dpscheck | stuck meme

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ One kiss was not enough. Francel is temptation incarnate, sweetly offering more and more of himself for Zephirin's taking — he would extend his thorough care beyond massages and baths.

The previous day has taught Zephirin that he cannot trust his body to withstand pleasure. It craves what he denies it; Francel's touch is seared into his flesh. It paints filthy images to fill his mind, unbidden.

Zephirin discards them. He pulls Francel closer for but one more kiss, firmer this time, lingering upon the boy's lips.

Ending it, the knight's first response is another lie: ]

My only desire is a bar of soap. [ His gaze leaves Francel, traveling to the bedsheets. ] Elsewhere... my wish would be for you to lie back in my stead.

...Then your desire shall be granted, and your wish shall wait for another time.

[francel has what his heart demanded: the knowledge that zephirin does have wishes after all, even if he must recover from his wounds to see them granted. he presses his soft, tender cheek against zephirin's for a moment — but then, sighing, the young lord pulls away. slowly, he disentangles himself from the temple knight's limbs.]

...Then I shall take the breakfast tray outside, and come back with some soap. Would you like a tub of warm water and a towel as well? It would not be a proper bath, but you could clean yourself in bed, at least...

[ Postponed, Zephirin's half-formed wish is discarded like the thoughts that came before it. There is no place in all Ishgard where he might permit it free rein.

The knight's hands remain where they are a moment longer, one on Francel's hip, the other beneath Francel's chin, ere they withdraw from the boy's form when Francel moves away. Zephirin's own movements are somehow reluctant, rueful, but he nods, casting the breakfast tray a glance. ]

...You have my thanks. Allow me to carry the tray at the least.

[ He has the strength to walk to the door. ]

Are you certain?

[lord francel is prone to overfussing, it seems. he has taken the breakfast tray in hand, and is about to turn towards the door, but he pauses as he looks at the way zephirin is lying in bed.]

You seem so comfortable that I would hate to disturb your rest.

To the door, and no further.

[ So Zephirin gives Francel his word, resolutely testing his ability to stand unassisted. With his feet placed on the floor, palms on the mattress, he twists his torso to one side, and pushes himself up from the bed. Though his body protests, and stubborn pain wrings another gasped breath from him, the dizzy spells have abated.

Zephirin holds his hands out to take the tray. The walk to the door will give his senses the chance to better orient themselves in his surroundings, now that awareness no longer threatens to slip from his grasp. ]

[francel holds the tray out for the temple knight to take, but he remains wary of zephirin's tendency to push himself past his limits. the young lord allows the tray to merely rest in the man's arms for a brief moment before he cautiously relinquishes the tray's full weight.

that done, francel takes but a step backward to allow zephirin room to walk — however, he remains within a safe distance to catch zephirin, or the tray, should either succumb to the forces of gravity.]

Edited 2017-12-09 19:47 (UTC)

[ Blood loss and days abed make for a mix that renders Zephirin's limbs feeble, but his drive to see a task through to its end is intact. Determination keeps the tray in his grip, and Zephirin himself on his feet, taking him across the stretch of floor from the bed to the doorway. Only then does he lean against the frame, proffering the tray to Francel, his cheeks paler.

He recognizes Francel's room, and his eyes light upon the young lord's toy rabbit. ]

[the rabbit has clearly been doted upon. it has spent nights cradled in francel's arms and is greeted each morning with a kiss to its stitched nose; it is currently enjoying a comfortable "nap" whilst tucked into the blankets of francel's bed.

francel smiles. if he were not holding the tray, he would pick the rabbit up and have it kiss zephirin's nose, but as things stand, he must find someone to give all this food to...]

You can take him back to your room, if you'd like? He loves you very much, you know.

[ The rabbit lies ensconced in Francel's bedding, as if it has slumbered there since its arrival, basking in its owner's love. Paired with Francel's remarks, the sight reminds Zephirin of his friend's delight that day.

He smiles to himself. ]

It seems a shame to disturb his rest. Instead, might I offer him my company at his bedside until you return?

I am certain that he would appreciate it.

[with a smile of his own, francel takes his leave, carrying the tray with all the elegance of an infirmary nurse.]

[ Upon his return, Francel will find Zephirin indeed keeping the rabbit company, almost doll-like himself as he sits in a chair beside the bed, akin to a father watching over his child. It has been many a year since the knight last played with any toy, but he solemnly excuses himself to make good use of his requested bar of soap, addressing the rabbit like another person in the room.

What strength Zephirin has summoned to move about is soon spent, confining him to his quarters for much of the day's remainder. The following morning, however, in preparation to report to the Congregation, he rises before the sun, well ahead of Guerrique's arrival.

Guerrique arrives in civilian dress, his bandages removed — the House Haillenarte guards nonetheless learn that Lord Francel has apparently befriended another Temple Knight. ]

[much as francel would like to spend the rest of the day at zephirin's side, he cannot and does not. even the youngest lord of house haillenarte has been tasked with duties in the wake of the calamity, and so long as classes at the scholasticate remain cancelled, francel's chief concern should be the coordination of medical supplies and firewood between the remaining possessions of house haillenarte.

the young lord performs his duties well, but his chief concern remains the temple knight who rests in his room — and on the morning that zephirin is set to report to the congregation, francel, too, rises early, too restless to sleep. he is at the door when guerrique arrives, looking mercifully more well-rested than in days prior.

the young lord greets guerrique with a friendly smile and invites him inside, to his quarters. zephirin will be able to hear the silver-haired temple knight and the young lord conversing as they approach the makeshift infirmary that has become zephirin's chamber.]

...and he's just this way — ah! Good morning, Zephirin! Ser Guerrique is come to see you.

Edited 2017-12-15 03:06 (UTC)

[ Ser Guerrique comes bearing news, nigh bursting at the seams with excitement in his haste to deliver it. His spirits and his strength have evidently made a full recovery, and one could imagine a large dog in his place, leaping through the doorway, tail wagging, though the knight (thankfully) does not pounce upon Zephirin and lick his face.

"Ser Zephirin!" Guerrique greets his fellow Temple Knight with a broad grin, friendly like Francel's smile, as Zephirin pushes himself onto his feet. "When you vanished without a word, I had an inkling that a certain fretting friend saw fit to abduct you in a timely rescue from the wooden slats and thin pillows of our Beds Most Heavenly!" Turning to Francel, he winks at the lordling, but something in Zephirin's expression leads him to hurry on. "I told no one a thing. But the lord commander is like to send for you — rumour has it that you're to be put in charge of our unit. When your wounds are healed, of course!"

Here, Guerrique pauses expectantly, seeming satisfied to see Zephirin's posture stiffen, and his brows twitch upward ever so slightly, signs indicating his surprise. ]

...My thanks. [ Zephirin glances from Guerrique to Francel. Appointed to a commander's position, his duties will change. ] Lord Francel, my return may be delayed...

Edited 2017-12-17 10:30 (UTC)

[ostensibly, this should be good news, but lord francel's panic-stricken expression makes it seem like anything but. he holds his hands up to his chest as he speaks, like some noble lady entreating her loyal knight to stay.]

...B-But you will come back, yes?

[as if he does not trust zephirin to answer truthfully, francel turns to guerrique, expression pleading.]

He'll come back today, yes? He's not — he's not ready to return to duty just yet...

[ Guerrique takes Francel's distress for a fresh surge of worry brought on by Zephirin's brush with death; Zephirin recalls the boy's wishes confessed, his reluctance to agree to their brief separation. Both knights are loath to keep him upset.

"Now, now, Lord Francel," Guerrique hurriedly pipes up, "Ser Zephirin faces a promotion, not an execution! But we'll smuggle him out, if need be, worry not!"

Zephirin cannot seal any promise made with a gesture now customary, but he extends his hand to Francel, and waits for the boy to take it. ]

Today — but should aught unforeseen keep me there longer, I will send word.

Then... then I shall await your return.

[outright pouting now, francel turns once more to guerrique, as if meaning to hold the knight's friend to his promise as well.]

I'll send hired steel to smuggle him out if you do not!

[...though, coming out of francel's soft round face, the words sound less like a threat and more like a child's daydream. nevertheless, the young lord stands aside to allow the knights to exit the room and the manor, apparently gnawing on his knuckle out of nervousness.]

[ The morning makes way for a day of meetings and reports within the Congregation's walls in lieu of more strenuous tasks about Ishgard's streets, and finally an evening to farewell the fallen, an ever-growing number. The hour is late when Zephirin is granted permission to pursue his own affairs — it is too late to impose on the residents of Haillenarte Manor, even to keep his promise.

Yet so long as a few bells remain of today, there is time enough to ease Francel's worries, lest they drive the young lord to leave his home in search of his friend once again.

Guerrique, who seems eager to step into the role of a newly acquired older brother to Francel, volunteers to deliver the message in his fellow knight's stead while Zephirin's injuries yet hinder him. He vows to move swiftly, unseen — save handing the letter over to a House Haillenarte guard. ]

[by the time night falls over ishgard, ser zephirin has yet to return, and francel has already resigned himself to the likelihood that his temple knight will not, in fact, come back to him.

the young lord's throat feels as though it is made of lead. he throws himself into work to hide the burgeoning cracks in his heart — there are supply routes to plan, quarries and miners to speak with about the possibility of rebuilding — but francel cannot help himself from doubting the foundations of their entire relationship. perhaps all this was only pretense — an excuse to get away from him. perhaps zephirin could not stand being with francel, and somehow sent for guerrique to save him from the clutches of an overly clingy lordling. but no, but no, they exchanged such pure vows of love...

the missive soon finds its way to the young lord's desk, even this late in the evening; francel has resisted the urge to sleep, though his stuffed rabbit is shooting him lonely looks from the bed. he tries to ignore it at first, too afraid of what its contents might say — but in the end francel opens it, anxious to devour every new word from his beloved knight.]

[ The letter is simple. Succinctly, it expresses Zephirin's regret that he cannot return ere the day ends, explaining his concerns, and it bids Francel a restful night. In two places, it deviates from the formal, however: first, Zephirin assures the young lord that he will keep his word without the help of hired steel, and after the final line penned, instead of his signature, Zephirin has taken the time to ink something that appears to be his rendition of Francel's toy rabbit. ]

[the letter lifts francel's spirits more than he expects it to — indeed, he has the distinct feeling that his level of happiness is unhealthy, that it is dangerous for his hopes to be so high, his heart to fly so far away from his sense of reason. laughing quietly to himself in his empty room, francel lifts the ink rabbit to his lips and plants a feather-light kiss upon the surface of the parchment.

his spirit lightened, francel at last goes to bed with his nose tucked in the belly of his stuffed bunny. he dreams of a peaceful evening spent in zephirin's arms, where the knight strokes his hair and murmurs words that francel cannot quite hear or remember in the morning, but he wakes feeling an ache in his chest that he can only describe as love.]

Edited 2017-12-31 05:48 (UTC)

[ The wooden slats and thin pillows of the beds in the Congregation's barracks make Zephirin's own night far less restful than those spent at Haillenarte Manor — or perhaps it is the weight of Ishgard's ceaseless suffering, the many families whose grief is not eased by assurances that their loved ones now dwell in Halone's halls. He wakes with aches aggravated, but even for a convalescing Temple Knight, there is work to be done so long as he is not bedridden, particularly when said Temple Knight is chosen to fill a gap in the ranks of their commanders. Not few of Zephirin's fellows were among the most recent casualties, and he visits home after home to extend the Holy See's condolences.

Come late afternoon, willpower alone keeps Zephirin on his feet. His completed rounds bring him near the Last Vigil, where he might fulfill his promise at last, but as the knight crosses the courtyard, a voice rings out, somewhat too loud and grating to his ears. "I say, aren't you Lord Francel's mysterious guest?"

Zephirin turns to face the source of the voice — moons ago, this young lord drove Francel to tears on his nameday. His lips part for an answer to give.

Lord Emmanellain calls out again, over the top of him, louder, more grating, alarmed. "Er, are you— You're not going to faint, are you?!" ]

...No.

[ Mustering his reply, Zephirin simply stands beside the courtyard's fountain, eyes shut. ]

[it is fortunate for zephirin, then, that francel happens to be out and about in the last vigil that day.

classes remain cancelled, but the young lord has found ways to keep himself busy. the boy cuts a striking figure, dressed as he is in a haubergeon of haillenarte colors and flanked by two masked knights bearing rose shields; he is fresh out of a rallying ceremony meant to bolster the spirits of the house haillenarte knights after their sound defeats at the stone and steel vigils.

upon seeing zephirin by the fountains, being harassed by emmanellain, francel rushes ahead of his knights (an effort that is somewhat taxing, as he is still unused to wearing heavy armor) and hurriedly stands between the lordling and the knight.]

Lord Emmanellain! What are you doing to Ser Zephirin?

[some presumption of guilt is built into that question...]

[ Emmanellain's relief to see Francel, no doubt ready and willing to deal with whatever is the matter with his mysterious guest, quickly turns to indignation. "That's uncalled for, old boy, truly, we've barely met! Is it a crime to ask a man not to faint into this fine fountain? It's really too cold for a dip in there!"

Zephirin blinks once, twice. His brow furrows, and his hand reaches for Francel's arm, fingers catching hold of an ilm of chainmail, rolling it between them as if to feel the texture. Francel, clad in his haubergeon, merges with the rows and rows of knights laid to rest, with comrades struck down on the battlefield.

The knight presses the heel of his other hand against his forehead.

"...What is the matter with him? Shall I fetch a chirurgeon?" Uncertainly, Emmanellain shifts his weight from one foot to the other. ]

Ser Sylvaintel, run and fetch the House chirurgeon. Ser Stephannot, help me get him inside. Emmanellain —

[francel stops, looks at emmanellain... and then looks away with seeming disgust.]

...You do whatever it is you do at this time of day. Go.

[his "friend" thus dismissed like a pesky fly, sylvaintel runs off while stephannot and francel support zephirin by the shoulders, meaning to walk him into haillenarte manor. francel speaks softly and gently to zephirin as they walk.]

Zephirin? It is I, your Joacin. Are you nauseous? Can you hear me?

Joacin...

[ It seems that the prospect of some rest overwhelms Zephirin's body in its fatigued state — all at once, it informs him of the weakness in his limbs, the tension between his temples, the need to sit down for but a moment. Francel's armour is cool against his burning skin. Beneath it all, Zephirin knows to lift his feet, and he concentrates on walking and breathing, in order to tighten his grip on remaining conscious.

He can hear Francel; he confirms it, so he thinks. ]

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