dpscheck | stuck meme

Zeph — Ser Zephirin!

[at last the man that francel has been waiting for arrives. the young lord recognizes zephirin's spring-green eyes past the mask; his slightly muffled voice; his stiff posture. in his excitement, francel leaps to his feet, momentarily abandoning ser guerrique behind him in order to rush to zephirin's side.

it is only the cautionary measure of being called lord francel and not joacin that keeps him from throwing himself into zephirin's arms. his eagerness thus restrained, francel laces his hands behind his back, still smiling shyly; he wiggles his shoulders unconsciously, swaying from side to side, in the manner of a blushing maid with a surprise to present her betrothed. his reddened cheeks lend him a lovely, lovestruck air.]

Forgive me... I did not wish to bother you on duty, but I — I wanted so very much to see you, and Ser Guerrique happened to find me, and took me here...

[for some of the temple knights milling about, the scene brings to mind fantasies of contented retirement, of having a comfortable home and a radiant, smiling, loving wife to come home to... and then they shake their heads, and remind themselves that francel is a boy, nearly a man.

...the illustrious lord francel of house haillenarte, at that. wherefore would ser zephirin have cause to know this noble?]

Edited 2017-08-05 14:27 (UTC)

[ Behind Francel, Guerrique waves, then uses that hand to salute Zephirin. Unlike their colleagues, he appears to see no reason to question the friendship between Ser Zephirin and young Lord Francel — a friendship that leads the lordling to scour Ishgard's streets and haunt the Congregation's vicinity simply to see his friend, and to look quite ready to single-handedly establish Saint Zephirin's Day. "Now we have you, Ser Zephirin!" the knight proclaims in jest.

Zephirin addresses Francel's concerns before Guerrique's declaration. He glances between the pair, not particularly troubled by said declaration, and shakes his head to dismiss the notion that Francel's visit is disruptive.

Likewise, he dismisses the curious looks and the likelihood of fresh speculation.

It remains surprising that, by the sound of it, Francel spent some time devoted to an attempt to seek him out, but they parted abruptly and had no contact since that evening. Though concealed, a smile pulls at Zephirin's lips. ]

I must needs apologize, then, to have driven you to such measures... Might I ask whether Ser Chlodebaimt has sent word?

[whether or not ser guerrique is offended by being referred to as such measures (as though he must needs be the absolute last resort for lonely lordlings in this cruel world), francel giggles. one of his long legs kicks nervously at the ground. he shakes his head, though he smiles so broadly that it feels vaguely as though he is happy to report that his brother has not contacted him.]

No, no word from Chlodebaimt yet — but I wrote him a new missive yesterday, and hope it reaches his hands in good health and good cheer.

[though francel cannot see zephirin's lips, he has learned to listen for the subtle, telltale hint of pleasure in the man's voice; he is happy and proud to have brought him at least some semblance of joy this day, though he bears even more joyful tidings still:]

Erm... I did finish the composition we spoke of, Ser Zephirin... that is, if you've any time to listen to it...

[ Zephirin recalls their conversation — Francel's fears, Francel's insistent desire to ensure his friend's happiness. Francel surprises him again by revealing that he retained the awareness at the time to hear and remember Zephirin's request. ]

I look forward to it. My shift has ended, if you wish for me to accompany you to the Pillars.

[ At that, Ser Guerrique seems rather pleased with himself for his remarkable timing. A message to deliver would have spared Francel some searching and waiting, but he has what he hoped to find. ]

[the look of impossibly happy surprise that crosses francel's face suggests that there could be no better gift to give him than the prospect of zephirin's shift freshly ended.]

Truly? I would love nothing more! I thank you, Ser Zephirin.

[for a moment he hides his smile behind his fingers, but then he whirls around, suddenly remembering ser guerrique's presence. francel executes a well-practiced bow, his limbs at perfect angles.]

And I thank you as well, Ser Guerrique! For... for emboldening me, and for keeping me company. Ser Zephirin neglected to mention that you were kind as well as strong.

[ "Ser Zephirin neglected to mention far too many things!" Yet Guerrique's complaining sounds good-humoured, and after a moment, the man sweeps a cheerily grandiose bow. "I leave him in your hands, Lord Francel, and pray he returns less tight-lipped. Halone lend you strength!"

And Guerrique takes himself and his basket back out onto the streets to finish his rounds.

Zephirin's gaze travels from the closing doors to Francel, carrying something of amusement, even though his colleague has depicted him as a source of exasperation. He removes his mask. ]

You may have gained another new friend.

[francel's goddess has lifted her veil; ser zephirin has removed his mask. giddy and gleeful, francel allows his gaze to rest upon the knight's handsome features with something of a punch-drunkness to his smile. a trace of redness still lingers upon his delicate nose.]

Have I? I do so love making friends.

[the pure confession of a seminarian without worries, a boy without friends.]

...But today, I came for the company of one friend, and one friend only. Is your shift truly ended, Ser Zephirin? Really and truly?

[ Francel's joyful expression captures Zephirin's attention overlong. He is not weary of each day's routine, but he finds himself glad for this interlude, and welcoming the prospect of Francel's company.

Outwardly, little of it becomes discernible. Zephirin only lifts his basket, showing it to Francel. ]

My shift is truly ended. I am at your command, my lord.

[francel peeks into the basket with innocent wonderment; sure enough, it is empty, demonstrating ser zephirin's dedication to bestowing crowns upon every child in ishgard. he smiles to see the bottom.]

My! You have been so productive!

[after a moment, francel shyly reaches out, half-proffering his hand as though he is not certain if zephirin should take it, or if he should take zephirin's. he seems to be making an extra effort to be charming and presentable, perhaps because he is keenly aware that they remain within the public eye.]

Well... if you are well and truly free to leave, I should be happy to welcome you to Haillenarte Manor for an evening of music and pleasantry. Shall we?

[ Off-duty, Zephirin would ordinarily change into civilian garb ere he accepts Francel's invitation, but the boy has waited long enough — not only here at the Congregation, it seems. He fastens his mask back into place, adjusting it, and offers Francel his arm. Even this is unusual, marginally less so than holding each other by the hand as they walk through the city.

Again they attract curious stares. ]

Pray pardon my joining you as I am. The coming few bells are mine to while away, but when they end, I must return to my post.

[francel takes zephirin's arm. it is not uncommon to see noble lords walk arm-in-arm through the pillars — usually, they are young men, childhood friends who grew up side-by-side in neighboring manors, who would each trust the other with his life — but it is uncommon indeed to see a young lord with a temple knight, especially a temple knight in uniform.

lord francel seems to pay the curious stares no mind. in fact, he seems almost to enjoy them.]

Are you certain? I would not mind waiting for you to change out of your haubergeon.

[he pauses ever so slightly, then adds:]

My lord brother Stephanivien has a fine collection of clothing he has never worn. You could borrow some at the manor if you so wished.

My conscience would object to your waiting, Lord Francel.

[ Zephirin's conscience objects less to Francel's offer, though remaining in uniform is not overly uncomfortable. It is unlikely that Lord Stephanivien has any interest in his unused collection of clothing.

With Francel on his arm, Zephirin makes for the doors, placing his basket aside where it might be collected and reused. In truth, it would have taken no significant amount of time to excuse himself and change his attire — the issue is drawing further attention to Francel and leaving him to his own company meanwhile.

Outside, Zephirin steers them past the busy plaza and towards the Pillars at a measured pace. He opts to wait until they are out of the open to mention his recent news. ]

[that zephirin does not refuse stephanivien's clothing outright bodes well, in francel's opinion. the young lord allows himself another innocuous fantasy — zephirin, clad in stephanivien's finest, in the fine velvets and silks of a firstborn son, with a ribbon tied around the neck of his shirt, perhaps...

at length he regathers himself, and smiles, brightly.]

How have the last few days found you, Zephirin? Well, I hope?

[ Deliberately, Zephirin chooses a quieter route to their destination; they cross stone steps, pass through archways. Beneath one such arch, Francel summons him back to the present.

He nods in reply, turned toward the boy to look at him through his mask. ]

They found me declared fit for continued service. The chirurgeons attribute my recovery to their efforts and the Fury's grace alone...

[ Again a subtle warmth colours the tone of Zephirin's voice. Perhaps the chirurgeons are right in their beliefs, but Francel's company itself has been an unexpected balm, easing the strain of weeks spent convalescing. ]

Is that so? Full glad I am to hear it! I do hope my treatments were of more help than harm.

[francel's cheeks darken slightly, as he recalls his slightly less innocuous fantasies: his hands warming zephirin's skin, rubbing and massaging, easing all of his tensions away... unconsciously, he clasps his hands before him, again somehow not unlike a maiden with a secret to keep...

after a moment, however, his face falls.]

...But... I suppose we'll not have so much time to spend together, then.

Would that I could sing your praises.

[ Zephirin's eyes linger on Francel's flushed cheeks. They witness the swift change in the boy's expression from bright to overcast. Within his own heart, Zephirin discovers a mirror image of Francel's disappointment; when duty sends him beyond Ishgard, he cannot promise Francel another meeting.

But then, at times it seems that for Francel's sake, that may be for the best. ]

...Fury willing, we have time enough to exchange letters, should you wish it.

Really?

[this remark, it seems, is meant both for the prospect of receiving zephirin's praise and for the prospect of receiving zephirin's letters. cloudy skies give way to the sun once more; francel shines with a fierce and radiant delight, and it seems as though nothing could possibly give him more joy than exchanging letters with his beloved knight.

(he writes letters to haurchefant too, of course, but that's a different situation.)]

Oh, I would love to! Fury be praised! [francel is, in fact, so delighted that he skips forward a couple of paces and twirls in a little circle so that zephirin can catch up without hastening his pace.] I —

[sunshine gives way to... confusion? a perturbed expression seems to cross francel's face as he suddenly sways where he is standing.]

[ Within seconds, Francel's returning joy dims for no apparent reason, but of greater urgency is his alarmingly unsteady stance. Zephirin's steps quicken after all, into a dash forward to reach Francel's side. He seizes the boy's shoulders to aid him in holding himself upright, eyeing him closely. ]

Joacin...?

[the world seems suddenly too bright and too dark at the same time. francel totters unsteadily once more, throwing his weight into zephirin's hands. he looks up weakly, but his vision still seems to be blurry, and he can barely make out zephirin's handsome face for all the stars he's seeing.

he laughs weakly.]

...I... I'm sorry. I... think that was a bit too much. It seems as though the world is spinning...

Edited 2017-08-18 23:12 (UTC)

[ The ground is motionless beneath their feet. The clouds are all that moves across the heavens. Perhaps Francel is ill, his excursion too demanding in his state.

Catching the boy and supporting his weight, Zephirin locates the nearest seat, a bench, meaning to guide Francel towards it for a moment's rest until his lightheadedness passes. ]

...This way. By your leave, I intend to touch your face.

[these dizzy spells are not unfamiliar to francel, although he thought his sickly boyhood days were behind him. he nods his assent, grasping loosely at zephirin's arms for support. he allows himself to be lowered onto the bench, but he is breathing heavily, with his eyes closed, as if even this much strains his delicate constitution.]

I'm sorry... This is my fault. I should not have been so excited...

[ Beside Francel, Zephirin is silent to discourage the boy's apologies while breathing should be his first concern. He frees one of his hands from the gauntlets he wears, and gently, he touches his palm to Francel's cheek, then his brow, leaving it there in his attempt to determine whether a fever is to blame for this dizzy spell.

Finally, Zephirin takes Francel by the shoulders once more, keeping him steady upon the bench. ]

Have we somewhere to be this very instant?

[in lieu of a voiced refusal, francel shakes his head, weakly. he has no particular fever, but he is short of breath, and by the way he is looking not quite into zephirin's eyes, he cannot see properly, either.]

Your hand... feels nice.

[he closes his eyes and leans into zephirin's touch. his lips are awfully chapped.]

[ Though satisfied that Francel did not wander the city in search of him when strict bed rest may have been advised, Zephirin implicitly agrees to their prolonged contact, repositioning his hand to cradle Francel's head. Francel's skin is not overly warm, but his unfocused gaze and his dry lips both tell another tale. He seems in no condition to continue on their way yet, not by relying on his feet.

Zephirin's hand is no remedy to replace fluids and a bed. ]

If you are not well, Joacin, allow me to see you home safely. Do you give me permission to carry you?

[ Drawing attention would be unavoidable. ]

[francel nods weakly — it's not his first time having to be carried home, although it will be his first time being carried home as a grown man. nevertheless, at this point he does not entirely care about what others think of him, and he reaches weakly for zephirin's shoulders, desperate for sweet relief.]

Please...

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