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[bardische]

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Gladio | Flowers

[bardische]

No one could agree where the sickness came from. Cases started a little over a year ago, those whispers from poor markets and sky pirates suggested it had been another year before that. White magicks did little other than ease the pain, and scholars and healers alike were helpless to stop its encroachment.

Crowns and empires sunk money into research, and as attempt after attempt failed, one possible solution continued to appear over and over: a tea made from the dried petals of a magical flower that only grew in the mountains of a remote island that no airship could reach. Even if the flower had died, there was a chance there were still old powders from the ancient group that lived and practiced there.

Of course, it was a Mist-Shrouded island with a sea full of monsters around it.

Many of the recruits had afflicted family members. Basch suspected he'd have volunteered too, if he were there age. Now, he knew he might not make it back from a task like this. But he and a handful of others knew Archades's new emperor was among those afflicted, and should he fall, he feared the continent would plunge back into war. That, and he had an uncle's fondness for the young leader, dare he even say a brother's.

It's their last night before the transports set sail, and he's seated by a camp fire, trying not to think too hard about these youngsters or the other times he's sat like this, a calm before and event that would change the world, reminding him how tiny he was.

There's someone else at the fire near him, not as green, not as full of bounding energy and a belief in their perfect salvation. "Not your first time either, I take it," he says by way of greeting. "Pegasus or Gryphon?" The two transports.

[ziedrich_bearer]

There weren't many of them with any real amount of age or experience behind them. They were all so young, Gladio had thought as he passed the time amongst them. This was a mission, yes, but also an adventure for them.

He had to wonder if they truly knew the weight of this mission. If they understood just how many lives were on the line. How bad it would be if the Lucian kingdom was destabilized by the death of the prince.

And then there was this one. A man that looks like he gets it. Someone with age and experience. Gladio had been watching him and wondering. Why this man? Why was he selected? Did he know how to fight in the Mist? Did he have the martial skills to compensate for what came next?

It was almost hard to believe he might.

"Gryphon," he says. "And no."

[bardische]

"As am I," Basch says, eyes carrying over to a group of youngsters wide-eyed and brash, laughing and gesturing. "Can't say I'm disappointed to have someone else with experience around." He doesn't guard his face, sighing as he wonders which of these children won't make it home, or will with something inside them permanently broken.

But it has to happen. Without a cure for the sickness, things will only get worse.

[ziedrich_bearer]

At least the guy recognizes experience when he sees it. Though Gladio is glad to see he's not the only one wondering about these kids.

"What's your weapon?" Gladio asks without looking at him. He's got guesses based on the guy's build, but he's not going to assume.

[bardische]

"Sword, for a long time," he says, gaze still on the youth. How many of them really even have training. "I've found myself partial to glaives and halberds the last few years, though." Distance between him and an enemy has its value. Also means in a pinch he can fight with a pole. "You?"

[ziedrich_bearer]

"Greatswords. And shields."

People don't get how useful of a weapon those can be. And of course then your off hand is free for a long knife, so he does that too but it's not the important part.

"Useful weapons. Licenses up to date?"

for @dalmast

[bardische]

[ continued from here ]

Basch doesn't respond because Balthier has taken his phone, which Basch quite thinks he should have done before this endeavor started. He resents being convinced to carry one at all, and is replaying tonight's terrible slew of choices for the umpteenth time when he spots Fran, and a moment later, Lady Ashe.

He sucks in a breath, which means he snorts in the pint of water he's been nursing. Rather than sneak out diplomatically, he's now pounding his chest and hacking away at the counter, Balthier grinning like a fox and patting his back as he waves the ladies over.

"One knight, relaxed and loosened, as promised," Balthier says cheerily.

"There is nothing -- relaxing about any of this -- " he wheezes, carefully making eye contact with only the counter.

[dalmast]

Were it not for the iron-clad sense of decorum Ashe keeps pulled tight around her like a suit of armor, conducting herself like a queen even while in the most dire of straights and rubbing elbows with pirates - she might have let her surprise show, spotting Basch talking to the top of the bar and avoiding eye contact.

She doesn't have to look at Fran and Balthier to know they're enviably more relaxed about meeting up than she is. Unwilling to be thrown by something as silly as a foolish exchange with a man who is fathoms away from sober Ashe strides toward Basch, her shoulders squared, lips set in a thin line while she focuses on sizing the situation up.

"You must not lose consciousness before we arrive." There's a strange note to her voice, as though she were trying to sound comforting even while laying out a very firm provision. With a resigned sigh Ashe lingers beside Basch, her hand touching his side quickly before withdrawing, wordlessly signaling that she's ready to help him stand if it comes to that.

[bardische]

Curse those god-forsaken sky pirates. He ought to have known better than the trust they would not pull some childish trick on him. He sees them conferring quietly, Balthier's eyes flashing, and if he weren't already feeling like a dog with his tail between his legs, he very well might snarl at them.

"I assure you I have not drunk myself that far under the table--" he protests, but his words dry up when he feels her glancing touch at his side, and he has to close his eyes and clench his fist because, for a fleeting moment, the conversation that led to that ill-guided message is back in his mind and his body is threatening to take this gesture as meaning something.

"I can go back with these two, milady," he tries to continue, but he's cut off by Balthier's cheery, "Well, since the two of you have this handled, we'll see you tomorrow, hmm?"

"Balthier--" Basch protests but the other two have done what they do best and already slipped away, no doubt more of Balthier's meddling. He's fortunate that he's already flushed from the drinks, because some choice comments are coming back unbidden. She needs someone she can trust to help her loosen up and I've seen the way she looks at you when she doesn't think anyone is watching.

Determined to prove all of them wrong, he slides his stool back and stands, bracing against the counter. Only a little dizzy, though gods above he's going to be hung over tomorrow.

"I can see myself home," he insists, still keeping his eyes carefully averted. He can't right fathom why she's here after that message.

[dalmast]

Forgetting herself, she shoots one genuinely panicked look in Fran's direction after hearing Balthier bid them farewell before taking a step backward, working to get control of her expression and grateful Basch isn't looking at her when he gets back to his feet.

"Don't be foolish," she sputters, squaring her shoulders.

"Do you expect me to walk home behind you and pretend we aren't acquainted?" It would be no more ridiculous than those messages that brought her here in the first place - out of concern for his well-being rather than the blindsided curiosity still coursing through her, of course. Shaking her head, Ashe returns to Basch's side and looks up at him resting the urge to lean in and duck her head in an effort to catch his eye and make him look at her.

She tells herself it doesn't matter if he looks at her right now, and thus refrains.

"Shall we?" Ashe inclines her head toward the door while trying to figure out how fit he is to navigate on his own.

[bardische]

"I have utterly failed that directive for today and I do not see it improving," he grimaces, and then his shoulders sink lower. He's being too loose with his words and much too familiar with her.

But he grunts at her criticism of his plan, leaning back from the bar and finding he can stand alright. With a deep breath, he meets her eyes briefly before inclining his head. "I meant no disrespect. I simply thought you would wish to go on without me." Away from him. Not -- closer than she usually stands. His traitorous mind notes how lovely she smells, and a fantasy of her in a bath, her climbing onto him after flashes lightning-fast in his mind, and his cheeks flush anew.

He's relieved to focus on the much simpler issue of leaving this damned place. He takes a step, then another. The floor only tilts a little.

"I am going to have Balthier's pretty head for this," he grumbles. These thoughts had been pleasantly buried and locked before that pirate started his meddling, and now he wasn't certain how he was going to manage standing in the same room as her.

Gladio | TFLN continuiation

[bardische]

[ from here ]

Basch sits at the end of the bar's counter; it's early afternoon, and it's not particularly busy. His stein is half-empty, and he's been fidgeting with his phone since Gladio said he'd join him.

He glances up and catches his eye, waving him over. Inside, he's squirming, regretting all of this, but he's not one to back out once he's begun.

[ziedrich_bearer]

Hello. Don't mind him. He's just going to sit on the stool next to Basch, lean over the counter, and smile.

"Fancy seeing you here."

[bardische]

The one advantage to the phone was that Basch had privacy. Here his flush is exceedingly apparent.

But Gladio is here. So, he must not be doing too badly.

"My luck isn't all bad today, then." He returns the smile, expression bright.

[ziedrich_bearer]

Almost a good line. Gladio grins.

"That's a good one, if you're keeping a list."

[bardische]

Basch flushes deeper. He was trying to be sincere with that one. The grin is nice though.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

For Olivine

[bardische]

[ He has no awareness when he is in the deepest throes of transformation. It is one of the things that pains him most; reason does not matter, and more often than not, he cannot remember his actions. It is possible that the townsfolk have accused him of pure rumor, as humes will do when faced with fear.

But it is also possible that the truth in those rumors is more than mere seeds. That is what he fears most, and so he tries to keep himself to remote places before the change comes on.

That is how he comes to be in this remote section of would beyond a difficult pass in the mountains. Still, there are other humans who wish to be remote, and so, a massive wolf with sandy hair, he's gorging himself on a stray sheep he plucked from a passing flock when the first stirring of something strange strikes him. Even as a wolf, he recognizes the heralds of the transformation back. It is painful, and vulnerable. He whines, not wanting to relinquish his meal, but another strum of it, harder and stronger than ought to happen, and he's barreling off to find some protected hollow to hide in.

Except the change comes too fast, and utterly uneven. Lupine whines and snarls turn to the groans of a man, and when Olivine finds him, he's shaking and naked, his shape mostly human, but his hind legs still wolven, his ears and tail still pointedly wear, and thick fur covering his legs. Scars cover his skin, and sweat breaks over his body. ]

[massochism]

[Olivine is painfully aware of the instincts of fearful folk. it makes their testimonies shaky, though their concerns are no less valid. if something is terrorising the townsfolk, no matter the reason, something must be done. no person has actually been injured, which is a good sign.

soothing the masses comes first, aided by his reputation as a priest and a protector. his vow is to see to what's happening, to see that their lives are set right—nothing more or less. and so, it's with that in mind that he sets out among the trees. they've spoken of something like a wolf, sandy-furred and too large to be natural. there are a few possibilities thereby, based on his readings, but the priest doesn't want to make assumptions too soon. his feet are sure on the mountainous terrain, even when rocks and pebbles crackle down its surface, unearthed from beneath the dust and caked dirt.

it's the sound of a whine that pulls his attention first, too late to catch the knells of the sheep as he was. he finds that along the path, follows the passing, clumsy sounds into the thick of it all. it stops abruptly for the change, not that he knows that first—whines and snarls rising and fading into the night.

shaking, naked—Olivine can't tell if he's aware, but the sight of him informs a lot of what is and isn't happening here. a werewolf, he's fairly certain; he's never seen one, but there are few creatures that would be this... stuck in between. sweating and scarred, and the priest's brows knit compassionately as he steps forward. a twig snaps underfoot, and he already has his hands up in a semblance of surrender.]

Are you able to understand me?

[the voice that speaks is soft and worried, resonant even in this area. bright green eyes trail over Basch's body in search of injuries, trying to see past whatever blood must be from the earlier sheep. still, he's sure he's in pain, based on the way he's curled up, the scars. it's a danger to be so disarmed even so, but he doesn't care. if he attacks, Olivine will adjust in kind.]

[bardische]

[ He hears the man approaching, but all he can do is try to stifle his moans. His entire body aches and burns, cramps worsened by the rapidness of the change. He wants to thrash with pain. It will draw attention, though, so he tries to be still.

No use. That twig snaps and he snarls, trying to push himself up on all fours, except his limps aren't right, and his nose feels dull. His eyes swim, unfocused and heavy as he pants, trying to focus on the figure.

The words come slowly, like they're far away and muffled. He's still for a long moment, struggling to keep himself propped on his arms. If it had been someone else who found him, they very well may have taken him for a monster, bloodied and scarred, snarling and panting.

But, at last, he nods once, ears back and shoulders tense, but making no move toward aggression. Something feels off. He shouldn't have changes this fast, and his mind and senses are reeling trying to catch up, but he doesn't feel like whatever it is is dangerous, and so he doesn't bolt. Not that he'd get very far on this half-changed body. ]

[massochism]

Good... good. I'm not going to hurt you, but I am going to approach. Are you injured? I should be able to provide any healing you need.

[with those words, he does shift to move, stepping forward with an intake of breath. the scent of blood is strong, even to his nose... it's not as heavy and nauseating as something corrupted, but it certainly is notable. even still, once he's close enough to both observe Basch properly and also see his responses. there's no sense in assuming the were can speak in this moment, so he doesn't, instead moving as one might expect a man who's approaching a wary animal, intending to soothe uncertainty before assisting.

he's still mid-transformation... Olivine has to wonder if that's normal. werecreatures are rare, so the information on them is sparse at best, and it's a little frustrating. even whether they're this way because of a curse, or lineage, or sme other reason... there's just no information to help. his instinct to care for this man is still strong, and he doesn't know how. not yet, at least.]

[bardische]

[ The words don't quite penetrate. His body stays rigid and his eyes follow Olivine, something between a growl and a tired whimper emanates from him.

Priest. The man looks like a priest. Was that safe? Had Basch hurt someone and this man was here for revenge? He seemed calm, but the hunters knew how to lure their pray.

He whines, scrabbling back against the earthen basin he's in, skin scraping against stone and bark. His limbs don't work the way he expects, and the pain surges through him again. He cradles his face in his hands, shaking his head. This wasn't right. He was -- he had been a man much longer than a wolf.

A man who had sworn to protect others. ]

Stay...back... [ He rasps, the words a little soft, like his tongue is numb. But his hands are still padded, his nails still claws, and he can feel too-sharp teeth. He doesn't know if instincts will take over. He whines again. He doesn't want to kill this man, not yet anyway. ]

Tfln overflow: captcha's dead edition

[scapulet]

[from here]

Of course I would. I had quite a lot of fun in your company.

[not seen is the temptation to ask "do i want you to return to your own space?" And the amused smile therein. Sometimes one must simply be a bit more blunt with a partner.]

Re: Tfln overflow: captcha's dead edition

[bardische]

That is not always a direct link to wishing to keep my company the coming day. My apologies.

[ read: it usually isn't, and he's learned. ]

I could return with lunch, if it pleases you.

[scapulet]

Well, not everyone has taste, I suppose. Their loss.

Lunch sounds wonderful. I'll brew us some tea.

[bardische]

This is not the day I expected.

Thank you. I would like that.