What—or rather whom your carbuncle wishes to lay with each night is merely its own business.
[He's now completely certain Alfeoux lacks seriousness in his inquiries, which makes this a little less annoying.]
However, as far as the morality of carbuncles, I do suppose you have a point. Carbuncles are creatures that serve their master's will, and to what end—while not of their own design—still reflects upon them. Be it just or villainous.
A piteous existence, truly.
[Of course, it seems like he's trying to ramble on about carbuncles, and not his contempt for summoners. Even he knows he cannot run from answering that forever, so after a moment of silence, he lets out an even, thoughtful breath.]
One could compare carbuncles to primals, truth be told. However, to what ends we use these summoned beings—and how we bring them to our plane—bespeaks our values.
Summoners seem to care for precious little outside themselves. A trait I rather abhor.
[fury have mercy, this man loves carbuncles. if alfeoux weren't already so good at keeping a straight (well, half-smirking) face, he'd be laughing right about now.]
Ah, so it is the morality of taming beastman gods you object to? Interesting — yes, interesting...
[alfeoux lounges in his chair like an emperor at rest; his carbuncle takes a seat in front of khamu'wo, wagging its long tails. evidently it is no longer at risk of being turned into a monstrosity, but alfeoux's strange imagination seems to be conjuring up other plans.]
But what if... yes, what if... an enterprising young man developed, hmm, a jet black carbuncle, bedecked in the chains of some forbidden demon sealed away, with the leathery wings of a voidsent succubus... yes, what if carbuncles had wings?
[His personal office is in total carbuncle decor, his love for carbuncle knows no bounds. Nor shame.]
Deeper than just morality—what actions oft spawn from such questionable values is the crux of my discontent.
[Adjusting his red-framed glasses, Khamu'wo looks over the Elezen before him. Cursing himself at how long his eyes lay upon him, before looking elsewhere with a sense of casualness. No, he was not checking him out, thank you very much. He is a man of strong MORAL FIBER!!!]
That man may face ridicule and disgust. Particularly from the guild, but moreover from the city-states themselves. Perhaps even exiled for such taboo acts.
[Finally, he lets his eyes meet his company's.]
Pray tell me, would this—how did you put it—enterprising young man feel his obtuse dark aesthetics and tainted carbuncle with wings worth pariahdom?
[alfeoux is a rather attractive man, yes, thank you for noticing — soft-featured and fair of face, with the cold, steely bedroom eyes of a much harder man. he smirks broadly when he notices master zhwan staring for just a little too long; as a reward, he pops the collar of his halonic exorcist's robe open, exposing the middle of his chest in a way that a real halonic exorcist would most definitely never.]
Oh, I'd rather earn the crown of a pariah any number of other ways...
[as if on cue, his carbuncle hops over and leaps into his lap, snuggling up to alfeoux's belly, just below where that cursed stretch of exposed skin ends.]
[Khamu'wo's eyes linger once more, but with a silent curse under his breath, he looks back to his papers. Pretending that something important that escaped his notice suddenly became clear within their documentation.]
I see. So—one could wager this is a plot to follow after your crowning, then?
[Instinctively his eyes fell to the carbuncle that once seemed to plead for his help, now clearly stabbing him in the back by snuggling up to the inappropriate amount of skin Alfeoux chose to share.
With a tight jaw, Khamu'wo looks back to his papers. Clearing this throat, he speaks again, but with an obvious edge that was not there before:]
Pray, cover yourself. This is a place for learning, not lechery.
[That last word is dripping with disgust and judgment, almost as if a candle had been blown out, leaving nothing but the cold, unfriendly dark that the warm glow of its flame once fought off.]
[plainly pleased to see that he's worn through khamu'wo's thin veneer of professionalism and fully pissed him off now, alfeoux leans back in his seat, petting the adorably round rump of his loyal carbuncle with uncharacteristic affection.]
Mmm? But it is so very hot, Master Zhwan. I am Ishgardian, you know — I was not made to abide this terrible Lominsan heat.
[again, carbuncles should not be able to express smugness, of all things, but alfeoux's carbuncle stretches out, resting its plush cheek against the fine curve of its master's pectoral muscles. it looks directly at khamu'wo with half-lidded eyes and an expression that — on a carbuncle — seems to pass for a smirk. jealous?]
[His jaw could cramp with how hard he's clenching it. A small miracle his teeth do not crack under the pressure. Khamu'wo tries not to give heed to stereotypes, but it is not as if his ears have not heard the tales of Ishgardians, and how they conduct themselves at times. Infidelity being rather high, some rumors would say, and Alfeoux is giving proof to such claims.]
Poor planning is what I would name that, but scant is that a fault of mine, nor those of this school.
[A brief glance towards the carbuncle only seems to rile him more—how can something so cute betray him so? While he attempts to keep his ears and tail in check—not wanting either to broadcast his emotions—the irritated flick of an ear gets through his guard.]
If you do not keep yourself presentable, I will be forced to ask you to leave.
[Khamu'wo is trying his utmost to stay professional here, but this damn Ishgardian is truly testing him.]
[well, isn't that little ear flick just adorable? this is fun, and since alfeoux really doesn't care whether or not someone asks him to leave, he has no real intention of keeping himself presentable — none at all.
what he can do, however, is present the pretense of presentability. smiling, alfeoux raises his arms and tucks them behind his head in a movement that only accentuates his slim, toned figure. he allows his carbuncle to attempt to do his robe up for him — rather adorably, it takes up a corner of the fabric in his mouth, struggling to hook the fabric closed. see, master zhwan? they're making an effort.]
Oh, very well, very well. I shall stay as modest as a man of my profession ought to be.
[Khamu'wo forces his eyes to his papers, trying to diligently ignore what display the carbuncle is assisting with. At least he's getting covered again, or rather attempting at least. Khamu'wo's anxieties can rest for a time knowing that.]
Is it because you are outside of your city-state? Is this why you feel safe to act not as a man of the cloth?
[He asks because Alfeoux felt the need to bring it up.
[Somehow that offends Khamu'wo more. A priest who wants to exercise a freedom he seldom can is understandable, at least. He doesn't condone it, of course, feeling those who have sworn themselves to an ideology should remain ever faithful to it—but he can understand momentary weaknesses.
But this... arsehole here, this incorrigible man who wishes to tease and tantalize with toned and tender flesh has not even that excuse—nay, there is nothing forgivable about this.
With ears folded back, his tail rigid, Khamu'wo slams his hands down on his desk as he raises from his seat. Staring down at the Ishgardian before him, he snarls in distaste.]
Not only are you a shameless lecher, but too a fraudulent Father? 'Tis one thing to act outside the norms of your society when you are far from its belly, but quite another to pretend you have a position you do not. Particularly to gain satisfaction that is ill owed to you. You are reprehensible and I condemn you for such tastelessness and treachery.
[With a swift and angry gesticulation of his hand, he points to the door. He nearly hisses the word out in his frustration:]
[with a laugh, alfeoux gathers his things — well, he doesn't have things to gather, really. his carbuncle finally manages to hook his shirt closed so that only his neck and collarbone is bared; its task complete, it squeaks and fades away in a flash of light. rising from his chair, alfeoux dusts off the hem of his robes. he's had enough fun, too.]
Ah, that is cute. That little tic with the ears and tail? Adorable. Those bared teeth of yours are charming, too — but then of course they are. I've always been partial to beasts.
[ready to take his leave after several minutes of needling khamu'wo, alfeoux begins casting a teleport spell, all elegant glow and purple flares of light at his ankles. as he disappears, he waves and smiles.]
[Khamu'wo couldn't even reply to what Alfeoux left him with. To swift was the exit, and too slow was his jumbled angry mind. Khamu'wo, a man who fashions himself an intellectual, a man of knowledge, resolve, logic... and yet he was reduced to this from a brief interaction with an attractive and infuriating man. Has he truly risen above his nature? Is he so different from those he had left behind.
As moments that feel like bells pass, he sinks in his chair, eyes falling to the papers that worked more as distractions than their original purpose, he decides that perhaps it's well past time he heads back to the Free Company estate. Today has been quite enough for his tired gay little heart.]
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valoirs
no subject
[He's now completely certain Alfeoux lacks seriousness in his inquiries, which makes this a little less annoying.]
However, as far as the morality of carbuncles, I do suppose you have a point. Carbuncles are creatures that serve their master's will, and to what end—while not of their own design—still reflects upon them. Be it just or villainous.
A piteous existence, truly.
[Of course, it seems like he's trying to ramble on about carbuncles, and not his contempt for summoners. Even he knows he cannot run from answering that forever, so after a moment of silence, he lets out an even, thoughtful breath.]
One could compare carbuncles to primals, truth be told. However, to what ends we use these summoned beings—and how we bring them to our plane—bespeaks our values.
Summoners seem to care for precious little outside themselves. A trait I rather abhor.
no subject
Ah, so it is the morality of taming beastman gods you object to? Interesting — yes, interesting...
[alfeoux lounges in his chair like an emperor at rest; his carbuncle takes a seat in front of khamu'wo, wagging its long tails. evidently it is no longer at risk of being turned into a monstrosity, but alfeoux's strange imagination seems to be conjuring up other plans.]
But what if... yes, what if... an enterprising young man developed, hmm, a jet black carbuncle, bedecked in the chains of some forbidden demon sealed away, with the leathery wings of a voidsent succubus... yes, what if carbuncles had wings?
[yes. he is trying to design a gothbuncle.]
no subject
Deeper than just morality—what actions oft spawn from such questionable values is the crux of my discontent.
[Adjusting his red-framed glasses, Khamu'wo looks over the Elezen before him. Cursing himself at how long his eyes lay upon him, before looking elsewhere with a sense of casualness. No, he was not checking him out, thank you very much. He is a man of strong MORAL FIBER!!!]
That man may face ridicule and disgust. Particularly from the guild, but moreover from the city-states themselves. Perhaps even exiled for such taboo acts.
[Finally, he lets his eyes meet his company's.]
Pray tell me, would this—how did you put it—enterprising young man feel his obtuse dark aesthetics and tainted carbuncle with wings worth pariahdom?
no subject
Oh, I'd rather earn the crown of a pariah any number of other ways...
[as if on cue, his carbuncle hops over and leaps into his lap, snuggling up to alfeoux's belly, just below where that cursed stretch of exposed skin ends.]
no subject
I see. So—one could wager this is a plot to follow after your crowning, then?
[Instinctively his eyes fell to the carbuncle that once seemed to plead for his help, now clearly stabbing him in the back by snuggling up to the inappropriate amount of skin Alfeoux chose to share.
With a tight jaw, Khamu'wo looks back to his papers. Clearing this throat, he speaks again, but with an obvious edge that was not there before:]
Pray, cover yourself. This is a place for learning, not lechery.
[That last word is dripping with disgust and judgment, almost as if a candle had been blown out, leaving nothing but the cold, unfriendly dark that the warm glow of its flame once fought off.]
no subject
Mmm? But it is so very hot, Master Zhwan. I am Ishgardian, you know — I was not made to abide this terrible Lominsan heat.
[again, carbuncles should not be able to express smugness, of all things, but alfeoux's carbuncle stretches out, resting its plush cheek against the fine curve of its master's pectoral muscles. it looks directly at khamu'wo with half-lidded eyes and an expression that — on a carbuncle — seems to pass for a smirk. jealous?]
no subject
Poor planning is what I would name that, but scant is that a fault of mine, nor those of this school.
[A brief glance towards the carbuncle only seems to rile him more—how can something so cute betray him so? While he attempts to keep his ears and tail in check—not wanting either to broadcast his emotions—the irritated flick of an ear gets through his guard.]
If you do not keep yourself presentable, I will be forced to ask you to leave.
[Khamu'wo is trying his utmost to stay professional here, but this damn Ishgardian is truly testing him.]
no subject
what he can do, however, is present the pretense of presentability. smiling, alfeoux raises his arms and tucks them behind his head in a movement that only accentuates his slim, toned figure. he allows his carbuncle to attempt to do his robe up for him — rather adorably, it takes up a corner of the fabric in his mouth, struggling to hook the fabric closed. see, master zhwan? they're making an effort.]
Oh, very well, very well. I shall stay as modest as a man of my profession ought to be.
[he's not even a real priest!]
no subject
Is it because you are outside of your city-state? Is this why you feel safe to act not as a man of the cloth?
[He asks because Alfeoux felt the need to bring it up.
no subject
[...and he'll admit to it, too!]
But I love to hear strangers call me "Father."
no subject
But this... arsehole here, this incorrigible man who wishes to tease and tantalize with toned and tender flesh has not even that excuse—nay, there is nothing forgivable about this.
With ears folded back, his tail rigid, Khamu'wo slams his hands down on his desk as he raises from his seat. Staring down at the Ishgardian before him, he snarls in distaste.]
Not only are you a shameless lecher, but too a fraudulent Father? 'Tis one thing to act outside the norms of your society when you are far from its belly, but quite another to pretend you have a position you do not. Particularly to gain satisfaction that is ill owed to you. You are reprehensible and I condemn you for such tastelessness and treachery.
[With a swift and angry gesticulation of his hand, he points to the door. He nearly hisses the word out in his frustration:]
Leave.
no subject
Ah, that is cute. That little tic with the ears and tail? Adorable. Those bared teeth of yours are charming, too — but then of course they are. I've always been partial to beasts.
[ready to take his leave after several minutes of needling khamu'wo, alfeoux begins casting a teleport spell, all elegant glow and purple flares of light at his ankles. as he disappears, he waves and smiles.]
Bye-bye now, Master Zhwan. I had fun.
no subject
As moments that feel like bells pass, he sinks in his chair, eyes falling to the papers that worked more as distractions than their original purpose, he decides that perhaps it's well past time he heads back to the Free Company estate. Today has been quite enough for his tired
gaylittle heart.]