's well being is a more pressing issue. A cursory examination has him catch sight of the bright line of blood that has begun to form under her mask, tears streaking the color further down her face...

And without hesitation, he reaches up a stiff, bandaged hand, to attempt to remove the mask for a better look.

The straining of her soul eases the moment Gaius comes to her, allowing it to comfort him without the need to stretch. He is well within its reach, and it is quick to settle over him; soft and warm like a spring breeze, nearly imperceptible. Hemera seems dazed when the pain recedes, blinking in confusion as she takes a greedy breath.

She is so distracted by the bandages of his hand and the echo of his soul that she doesn't realize what it's doing until she suddenly feels very exposed. Even still, she can hardly spare her bared face a second thought.

"I— I am fine... You are— Faint. Like the others. Like a child. But—" She stares at him with something akin to shock. "But you are a child of my people...? Your soul whispers of it... Of Amaurot."

Nearly imperceptible. A balm against pain, barely noticeable but still there, allowing him to think a little more clearly. To breathe a little easier as he peels the mask from the woman's face and sets it aside, the blood contrasting sharp and vivid against the paleness of her freckled skin. And this time, it's him who almost chastises her, as she weakly attempts to wave off the seriousness of her collapse. It's there, on the tip of his tongue-

Only to be lost when he pauses at the familiarity of the face staring up at him. A face he thinks he should know, in some distant memory, though no name comes to mind, and it's some heartbeats before he can shake himself from the feeling enough to reach up and carefully wipe the blood away from the young woman's cheek.

"I can assure you, in all my travels I've never been to your Amaurot." He would remember if he had been. He'd remember a city that shined as brilliantly as the one he'd seen out of her enchanted window, that made him so long for his own home. He should try to put her back into her bed, and do insist that she stay there, but... For now, he only sits there with her, until he sees proof that she's truly fine.

"I'm merely a child of Garlemald. Nowhere else."

"The soul does not lie, and yours is of my people. A... fragment...?" That doesn't seem possible, but the cracks in her own soul make her wonder what would have happened to the shards of her. "A piece of my kin. The echoes of my home. It is so very faint, but I can hear it..."

The tears do not stop, though now they stem from the swell of emotions bursting within her. Disbelief. Hope. Confusion.

"I don't understand... They are all dead. Every last one, save for he and I. He had no children, and I—" She cuts herself off with a quiet breath, one hand reflexively moving to her stomach. "...He and I are all that is left. I don't understand."

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event } that was easy

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her soul is a dumbass srry gaius

HEM NO

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