stuck meme

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stuck meme

esuna off that paralysis Post toplevels, reply as usual. Hope you enjoy your quality time with your thread partner, now that you're stuck... 01. IN A CROWD — for bonus points: in a crowd, after an argument. 02. DEFENDING THE BASE — while you wait for reinforcements to arrive. Good luck! 03. ON A RAFT — or a manacutter or an airship or something, drifting towards a deserted island. 04. IN A RELATIONSHIP — that your thread partner is trying to break you out of. The relationship can be with someone else... or just your bed/pet/hobby/gambling habit. 05. IN A WAITING ROOM — while you're waiting to hear a healer/conjurer/physician/chirurgeon's assessment, and you really didn't want to run into anyone... or maybe you'd like some emotional support? 06. TRYING TO NAVIGATE — through the Ul'dahn marketplace, maybe, or Hawker's Alley, or any number of confusing Lominsan/Gridanian/Sharlayan alleyways. 07. STANDING GUARD — wherever might be applicable: outside the Rising Stones? Rowena's House of Splendors? Or maybe awkwardly in front of a bedroom with a near-stranger so that the person who hired you to keep watch can get it on inside... 08. WITH YOUR HAIR — caught in someone else's belt or leather sheath or inexplicable shoulder spike... oh, adventurers and their impractical clothing. 09. DELIVERING TERRIBLE NEWS — exactly what's on the tin. Sucks to be you. 10. DOING THE DISHES — at a restaurant where you forgot your wallet and couldn't pay the bill. 11. IN A LAKE — because this person caught you skinny-dipping and won't... go... away... 12. WAITING TO BE RANSOMED — in the actually-quite-loving care of some especially incompetent criminals. Enjoy being stuck! This meme was gently lifted off bakerstreet.

TEMPLATE CODED BY valoirs

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[valhourdin]

It will pass.

[ With that promise, Zephirin pushes himself up and back onto his heels, legs folded out of the way. One benefit of his discomfort is that he is awake, his thoughts clearer, and thus unlikely to fall victim to drowsiness in Francel's bed. ]

Is that your nameday wish?

[ A slice of rolanberry-and-cream cake. ]

[haillenarte]

Hm? [francel the prairie-dog blinks wide blue eyes at zephirin.]

Well, I never object to rolanberries and cream no matter what the occasion! So, yes, I suppose that is one nameday wish. But more than that, I...

[francel purses his lips in apparent contemplation, but the effect of it only serves to make his cheeks look even fuller. eventually, he sighs.]

...I would like someone to spend my nameday with me.

[valhourdin]

[ Francel's dearest nameday wish is phrased unusually — someone in place of my friends. Someone, as if any company would grant his wish, and his namedays are commonly a lonely occasion. ]

What of your friend?

[ The hard worker who marinates in sweat, though understandably, duty takes precedence over celebration. ]

[haillenarte]

Haurchefant?

[a dreamy fondness flutters past francel's expression at the mere sound of his friend's name, but it settles into gloominess soon enough.]

Ah... he is stationed in Camp Dragonhead, and is not like to return before the winter. I... I believe he is being groomed to fill the role of knight-captain there.

[the young lord shifts on his bed. at first he makes as if to sit cross-legged on it, but the nightgown he is wearing would leave him exposed, so he sits rather girlishly with his legs out to the side, as a noble lady might ride sidesaddle.]

...When I was younger, my nameday was always an... an occasion. My father would throw parties... take me hunting. But after an incident where I — where I was abducted by bandits, my family grew protective of me. They would not take me hunting... they threw no more parties. And, oh, I know it is sinful to long for those luxuries, but — nowadays, no one in the House so much as wishes me a pleasant nameday. I think they have all forgotten.

...Even Haurchefant forgets, if I do not remind him. But that is just the sort of man he is.

[valhourdin]

[ Francel's sweat-soaked, forgetful friend was once his valiant saviour; the boy's wistful look is no doubt meant for his preferred choice of company. But Haurchefant's duties will occupy much of his time, and Francel's family seems loath to see House Haillenarte's youngest anywhere but safely ensconced within the scholasticate grounds.

Francel, Zephirin thinks, longs less for past luxuries, for hunting and parties, than he does for simple companionship.

His nameday approaches soon enough that duty will not require Zephirin to break a promise made now. He is to be stationed within Ishgard, a sentry, until he regains his strength. ]

I am certain, Lord Joacin, that someone shall be found on the day...

[haillenarte]

Are you sure?

[once more francel moves his legs, pulling them up and hugging them to his chest. for all his six fulms and two inches (and he will grow five more before his growing is done), he does suddenly look very small.]

...Will he be a bell and a half late?

[valhourdin]

[ How might a friend respond?

Zephirin raises his hand, index finger outstretched, and brings it closer and closer to Francel's nose, stopping short of making contact. ]

Fury willing, he will keep his word and come on time.

[haillenarte]

[francel melts into a smile. once more, he moves his head closer to zephirin's finger, and completes the nose-booping with a face scrunched up in delight. he pulls back, smiling rather prettily, with a flutter of the eyelashes — and then he flops like a fish onto the bed, suddenly sprawling out all over it, sort of prostrating himself before zephirin in sheer glee. he's happy! he would like zephirin to also be happy.]

I will hold you to it, then!

[the young lord is still grinning from ear to ear. he turns his head upon his arm, so that he's looking at zephirin in a rather tilted way.]

...Do you want anything, Zephirin? Books? Clothes? Would you like me to continue the massage?

[this is the bribery of a boy with money and means and good breeding, and yet no one currently in ishgard that he can call a friend.]

[valhourdin]

[ How swiftly Francel's moods change, rain clouds dispersing for the sun to emerge. The boy was a mouse, a cat, and now he becomes an eager pup — he lacks a tail to wag, but he looks the part as he drops himself onto the mattress, beaming and making his offers in quick succession.

In return for the promise of his nameday remembered?

Drawing back, Zephirin first tilts his head, then shakes it. ]

The hour grows late. Have you not given me bells of your time?

[haillenarte]

[francel pouts, blowing his cheeks up with air for a moment before exhaling sharply in a quick sigh. he looks vaguely at zephirin's lap instead of his face.]

I would rather stay up with you than go to bed... Surely the Fury will not be displeased merely because I slept six bells instead of seven?

[he rests his head upon the mattress, lying face-down in the sheets. he doesn't move.]

[valhourdin]

[ Were Francel's age not a sore spot, his pouting might lead one to think him younger even than Zephirin's false estimate. It is, once again, strangely endearing.

Idly, Zephirin reaches out, and brushes his thumb over the back of Francel's nearest ear. ]

The Fury may not look kindly upon a visit to Saint Reymanaud's Cathedral when you come to rue sacrificing that seventh bell.

[haillenarte]

Mmmmnnngh...

[francel's unimpressed whine melts into a blissful sigh at that gentle brush to his ear. he relaxes visibly against the mattress, tension melting away in an instant as the ticklish sensation of warmth against his ear trickles down the back of his neck. the young lord turns his head so that his expression is visible (and, more importantly, so that he can breathe); his eyes flick up towards zephirin, and then he worms his way closer to the knight, turning on his side to be more comfortable.

silent pleading.]

...Then, will you stay until sleep claims me?

[valhourdin]

Until sleep claims you, my lord.

[ Zephirin wields his newfound power for good. His hand follows Francel, returning to the boy's ear, and there his thumb leisurely strokes its way along that ear's outer curves and lines, once, once more, smoothly and gently. ]

[haillenarte]

Good...

[the pillow is on the other side of the mattress, but the need for it is far from francel's mind as he lolls uselessly on the bed, eyelids trying desperately to not close. the prolonged ear contact seems to liquidize him; he practically melts into zephirin's touch, shivering, sinking heavier into the sheets. in francel's mind, he floats on the stars.]

...so kind. [francel half-laughs, half-sighs.] So, so kind... and gentle...

[valhourdin]

[ Francel's pillow is not within easy reach, but the pillow he gave Zephirin yet lies nearby, and after some moments of stroking Francel's ear, the knight's other hand adjusts the pillow's position, pushing it closer to Francel's head. His palm smooths out the creases in the pillow case's fabric. The movements are fluid, seemingly not premeditated.

Sleep seems near overtaking Francel, and Zephirin is silent. ]

[haillenarte]

[with an exhale of his breath too soft to be a sigh, francel wriggles just enough to plant his cheek on the cool pillow, and then goes still again. he is just conscious enough to realize that he would rather soothe his body's various aches and pains in a different position, though, and he rolls onto his other side without really thinking about it, thereby proffering zephirin his other ear.]

...please.

[that might have been a full, coherent sentence — more ear rubs, please — at some point, but it is one no longer after traveling through francel's disjointed and deliciously sleepy mind. his breaths are slow and deep.]

[valhourdin]

[ It is a splinter of a sentence, sleep-slurred, but its meaning is plain. Past experience guides Zephirin to interpret it, and he turns to Francel's other ear, repeating the same motions, with the same care. From earlobe to point to temple, and back, his thumb rubs small spirals upon Francel's skin, then longer strokes.

The result is somehow satisfying to observe. ]

[haillenarte]

[francel stirs for but a fraction of a second; he quivers weakly, as if he might have had another of his involuntary full-body shivers but is too drowsy to do so. his toes twitch, instead of curl. the young lord's lips are curled ever so slightly in his sleep, in a faint, dopey smile. he looks lost in the most pleasant of dreams. perhaps his mind conjures little lost haurchefant-sheep hopping through the highlands, or else a harem of ul'dahn masseuses, all of them zephirin, come to rub his ears.

whatever the case, zephirin's task is complete, and he has, in fact, stayed until sleep claimed francel.]

[valhourdin]

[ Zephirin's hand slowly withdraws from Francel's ear, taking up a corner of the bedsheets to cover his slumbering form, pulling them up to Francel's shoulders. He stays seated there in the quiet of the room as Francel breathes softly, until the boy's stillness is proof that Zephirin's promise is fulfilled. Then, cautiously, he unfolds himself, leaving the bed to see to putting on his boots before he extinguishes the lights.

Once outside the window, he pushes it shut — its weight will keep it from reopening to tempt any night-time intruders. ]

[haillenarte]

[only days later — under the stress of exams and assignment deadlines — does francel realize that he forgot to schedule a third "appointment" with zephirin.

he's upset and worried, but he doesn't really have the time to be upset and worried. francel considers trying to track zephirin down for a time — perhaps he could simply walk into the congregation of our knights most heavenly and ask? — but he just can't find the opportunity to do it when he has to study to make up for all the slacking off he's been doing. his oils and soaps are eventually cleared from his desk; apple cores get tossed into the scholasticate garden outside his window because the young lord cannot be bothered to go somewhere else to dispose of them.

exams come and go.

by the time the second sun of the second astral moon dawns — and his midterm grades have been posted, fury be praised — francel, too, has forgotten about his birthday. for a mercy, it is lightsday, when students are given a day of rest. francel walks the streets of ishgard, casually dressed and holding a small bag — he plans to go home to haillenarte manor, and take some of his favorite books from the manor library.]

[valhourdin]

[ Zephirin does not take it upon himself to arrange another meeting, whether a chance encounter in the pews of Saint Reymanaud's Cathedral or a visit to Francel's dormitory window. Some of his fellow knights have taken to entertaining themselves by embellishing his evening disappearances to the Pillars, pouncing upon every opportunity to ask after the mysterious lady who has at last sown the seeds of desire in Ser Zephirin's virtuous heart. They receive neither confirmation nor denial, but despite his innocence, Zephirin waits until the rumours burn out, lacking the fuel to stoke them.

The second sun of the second astral moon arrives. Off-duty for some bells, Zephirin begins his preparations: first, he makes for the markets.

The Jeweled Crozier is bustling with merchants and customers — among the latter is one young lord, wandering from stall to stall, stopping wherever any fair lady looks in need of his expert advice. Though appearances likely give away no such thing, Lord Emmanellain de Fortemps is here on a mission. ]

[haillenarte]

[francel continues leisurely walking down the crozier. sinful temptation. he meant only to go home and reread some beloved classics.m, but he pauses at the bookseller's, unable to resist the lure of some of the more expensive, lavishly decorated, jewel-covered tomes. ah, how lovely to own such beautiful books! but no, no; he is a seminarian and owning them would only subject him to more torment and teasing than he already has to deal with.

the scholasticate is a den of vipers. francel's gentle heart struggles to survive in it.

(he has told no one of the bullying that has come his way at the hands of some of the noble boys from other high houses.)

sighing, francel allows his fingers merely to stroke a pretty cover with a quilted pattern before he turns... and walks headlong into emmanellain de fortemps.]

Ah, please excuse me...

[thelofty]

[ Turning to an adjacent stand, Emmanellain completes the collision. His feet tangle with Francel's, his elbow catches something soft, and Emmanellain's purchases are knocked from his hands. Among them is a vial that shatters on impact, splashing its contents onto the young lord's fingers and sleeves, onto any other unfortunate thing in its path.

The air fills with an overpoweringly sweet fragrance. ]

[haillenarte]

[that "something soft" was francel's own arm; he reached out instinctively to catch emmanellain before he fell. wide-eyed in shock, francel pays the sweet-smelling fragrance on his gaiters and breeches no mind, although he cannot help but utter:]

L-Lord Emmanellain?!

[just the very last person he wanted to see.]

[thelofty]

Ah, if it isn't House Haillenarte's scholar!

[ The broken vial is a waste of fine rose oil, but no sudden shortage threatens Ishgard, so Emmanellain pays it no further mind himself, only searching his pockets for a handkerchief. And searching. And searching. ]

What brings you here, away from your books? We barely see you about, of late — one day they'll send word that Lord Francel was swallowed up by some great dusty tome.