dpscheck | stuck meme

[ Francel's drawing closer has them walking arm in arm, but Zephirin leaves it be, only taking care to do his part in navigating the halls while Francel's eyes are occupied. Though Francel knows the way and must take the lead, Zephirin divides his attention between the placement of walls and furniture, and the inquisitive boy beside him.

No one has had cause to ask the questions that Francel asks. They unseal old memories. ]

Now and again, though we oft fancied ourselves Ishgard's future knights instead.

[ That, of course, is not an uncommon game. For a child, its aim was to have fun. ]

[there is something wonderful in the way that, as a temple knight, zephirin has realized his boyhood aspirations. francel thinks back to his own boyhood days. haurchefant, too, only ever wanted to be a knight; it was his all-encompassing desire, his single-minded pursuit. francel wonders if zephirin was the same — if zephirin, like haurchefant, spent countless moonlit knights drenched in sweat and swinging his blade.

the young lord, for his part, never dreamed of knighthood.]

And did you slay dragons... rescue damsels in distress... ride into the sunset upon makeshift chocobos?

[the question is not unkindly meant. francel giggles at the imagery.]

[ Zephirin glances away from the stretch of floor ahead, back down at Francel, whose depiction of a game of knights could be taken for personal experience — yet the boy walks a path different to Zephirin's, and it seems that his interests lay elsewhere from childhood. Zephirin's playing at knightly deeds with wooden swords became training in earnest, day after day. ]

We faced many a stone dragon to rescue unseen damsels upon our silent steeds.

[ Distant and hazy are the days of imaginary dragons, damsels, and chocobos. The knight shrugs. ]

And you?

[the young lord blinks in surprise as he finds zephirin's eyes fixed upon him once more. those fingers of his that are curled tound zephirin's wrist twitch involuntarily. he clutches the rabit a little closer to himself as he lowers his eyes to the carpet.]

...Do you promise not to laugh?

[after waiting briefly for some acknowledgement, francel plows on:]

...I... I always wanted to be the damsel in distress, myself. Someone beloved enough to be rescued from the jaws of evil...

[ Zephirin does not laugh. Some might deride it, but this confession, too, reflects a longing for something perhaps scarce at the time, much like companions with whom Francel could spend his nameday.

And Francel's wish came true.

To make such remarks would be callous, and Zephirin keeps the thought unsaid. Several moments pass in silence. ]

I imagine your friends would have thanked you.

[ After all, most insist on playing the valiant knight. ]

[francel shakes his head, smiling. he understands that, in the end, he did play that role for haurchefant, paving the way to his knighthood — but he never played that role so blatantly in their childhood games of pretend, and most importantly, haurchefant never kissed him after the rescue.

there are other things that francel desires from the role of the damsel, none of which he can explain to zephirin.]

Perhaps. I never played at being rescued when I was with them.

[at last they reach the door to the kitchens, where the truly fantastic smell of francel's pudding wafts out from within, warm and welcoming as a summer breeze. at last francel removes his hand from zephirin's wrist; playfully, he uses the rabbit's hands to push the door open.

the head chef stands past the doors — a pretty elezen woman with a neat apron tied round her waist, and oven mitts round her hands to protect her fingers from the heat of the pan she is removing from the oven. if she is surprised at all by francel's new companions, it does not show on her face. she chides him with all the loving impatience of a mother. "lord francel, once more you forget that this oven heats faster than the others," she says, sliding his (indeed lopsided) cups of pudding off the pan and onto a wooden platter. "if i had not intervened, your pudding would have burnt to a crisp!"]

Oh! A thousand apologies, Madam Adrienne. The other ovens were occupied, and I forgot...

Edited 2017-06-16 15:19 (UTC)

[ No rules state that the damsel must be a maiden, but the secret wish that Francel harboured would have been unusual, unexpected. Apparently confessing it for the first time only now, perhaps he feared laughter even then. Yet he is nevertheless easily cast in his desired role, and less so as a knight himself.

They say no more on it.

At the doorway to the kitchens, Zephirin takes up position a step behind Francel to assist the rabbit in holding the door open (quite suddenly, he notices the absence of the touch upon his wrist, a shift in weight and temperature), inclining his head in greeting as Madam Adrienne's gentle scolding finishes. The air carries not a trace of a burnt odour; Francel's lopsided cups of pudding were rescued in time. ]

My apologies, madam. Lord Francel was summoned when I arrived.

[madam adrienne sniffs haughtily, but her criticism is well-met, and the woman has earned the right to scold her young lord by virtue of her many long years of service and her excellent cooking. "leave the cups here," is her command. "i will take care of them when you are finished."

with that, she briskly sheds her oven mitts, and exits through a back door.

embarrassed at being scolded by a woman not unlike his mother (though his real mother was gentler, softer, not unlike francel himself), the youngest son of house haillenarte sheepishly scratches his cheek and motions vaguely towards the cups of pudding on the wooden platter.]

...W-Well, shall we? The cups are small, so I made four — two for each of us. You are welcome to upend them and drizzle syrup on top.

Edited 2017-06-17 22:55 (UTC)

[ Implicitly they have leave to eat their pudding where they are, in Madam Adrienne's dominion, and unsupervised, at that. Zephirin follows Francel to the platter, selecting one of the cups and a spoon for himself. Eating straight from the cup creates the least amount of work for the servants, but for the moment, Zephirin goes no further than holding the cup in his palm, the spoon between his fingers. ]

What would you recommend?

[ The sweet scent upon the air promises to prove Francel's claims true. His pudding's appearance does not detract from its taste — if anything, its charm enhances it. ]

[the lordling smiles, strangely shy; he is nervous to have his handiwork evaluated by his new friend. his recommendation is implied in the way he nudges a small plate and a pitcher of syrup closer to zephirin.]

...I... like to put some extra effort into their presentation, but I admit that they don't look very good, regardless...

[ To take Francel's advice, Zephirin carefully turns his cup over, sealed against the plate. When he lifts it, the pudding slides free with a slight wobble, a miniature mountain peak overlooking porcelain flatlands. One side droops, and the spoonful of syrup drizzled over the pudding trickles down that side, making rivers and tributaries, pooling at last into a small lake at the foot of the mountain.

Zephirin glances up from his interpretation of Francel's recommendation, at Francel himself. ]

Truth be told, I know little of the standards by which the comeliness of pudding is judged.

[somehow the knight's ignorance only makes him that much more appealing. zephirin uses more syrup than does francel, ordinarily, but the effect is neverthheless pleasing, and francel claps his hands in delight.]

No, that looks lovely! All the High House chefs present pudding this way. Truthfully, I've never known why. But it feels somehow less satisfyying to see it out of the cup.

[after a pause, francel reaches out and slides his own cup of pudding free against the plate. his is somehow less stable; it wobbles and jiggles for a time, pleasantly springy, and when francel pours syrup over its strangely-shaped top, he creates a mountain in drought: the rivers and streams of syrup trickle halfway down the mound of pudding, and then no farther. those imaginary villagers that live at the base of the pudding mountain shall have to climb it halfway to get their daily allotment of syrup.]

Isn't it lovely to see how it wobbles? When I was especially young, that motion alone could keep me entertained...

[ While Zephirin has never before formed distinct feelings of his own towards the wobbliness of pudding, at least to his recollection, once again it takes no effort to imagine Francel as a child, admiring his servings of pudding with rapt attention. Zephirin surveys their twin peaks, one drenched, one dipping into a crater at its summit to collect most of Francel's syrup.

Picking up his plate, he still leaves his pudding untouched, and, perhaps on a sudden whim, offers it to Francel. ]

Shall we trade?

[francel tilts his head, as if trying to make sense of zephirin's offer — what difference does it make? — but it is his heart's desire to give zephirin his heart's desire, and francel does not refuse.]

If you like!

[with a slow, gentle motion of his hands, he turns both of their plates so that zephirin has the less syrupy plate of pudding, and he has the syrup-laden mountain, the placid lakeside view. he looks into zephirin's eyes, searching for a reaction.]

Better?

[ Zephirin's handiwork makes Francel's pudding sweeter, but Francel's reaction was Zephirin's single goal; he does not covet one serving in particular over another. Finally he takes his spoon to his new plate, filling it with a scoop of pudding from the top of the mound. ]

Thank you.

[ The end result is the same, sampling a mouthful of syrup-soaked pudding. Francel looks expectant, as he did at the bakery, and Zephirin obliges, the spoon raised to his lips and granted entry. He chews thoughtfully, eyes lowered.

His verdict comes ere the suspense builds overmuch. ]

I see you possess many talents, Joacin.

Truly?

[francel seems to glow with pleasure — he feels as though he walks on clouds. he claps his hands in delight, straightening in his seat to appropriately meet zephirin's praise.]

Then a weight has been lifted from my shoulders! I was so worried you would not like it. I thought of making something else, just in case, but — oh, I am so happy to hear that you are pleased!

[ Zephirin scoops up another spoonful of pudding, this one from the mound's base — concentrated at the top, the syrup is too sweet for his liking. He finds himself deriving greater enjoyment from the effect of the outcome of Francel's endeavours on the boy, the sheer elated relief on Francel's part.

Embers of satisfaction glow anew. ]

Truly. [ Zephirin's hand indicates their plates, inviting Francel to join him. ] Your pudding tastes as heavenly as you claimed.

[francel seems to melt at zephirin's words, rolling slowly towards the table as if he himself is made of syrup. with his head in his arms and his cheek resting lightly against his wrist, the young lordling seems strangely mischeivous as he looks up and drinks in zephirin's praise, the details of zephirin's handsome face as he eats the pudding francel worked so diligently to make.

he feels, somehow, that this is a perfect moment. his expression is dreamy-happy, almost like the face he makes when zephirin rubs his ears.]

I'm so glad...

[it is a good thing that zephirin's poker face lends itself well to white lies. at length francel straightens himself, taking up a nearby spoon to dig into his own syrup-laden pudding with evident enjoyment. apparently francel has no issues whatsoever with the too-sweet syrup.]

I can make anything else you'd like, incidentally...

[he offers this shyly, between bites of pudding.]

Soups and stews or more hearty fare... I would be happy and honored if you could dine here with me more often.

[ The pudding unaccompanied has a pleasant flavour, and Zephirin alternates between its upper and lower halves, neatly working his way through each bite, though he pauses to look up from his plate at Francel when the boy speaks. Approval gained and soaked up seems to whet Francel's appetite for more to satisfy a craving.

Is it proof to his heart that he has secured a friend's loyalty?

Francel spoke of betrayal, the night of their first appointment. ]

So long as I am able, I will come. My one regret is that I cannot extend to you any such offer.

[in lieu of a proper response, francel giggles, squeezing the plush bunny against his chest. he leans forward for several more spoonfuls of pudding, carefully moving the rabbit to the side so that there is no risk of syrup dripping into its fur.]

...After we finish here, we should go to my room. I must needs put my new friend to bed.

[he means the rabbit... surely.]

[ Zephirin's assumption is that Francel refers to his rabbit, but someone listening from an angle that obscures the toy could misinterpret the boy's plans, turning Zephirin into a living doll at the mercy of Francel's whims. The knight nods calmly, as though the suggestion is a customary part of an evening such as this. ]

Certainly.

[ Another four spoonfuls clear Zephirin's plate, and he folds his hands on his side of the table. ]

Will you tell your brother of him?

[francel takes longer to clear his plate, forcing zephirin to wait a few minutes' time — but when at last he does so, he leans back in his seat, happy and sated and full of pudding. he seems somehow to radiate a rosy glow.]

I suppose I should. It would be strange if I did not.

[he rubs his cheek against his new friend's soft, furry ears, and then smiles, rising from his seat.]

Shall we?

[ The minutes of waiting for Francel to finish his pudding pass quickly; Zephirin watches Francel as Francel watched him, albeit in more reserved a fashion and for the sole reason that the boy is seated across from him. Francel eats his beloved dessert as daintily as he eats rolanberry cake — when at ease. ]

Then he has written?

[ Or rather, a letter has arrived since Francel aired his worries the day before.

Rising with his host, Zephirin readjusts the placement of his vacated chair and his empty plate, and allows Francel to take the lead once more. ]

Oh! [francel laughs.] You meant Chlodebaimt — I thought you were talking about Aurvael!

[the young lord snuggles his rabbit for another moment, and then begins marching toward his room.]

Well, Aurvael shall see this little fluffbucket before long, so yes, I will have to introduce them to each other. Chlodebaimt, on the other hand, has not yet written. But I shall write to him again ere long, and I will tell him of my new friends.

[at the very least, today, francel seems to have fewer worries, fewer anxieties, about the relationship between him and his thirdborn brother.]

[ A step behind Francel as the boy lavishes his earnest affection upon his "fluffbucket", Zephirin finds his attention still held captive — but then, Francel is quite unlike any other friend made, neither boyhood playmate nor brother-in-arms. Yesterday's rain clouds are nowhere in sight.

Lapsing into a pensive silence, the knight once again closes his eyes, though he intends to mind his surroundings. ]

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