stuck meme

[parser]

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]

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.

[haillenarte]

I — er — I had exams...

[by some miracle francel understands emmanellain's fmubling. he reaches into his own pocket and pulls out a clean handkerchief, largely unadorned except for the house haillenarte sigil sewn into its corner. he proffers it for emmanellain's use — he figures rose oil is not the worst thing emmanellain could wipe onto one of his handkerchiefs.]

I was just on my way to Haillenarte Manor to, er... [pick up more books.] See my lord father.

[thelofty]

Of course, I expected as much...

[ Francel's handkerchief is thoroughly used, soaking up the remainder of the oil coating Emmanellain's fingers after his essentially wiping them clean during his search, before Emmanellain holds it back out to its owner, crumpled and scented. The young lord then stoops to collect his scattered belongings. ]

And I wager you'll celebrate your freedom by burying your nose in another book.

[ Emmanellain sighs over Francel, the lost cause. ]

[haillenarte]

[francel is put on the defensive. somewhat annoyed, he jams his handkerchief back into his pocket, jostling his small empty bag — the one he meant to put books in — with every movement.]

Well, what do you propose I do instead?

[he does not stoop to help emmanellain collect his things. not his problem. jerkface.]

[thelofty]

[ Very soon Emmanellain will have a steadfast minder companion ever at his side, but until then, he has no choice but to pick up and carry his things using his own two hands. Francel's willingness to help his sister's long-time suitor evidently stops at lending him his handkerchief.

Balancing his retrieved purchases in his arms, Emmanellain straightens to shrug. ]

Were I in your place, my dear fellow, I would seize my chance to live. You're... How old are you now? You must have something you do for enjoyment, something besides reading or pining for Haurchefant's visits.

[haillenarte]

I —

[the quip about his age makes francel bristle. were he a miqo'te, his ears and tail would stand up on end.]

I do plenty, thank you very much! What of you? Do you do aught but drink in taverns and pine for my sister?

[thelofty]

[ Emmanellain is not so set on learning Francel's age anew that he presses the lordling on the matter, least of all when Francel's retort is such a low blow. It captures Emmanellain's days rather accurately, but there are better ways to phrase a description of his usual activities — honing his skills to master Ishgard's social landscape, unwaveringly carrying Laniaitte in his thoughts... ]

I? I do plenty, which, yes, takes me to Ishgard's various establishments from time to time. And of course not a day goes by that my heart is not with my lady!

[ This is a victor's grin. ]

You know, you could satisfy your interest in my daily routine by joining me — it is, after all, a thing better witnessed than explained at length.

[haillenarte]

I have no interest in your daily routine — the question was rhetorical, you clod.

[the scent of rose is beginning to cloy in the back of francel's throat. he turns over a shard of broken vial with his foot. it occurs to the young lord that someone should remove the glass before a child steps upon it — he uses the side of his shoe to slide the glass over to a nearby stone wall, where, hopefully, no drunkards will collapse tonight.]

I am sure your daily routine begins and ends with copious amounts of rose oil.

[thelofty]

[ Transferring his insubstantial burden to one arm, Emmanellain pokes at the tip of Francel's nose with his free hand's index finger. The rose oil's scent clings to his skin. He still wears his smile. ]

Yes, yes, you have no interest in my daily routine, yet you're the one choosing to bring up how it begins and ends! I've a mind to come to your day's rescue... Tell me, what are the many things you plan to do while you have the time?

[haillenarte]

[this right here is why francel always has to remind himself that he hates emmanellain. surely his lifestyle is no one's business but his own? clearly irritated, francel pulls his empty bag closer to himself, as if it will shield him from emmanellain's verbal assault. he briefly considers just walking away. sarcasm drips from his response.]

Mayhap I will call one of my many and varied lovers to my bedchambers for a night of passion? Haldrath's wounds, I am to be a priest, Emmanellain; what am I to do but give my time in service of the Fury?

[thelofty]

[ Francel, Emmanellain realizes, has a nose perfectly shaped for prodding. It's a dainty, slightly upturned nose, not bulbous or hooked or overly pointed. An irritated Francel is far less of a bore than a quiet, pious Francel with his tiny nose stuck in a book, too.

Emmanellain lets his hand fall, shrugging once more. ]

Mayhap you should start a collection in time for your next nameday — you don't really think that every one of your schoolmates prays the rosary day and night, and has the Enchiridion memorized from cover to cover?

[haillenarte]

Of course not.

[it is a well-known fact that some seminarians use their time in the seminary to, well, indulge in the world's pleasures as much as possible before they make their vows and don their klobuks; this is why francel's "friends" complain that he receives too few visitors through his most excellent bay window. francel is not that sort of seminarian, but that doesn't mean he doesn't sometimes wish he was.

groaning — knowing he will not be rid of emmanellain until he acquiesces to some harebrained adventure (and never the fun kind of adventure, the way haurchefant could make a trip to the crozier seem like a venture into the sea of clouds) — poor francel shifts his weight, glaring a challenge into emmanellain's blue eyes.]

Fine. What is it you propose I do? Accompany you to the Forgotten Knight?

[thelofty]

[ Emmanellain's answer is to throw his unoccupied arm around Francel's shoulders, jostling him, but with something of an overbearing parent's pride. ]

A daring first step! I never knew you had it in you, Francel! Why not, I say — you'll find no better mentor than yours truly. Shall we be off?

[ Francel's empty bag catches Emmanellain's interest. If Francel isn't using it to carry anything within, others could.

At the Crozier's far end, Zephirin makes his purchases: an apple first, before he comes to a stall where orchestrion rolls are sold. A look up and down the market place's length to consider his options takes his gaze to the back of Francel's head, and the youth draped over the young lord. A friend's nameday well wishes, perhaps? ]