Warriors of Light Who Are Not Following The Script - Laina_Inverse, Lieutenant

Chapter 1: Ifrit

Chapter Text

Waking up with a headache was probably one of her least favorite ways to wake up. Sometimes, it was self-inflicted--could she help it if the differences between the three schools of magic she'd learned were all somehow the same but different enough to keep her awake and poring over records? Or if she took a blow to the head because she forgot she was using a weapon that was heavier than her preferred sort?--and she only had herself to blame, but those times she usually ended up waking up on a soft bed in a cozy inn room, or surrounded by people who are concerned about the injury she'd just taken. (All her guildmates are sweet to worry, and that's what helmets are for anyways.)

She is not, for certain, laying on a soft bed in a cozy inn room. For one thing, whatever she's laying on is far too solid to be anything but stone, and the air tastes of Thanalaan and the desert. She cautiously blinks her eyes open and squints a little up at the sky, trying to deduce the time of day by the color. Her vision doesn't swim, so this headache isn't caused by a head injury…

Oh.

Right.

Amalj'aa.

sh*t .

Miyahn slowly rolls onto her side and looks around; there are several Immortal Flames--the grey uniform stands out against the reddish stone they're all lying on–and then a bundle of people she doesn't recognize. Another miqo'te like her, two Viera, and a H'rothgar.

The other miqo'te is sitting up, and it takes Miyahn a moment to recognize why that seems wrong. She's not tied up? A quick glance around shows that sure, there are Amalj'aa guards at the entrance of the culvert, but no one who's inside of it is bound, and only the Flames appear to have lost their weapons.

She sits up properly as the other Miqo'te, and H'rothergar do, and puts a finger to her mouth. Both of them nod in agreement, and Miyahn scoots closer to them. She's subtle about it, but there doesn't seem to be much point; the Amal'jaa aren't interested in what she's doing.

The H'rothgar pulls an arcanist book off his belt, and flips through the pages, gaze moving towards the female Viera next to him. Miyahn winces a little to see her; she looks like she was rolled down one of the waterfalls in Gridania in a barrel of rocks. The other Miqo'te is carefully shaking the male Viera next to her, conjurer's wand already in her other hand. The miqo'te conjurer's spell goes off first, which washes the five of them in a soft rush of healing magic. The H'rothgar's spell goes off next, and the female Viera makes a grumpy noise as she stirs. The male Viera sits up carefully, but clearly not needing as much help as the female, who gets up just enough to drape herself over the H'rothgar.

Traveling companions, likely, Miyahn decides. Lucky. She wouldn't mind having one of those of her own..

“...wh'n I… ge’ m'hand on… the f'ckin…”

“Harmony, you can't even sit up enough to make the threat,” The H'rothgar says in wry amusem*nt. “I doubt very much you'll be hitting anything for the next few minutes.”

Miyahn glances over her shoulder; hopefully they have more than a few minutes.

“Oh, do you need a more direct healing?” The other Miqo'te asks, pushing her spectacles up her nose. “Here, give me just-”

“ Harmony? ”

The female Viera in question looks up as the male peers around his companion. She blinks at him, one long ear twitching back and forth like she's not sure what she just heard.

“....Reede?”

“What the heck are you doing here?” the male Viera--Reede, apparently--asks.

“S'that rhetorical?”

The other miqo'te stifles a snicker as the H'rothgar sighs. Reede, for his part, just grimaces, then points at Harmony, turning to his companion.

“See, Saoirse? Can't hold a candle to me!”

Ears go flat, and the H'rothgar quickly puts an arm down over the back of Harmony.

“I will eat your face,” the female Viera grumbles.

“Please don't,” Saoirse says dryly, reaching out with the wand to gently tap Harmony on the head. “Or at least hold off until we're out of wherever we've been brought.”

The rush of healing magic has Harmony relaxing a little, involuntarily, and Miyahn can relate. Pain going away is the best feeling.

“The last thing I remember is getting hit in the head,” Harmony says as she sits up a little more. Not, notably, moving to dislodge her companion's arm, but just to be more upright. “Stupid Amal'jaa got the drop on me n'Izet while we were up at the Golden Bazaar.”

The H'rothgar--Izet?--nods and sighs.

“Overwhelming force, even with the aid of a carbuncle,” he agrees, absently tracing the cover of his arcanist grimoire. “We did our best, but clearly that was not enough.”

“We got suckered by Ungust,” Reede grumbles. “Thancred's plans need some work…”

“Be fair, he was supposed to be with us, and must've gotten held up,” Saoirse chides. “He's not the sort to just drop us in the dark.”

Miyahn can't argue that point, but she also kind of wishes Thancred wasn't involved in this. She's still not sure what she thinks of the Scions, and Thancred in particular has her asking questions she probably won't ever have answers to.

“I was jumped while trying to get some hunting done,” she admits, when they look at her. “I'm Miyahn. I'd say it's nice to meet everyone, but given the circ*mstances…”

She gets grimaces of agreement from everyone except Izet who only looks meditatively at the sky.

“They left us armed and untied,” Saorise says after a moment, shifting to sit cross-legged. “They're blocking the obvious way out, but maybe there's a less easily available path? To them.”

“Can't hurt to look around and try to find it,” Miyahn says with a small nod. Oof, ow, her back is mad. What she gets for passing out top of her shield. “At least someone should get out and maybe find Thancred and bounce a rock off that hollow head of his.”

Saoirse looks resigned about the insult to Thancred, and honestly, Miyahn doesn't mean it to be insulting, she's just… cranky .

“Quick question first,” Harmony says, leaning around Izet to grab Reede by the arm before he can get up. “Why’re the Amalj'aa taking prisoners?”

Reede's expression turns grim.

“They're trying to summon their primal.”

Miyahn's section of the culvert has only sheer walls, and a few disconsolate Flames. Some had definitely seen better days, with uniforms tattered and torn, while others had the look of ones captured more recently.

It isn’t like the culvert is large, but taking the time to scour every ilm is the smart option, even if Harmony doesn’t seem to agree. Miyahn has seen plenty of Viera in her travels, and it seems like Harmony is on the energetic side of the coin instead of the serene watcher of the forest. Letting her watch the Amalj'aa and make sure they don't notice is easier than trying to convince her to stare at rocks and things.

“Anything?” Miyahn asks as they gather in the middle again.

“Amalj'aa are talking in their own tongue,” Harmony says with an irate look and a shrug. “No info from that end.”

“We've sort of got something, if you're willing to swim,” Reede offers. “Apparently that pond has an underground river that leads away from here. Not sure where it comes out, but it could be worth a risk.”

Saoirse's full body shudder has Miyahn side-eyeing the other miqo'te curiously.

“...I don't like water,” Saoirse says, not looking at anyone.

“Yeah, I know.” Reede drapes an arm around her shoulders. “But maybe one of them?”

Harmony snorts a little.

“Izet, think you'll fit?” she asks, looking up at the large H'rothgar.

He hums meditatively in answer, looking over at the pool in question.

“I am uncertain, and do not have the ability to breathe water. You are quick, and could-”

“If you think I'm leaving you here to potentially fight a Primal , you have not been paying attention,” is the swift, tart interruption.

“Then perhaps Miyahn?”

Miyahn grimaces.

“I never learned how to swim,” she admits. “My clan didn't live near any deep bodies of water.”

There was a reason she'd picked the desert as her first stop in her travels to learn everything she could, and it wasn't just because the thaumaturge guild was there. Limsa had been something of her worst nightmare, and she still didn't know how she'd made it out of there without Jacke or V'kebbe picking up on her inability to swim and teaching her.

After making fun of her first, but still.

“It seems we're at an impasse then,” Izet murmurs. “Harmony it truly would-”

“Nu uh. I am punching a primal in the face, Izet.”

The twin sighs from Saoirse and Izet have Miyahn stifling a snicker. Saoirse turns to Reede and he shrugs a little.

“I probably could,” he admits. “But what if they summon Ifrit while I'm gone? I don't think we-”

The Amalj'aa at the entry point make very loud hissing noises, and suddenly spears ring the small group. A handful of Immortal Flames are herded into the ring after a few moments, and they are forcibly escorted out of the culvert, into a large open space. The shaman lifts a staff and begins to chant, calling for their primal, and the sun becomes haloed in an eclipse.

It would be pretty if it wasn’t so terrifying.

“...we're all armed and dangerous, I say we take out the shaman,” Harmony hisses, eyeing the Amalj'aa and their spears.

“Loser foots the bill for the inn when we get back to Drybone,” Reede challenges.

“Bet!”

Izet groans a little, and clamps a hand on the back of Harmony's shirt.

“You are not leaping into, or over, all these spears,” he says firmly. “I doubt they'll care too much if they have to deal with one dead body.”

“Spoilsport,” Harmony mutters.

“I prefer you in one piece, yes,” he replies peaceably.

“I'll be-”

Ifrit hits the ground before them and Miyahn feels all her fur puff out in reaction, hand falling to her sword. Ifrit is not the size of a mountain, but it is a good deal bigger than any of them, and she finds herself wishing she'd taken the chance to escape, knowing how to swim or not.

Uncharitable of her, but every instinct she has is screaming for her to run as far as she can in the opposite direction, to hide away and never come out again.

She stomps those feelings hard; these people need help, and if there's one thing she's good at, it's getting and holding attention. And at least with the gladiator gear she's got something to hide behind if Ifrit launches something solid in her general direction.

The words, when the primal speaks, are more felt than heard.

Pitiful children of man! By my breath I claim you! Arise once more as my loyal minions! Feed my flames with your faith, and all who stand against us shall burn!

The primal roars , and she staggers at the noise, lifting her arms to block bright blue flame… and something in her deflects what feels like a heavy blanket of magic from settling around her. And it's not just her; from where her companions stand, she feels that same reaction. If some had been behind them…

The Flames and the merchant--Ungust? She thinks that what Reede called him--seem dazed for a moment, then start singing praises to Ifrit.

Miyahn takes the chance to glance left and right; she sees Harmony fiercely shaking her head, long ears flapping side to side, while Izet runs a large hand over his face with a disturbed expression, and Saoirse looks shaken, leaning against Reede who has his teeth bared at the primal.

Notably, none of them are praising the near-deity creature. Harmony, once her head stops moving, looks ready to throw down.

“How are you not changed?” the shaman demands. “By what sorcery do you resist our master?!”

“The sorcery of get f*cked ,” Reede snaps, though he doesn’t release Saoirse. Miyahn thinks that’s a good idea; the conjurer still looks very shaken.

“...your souls belong to another already!” and the shaman seems genuinely insulted by this. “That is the only explanation!”

Harmony makes a rude gesture as Miyahn puts her hand on her sword. Ifrit roars again, but none of them are shaken this time, even as the Amalj'aa and changed Flames back slowly away from the small group.

Forsooth, thy frail mortal frame can serve as vessel to the blessing of but One, and Miyahn feels the rage in the words, tightening her grip on the hilt of her sword. Yet I smell not the taint of another upon thee.

Smell? Taint? Her soul is her own, thanks just the same. But…

Maybe it’s the power of the Echo that Minfilia had tried to explain to her? A handy thing that, to deflect whatever Ifrit had done to the Flames and that merchant. But how…?

Ifrit’s eyes narrow as it studies them, and Miyahn hears more than sees her companions arming themselves. They’re nowhere near ready for this fight, but there’s clearly about to be one.

The truth of thine allegiance waxeth clear; thou art of the godless blessed’s number. The Paragons warned of thine abhorrent kind. Thine existence is not to be suffered!

Quick as lightning, Ifrit slams its hand down and a ring of fire blossoms, enveloping the whole of the cleared summoning area. Which, Miyahn notes with sour amusem*nt, has been abandoned by the Amal’jaa and the poor bastards that had been changed.

Flames poured from Ifrit’s mouth as it roared a challenge, and Miyahn pulls her shield over her arm, unsheathing her sword properly.

“I’ll keep it’s attention,” and she has to raise her voice to be heard over the crackle of flames and angry primal. “Pick at whatever weak points you can find!”

She doesn’t wait for agreement, nor pause to think. If she pauses to think, the terror will eat her alive and they don’t have time for that. She just sprints forward, hurling her shield into Ifrit’s face. She’s admittedly surprised it connects, and more so that Ifirt actually staggers back.

Like it hadn’t expected the audacity.

My flames shall consume thy flesh and soul both! It snarls.

Miyahn grabs her shield and shoves it back on her arm in time to block a sharp blow from the primal’s fist, slashing at Ifrit’s arm as it draws back. It doesn’t surprise her–she feels it should, but it does not–to watch Harmony jump up and punch Ifrit rapidly in the face. Pugilist suits the Viera woman’s temperament.

She sees Reede as well, a brief flash as he leaps as high as he can to jab his spear into what she hopes is an open spot on Ifrit’s back.

The primal does not seem to know which of them to concentrate on, and decides to hit all three of them at once with a shockwave of fire; Miyahn manages to keep her feet, but Harmony and Reede are both thrown back.

She takes a breath that scorches her lungs, so hot is the air, then stabs her blade into the hand Ifrit has left so carelessly close to her. It roars its rage–and pain, please gods let it be in pain–and its other hand comes flying at her.

If she were a different race–say a Rogedyn–she could probably have kept her feet with the blow. But she is not, and she goes flying halfway across the ring. It takes the pugilist and rogue training she has–and she silently thanks the gods for Chuchuto and V’kebbe who trained her footwork and recovery skills–to turn that landing into a roll and come back up ready to charge back into the fray.

A healing spell washes over her, as does a protection one; if she’d had time to focus on anything other than stabbing a primal, keeping its attention specifically on her, she could have done such things herself… so she is very very grateful that Izet and Saoirse are there to do them for her, because she can feel her ribs healing, and the slippery shield ablates the next burst of furious fire from Ifrit.

Succumb to the inferno!

“Hard pass!” Harmony shouts, and Miyahn sees her launch a flurry of hits into a hind leg. She has a fierce, feral grin on her face, and Miyahn feels some sympathy for Izet. “My infernos have alcohol in them, thanks just the same!”

She can feel the resigned exasperation from the H’rothgar, even as Reede cackles a bit. Things must never be boring for them, at least…

They are doing something . Ifrit's attacks hadn't been terribly coordinated to start with, and with the two Viera's physical attacks, Izet casting ruin while Carbuncle just hit it was pure aetheric magic, and Miyahn's own solid hits demanding the primal's attention, what little coordination it has is turning into trying to swat them as though they are fast-moving flies.

Suffice to say, if nothing else, they are annoying the hell out of the primal, which is far more amusing than it probably should be in the equation.

She forgets, in her bid to keep Ifrit's attention on her--she can take the hits, though she is feeling very very singed despite Saoirse's continued healing--that she needs to pay attention to the whole field of battle.

Surrender thyselves to the fires of judgment!

That sounds like an attack, and Miyahn braces herself; a backhand, a kick, a swat from the molten tail…

She does not expect to be tackled out of the way of something dropping on her head by yet a third Viera, but when she spots what is in the place she was just standing, she is glad he did. He sets her on her feet, then points at the golden, pillar-like object that nearly skewered her.

“Ifrit is an invulnerable bastard until we get that thing taken apart,” he says. “And we have to do it fast, or we're going to be hurting, more than you already are.”

As if to punctuate the point, Harmony is sent flying and Reede's cursing becomes audible as he’s sent skidding back.

“I'll keep Ifrit distracted,” the unknown Viera continues. “You lot focus on taking that apart, and then we hit Ifrit hard and fast. Got it?”

She has no idea where this Viera came from, but right now, she'll take any sort of help with Ifrit. So she nods sharply and runs to where Izet is helping Harmony stand up.

“Forget Ifrit for the moment,” she says as Reede joins them. “According to our new ally, we need to handle the thing that nearly dropped on my head.”

“I call dibs on yelling at Thancred,” Reede says, though it's clear he's talking to Saoirse.

For her part, she just snorts, and wipes sweat from her forehead; she looks ready to drop, but she pulls the cork from a bottle of ether and bolts it down, and a wave of healing washes over them.

“Dispel Ifrit first, worry about who to scold after,” Izet suggests.

Miyahn nods in agreement, and goes running for the molten pillar of rock. She's not sure what damage she can really cause to something like that without breaking her own gear, but if Ifrit can't be hurt while it exists, then it needs to not .

Her shield rebounds off it, taking a chunk of rock, and though she hisses at the heat pouring off the thing, she starts hacking away grimly with her sword, joined rapidly by Harmony, Reede, and a crimson carbuncle.

Thee again?! and Ifrit seems more furious than before. Whence came thee, thou presumptuous upstart?!

Well that's concerning. How many times have the Amalj'aa managed to summon Ifrit and give it people?

Miyahn yanks her sword from the rock and has to pause for breath because the heat pouring from it, and Ifrit, are making her head swim. It gives her a moment to see their new ally's hands flash through some sort of signs, before hammering Ifrit with what looked like lightning .

Something about him twigged her memory. Something V'kebbe had told her before she'd left Limsa…

Miyahn shakes her head sharply, then jolts a little as something swirls around her; it's not a healing spell in the way she's used to, but it almost feels like something out of an arcanist's grimoire. Something flutters over her head, and then to Harmony and Reede… and then she's hit by a more familiar healing spell, and the heat goes back to uncomfortable, not intolerable.

Ifrit manages to shake off their new ally, and throws itself skyward. The Viera doesn't even look up, he throws himself at the molten construct, and they manage to tear it apart just ahead of Ifrit hitting the ground again. While the primal hits with enough force to throw everyone to the ground… that's all it does, and she sees the unknown Viera breathe a sigh of relief, before pistoning himself back into harassing the hell out of Ifrit.

Miyahn admittedly loses track of the fight from there; her focus is on maintaining control of Ifrit's attention, slowly melting sword or not, and while Ifrit seems a little more inclined to try and smack the energetic Viera–seriously is he casting spells? It’s nothing she’s ever seen before, so how –the primal is at least not going after anyone else.

Another molten construct drops from the sky–this time fortunately not near any of them–and Miyahn lets their ally take over Ifrit’s attention as she hits it hard with her sword. Again and again, with the help of Reede and Izet–Harmony is helping the unknown Viera annoy Ifirt into not noticing them, apparently–until her sword abruptly snaps with the heat.

She stares at the hilt for a moment, trying to process; Mylla had given her that sword and said it could stand up to just about anything.

Something hits the dirt next to her and she jolts, brandishing her shield and the quarter of a sword left… to see another sword planted point first into the earth. She looks at it, then looks up at the unknown Viera; he flashes her a thumbs up then punches Ifrit in tandem with Harmony.

Miyahn drops the hilt of her sword–she’ll try and collect the pieces later, maybe it can be reforged–and picks up the loaner, slamming it hard into the molten construct.

The construct shatters like it was made of glass and she and Reede both stagger, caught off guard by the abrupt lack of something to attack. Miyahn stares briefly at the sword, then shakes her head and decides she’s not going to think about it, there’s still a primal to kick the ass of.

The blessing of Light… defies me?!

Ifrit howls in rage as it collapses, aetheric flames pouring off it as it dematerliaizes. All that’s left behind is an orange crystal, and Miyahn eyes it with exhausted distaste, ground the point of her borrowed weapon into the dirt. She’s soaked in sweat, and everything aches , she really does not want to deal with something else from Hydaelan…

Harmony flops backwards into the dirt, pugilist weapons to either side, and Miyahn is tempted to emulate. She wants little to do with the crystal… which is why she doesn’t try to stop Saoirse from going over to it; there’s a flare of light, and it’s clear after a moment that it didn’t matter who touched the damn thing, the vision is for everyone to see.

She still doesn’t understand what it means, and she dislikes that very much. Part of her worries that these crystals are going to unlock something that should stay sealed…

But the vision fades only moments after, and Saoirse collapses into Reede, who doesn’t exactly manage to stay on his feet, even though he does catch her. Over by Harmony, Izet has dropped into a seated position, panting for breath, and Miyahn finds herself most worried about the H’rothgar; he’s covered in fur, and they have been all but baked by Ifrit’s flames.

“Easy now,” and the unknown Viera puts a hand under her elbow. Her vision is swimming, so she doesn’t protest. “Here, sit. You all did well.”

She wants to bristle–it sounds patronizing–but she’s just too tired. Sitting down with her head between her knees sounds like a better alternative to being cranky.

“I… punched a primal. In the face,” Harmony’s voice is raspy, but somehow full of laughter. “I can… totally die happy now.”

“Please don’t ,” Izet said in clearly fond, if tired, exasperation. “We just spent… gods know how long… preventing that.”

Reede laughs a little, and Miyahn hears him flop backwards into the dirt.

“That’ll be a story to tell people,” he says after a moment. “We fought a primal and won. ”

Harmony is laughing, and when Miyahn looks over, she sees the Viera with an arm over her eyes, Izet’s hand on her forehead. Hysterics? Hells, Miyahn can’t blame her, she’d have some of her own if she wasn’t so dead tired.

She lifts her head as the unknown Viera comes back, balancing cups of water that he passes around. She tries to offer him the sword back, but he shakes his head even as he sits next to her.

“You can hold onto it til yours is repaired,” he says, pressing the cup into her free hand. “Leaving someone without a weapon isn’t my idea of a good time.”

“Pray forgive my lateness!”

“Thancred, what the hell?” Reede complains immediately, though notably none of them get up as the white-haired Hyur rushes their way with a group of gray-clad Immortal Flames. “What took you so long?”

“A contingency of Amal’jaa zealots, each more evangelical than the last,” and Thancred’s tone is flippant, but Miyahn suspects he is not so lackadaisical as he seems. “Trust, I would have been here sooner if not for-”

The Amal’jaa shaman–Miyahn had honestly thought all of them to have run from the fight, where had that one been hiding??--rushes them, and Thancred snarls quietly.

“Persistent lot.”

Miyahn’s reactions are too slow; the heat has taxed her and the rest too much, but she realizes there’s little to fear. Thancred throws a trio of daggers, and their Viera ally slams bodily into the shaman a moment later, throwing the beastman across what’s left of the summoning ring.

“I also sent you help. Inle, you are a blessing.”

The Viera–Inle–stands and looks more embarrassed than anything else.

“Would that I had been faster,” Inle replies as he moves away from the now-very-dead shaman. “Dispelling him was harder this time than the first… They must have collected many victims between then and now.”

Thancred looks upset by this, and Miyahn can’t blame him. She’s read enough to know that the primals gain strength based on the belief of their followers. It implies nothing good, at the very least.

“Let that be a concern for another time,” Thancred suggests after a moment, tone gentler. “Reede, Saoirse, I am truly sorry that we were late.”

“P…robably better that you were,” Miyahn offers, wincing a bit at the rasp in her voice. Even after the water, she sounds horrible. “What… what happened to those who weren't us?”

Thancred glances towards the Immortal Flames and merchant Ungust who had been with them, and a shadowered look crosses over his face, one that makes her want to stand up. It can't be good, if he looks like that.

“They'll answer for their misdeeds,” he says finally. “Reede, had I known-”

Miyahn is startled at the speed in which Reede gets to his feet, picking up Saoirse in arms that have to burn with exertion, and just walks off. She feels a tired modicum of empathy for Thancred, who just sighs and looks away.

“Well. Let's get the rest of you back to Drybone where you can get some further medical attention, shall we?”

“S'a plan,” Harmony says, and Miyahn looks over to see her being helped up by Izet. “Ugh. I think I actually want to go to Gridania. Soaking in one of those rivers, minus the wildlife, would be nice…”

“Can you stand?”

Miyahn looks up to see Inle offering her a hand, and considers her own physical state. Her arms feel like noodles, and her head is still spinny. She can feel the ache in every muscle she has, but they were all doing more than she was when it came to the fight, so surely she can stand up.

She takes the offered hand, and gets about halfway before her legs simply refuse to hold her. She's honestly too tired to even be embarrassed that Inle has to catch her so that she doesn't plant her face right back in the dirt.

“Right, hold on.”

He sweeps her up into a princess carry, and she's not too tired to be embarrassed by that. But she's also smart enough to know she can't walk on her own. She still fluffs up a little before settling, but she's too tired for her tail to even lash her mood.

“Okay Thancred,” Inle nods. “Lead the way.”

Miyahn didn't expect to fall asleep, but in retrospect, it's not surprising. Inle had a very smooth walk, and she was exhausted . Waking up in a bed, with only a thin sheet over her, is exceptionally disorienting.

At least there is water nearby, and a note that reminds her to drink slowly so that she doesn't make herself sick. She doesn't recognize the handwriting, but that's no surprise; it could be Thancred's, Saoirse's, or even one of the nuns from the nearby place of worship. It also says that she will benefit from a tepid bath, so let the innkeeper know when she's ready and she can have one.

Everything is one large ache, which the sleep has not fixed. Healing spells like cure and physick are meant to help injuries, not the aftereffects like aching muscles and a desire to just bury oneself in a bed for another two or three days…

But a tepid bath sounds delightful; she's still overheated from the fight, and probably has sand and glass in places they shouldn't be. Her hair is down and wild; she's going to have to find another tie before she goes anywhere, or her hair will go everywhere in a fight.

The remnants of her sword are on the room's sole dresser, and she grimaces at the sight; Mylla is going to have kittens when she sees the damage. And telling her the why… she’ll probably think she was sunsick and tried to fight a rock. Or something.

A tap on the door makes her twitch, but she aches too much for a proper startle. She makes a chirruping noise that she knows most people will recognize as inquisitive, and relaxes some when Saoirse pokes her head in.

“Oh good, you’ve been out a while and everyone was getting worried,” she says, a worn smile crossing her face. “Mind if I come in?”

“Sure,” and Miyahn manages a careful shrug, wincing a bit. “How long was I out?”

“It’s been almost a day and a half,” and Saoirse makes her way to the bed to sit on the edge of it. She looks just as singed as Miyahn feels, really. “There was some concern that Ifrit’s heat might have done severe damage to your brain, with how close you were to it and the flames it gave off.”

“...mostly I feel like I’ve got a really bad sunburn right now,” Miyahn admits with a grimace. “And all of my useful supplies are back in Ul’dah.”

She can probably will herself the ability to use a cure spell if she really wants, but that feels like too much effort for something that it won’t touch anyways.

“I think we all feel like that,” and Saoirise’s rueful smile is pained. “And look it. Do you think you’re up to food?”

“That and a bath would be delightful,” Miyahn replies a bit wistfully. “Though, where is everyone else?”

They’re companions by necessity, but Miyahn knows she won’t forget any of them, and she can’t help but worry about them now.

“Reede’s talking to Thancred… sort of. He’s still mad at him, but capable of being civil. Harmony and Izet are both taking baths, and Harmony says they’re going to Gridania after they recover a bit more because the rivers there are better for soaking in… or something like that.”

Miyahn huffs an amused noise, shaking her head a bit.

“What about Inle?”

“Hm? Oh, he’s… around. I’m not entirely sure where; he went out a little bit ago and I haven’t seen him since.”

That’s… disappointing in ways she can’t entirely explain, but not exactly unexpected. Inle may have come to their aid, but that doesn’t mean he has an obligation to stick around. Though she has to wonder where she’s supposed to send his sword, once she fixes or replaces her own…

“Let’s get you that bath and some food,” Saoirse suggests. “Thancred did say he wanted to talk to you if you were up for it after.”

Miyahn makes a face, but lets Saorise draw her up. She’s not sure she wants to talk to Thancred, for all it's probably a good idea. She doesn't need a myriad of apologies for something he had no control over, and it was her own stupid fault she got caught in the first place.

But she also still doesn't quite have the energy to say no, so up she gets, to answer the needs of the body.

Miyahn is glad to get back to her room, feeling much cooled down and well fed. She is moving at the pace of a snail, maybe, but Saoirse thinks that will wear off for all of them after a few days of rest and relaxation.

Hah.

It's not that Miyahn has Harmony's level of energy. (Harmony and Izet have already left Drybone, heading towards Gridania, and Miyahn almost feels sorry for the wildlife in the area if it tries to pick a fight with the energetic Viera.) It's that she just.. doesn't do downtime very well.

It doesn't help that literally everything that is specifically hers is back at the Quicksand, and she is wearing so many borrowed things she admittedly feels uncomfortable in her own skin. None of it is particularly high quality, and given that her own gear was rather charred and warped by Ifrit--something all of them suffered–she's not going to reject any of it…

But she is discomfited by it all. Her hair is still down, the smell of the air is just subtly wrong , and she has nothing with which to distract herself.

Miyahn sits on the bed, and pulls her knees up to her chest, tail curling around her ankles. Hunting trips gone wrong aren't supposed to end in being kidnapped and nearly sacrificed to a bloody primal of all things. Ending up dead, sure, or badly injured, those things are expected and can be planned or at least compensated for.

But a Primal sacrifice? There's really no comparison in how to deal with that.

And now she is alone, with no one to hide truths from. Not even herself.

In a way, she rather envies the others. Harmony and Izet have one another, as do Saoirse and Reede. Friends, partners, she doesn't know, but they have each other and she… has no one. She knows why, as she was often considered far too intense even among her own kin for relationships, but still. It stings .

Or maybe that's her claws digging into her thighs as the shakes finally hit her. Holy sh*t, they fought a primal. Not just any primal, no, they fought Ifrit .

She is very good at the many types of magical and martial skills she's developed. But Ifrit was, quite literally, a whole different plane from all of them. And none of them had been aware that the molten construct gave Ifrit invulnerability. Without Inle’s appearance, she would have gone on attacking Ifrit, and they all would have died. Or, at best, been horrifically injured before they figured out the problem.

Her face is buried in her knees, tail wrapped tight around one ankle. Very dimly she registers that someone has knocked on the door, then enters the room when it goes unanswered. The bed dips, and then suddenly there is a hand on her back, moving slow along her spine, underneath her wild mane of hair. Firm, but gentle, and the owner is tucked up against her side.

Another hand tugs very very gently at one of her own, where her claws have dug into her thigh. She… might be bleeding, but the fear has her so tight that she can’t tell. Part of her desires nothing more than to lash out, shove this person away so she can deal with her emotions on her own. It won’t be the first time, nor the last.

But the rest of her desperately, direly, wants comfort from someone . Ifrit was not a small fight, this is not a small fear.

Whoever is trying to comfort her is being gentle in the manner she needs, so even through the fear, it’s not hard to make the decision to turn into that offered comfort, no matter how kitten-ish it might make her seem. While she doesn’t uncoil and launch herself into the person, once the decision is made she manages to uncurl enough to wrap her arms around them--him? They feel like a him--and pull herself onto a lap, regardless of whether that’s rude or not. She curls around them and makes herself as small as she can, and while they seem a little surprised at first, the arms wrap around her moments later, and the firm pressure is good .

One hand resumes running along her back, and now she can feel them breathing slow and even. In time, in fact, with the hand.

Trying to get her to breathe slower?

She wants to scoff, but... she can feel it working. At least a little. She’s still shaking like someone hit her with an amped up thunder spell, but...

But she’s no longer struggling for a full breath. She feels the chest under her head vibrate, and the person must be saying something, but she cannot hear them. She wants to, wants to know what’s being said to her, but the ringing in her ears is so loud , and the fear is so strong .

She has no sense of time, but slowly, the ringing in her ears starts to fade, and she can made out a smooth voice murmuring... reassurances? They don’t sound like platitudes--they, he, isn’t saying how she’s safe, that there’s nothing to be afraid of, that she just needs to calm down and breathe--but it’s still hit or miss with making out words.

It takes her a bit more to realize he’s responding to her , that she is whining like a kitten seeking her mother, and he speaks every time she does.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I know. You’re not alone. I understand. I’ve got you.”

Just that. Repeatedly. Isn’t his throat sore ? How long has he been saying that?

It’s definitely not Thancred. She’s fairly sure that man wouldn’t know how to handle this sort of situation to save his life. She doesn’t buy the flippant attitude he has for a moment, but she also thinks he’d be as awkward as a pugil out of water if he had to take care of someone in the throes of a blind panic.

So.

Inle?

Gods but she is tired . The shakes have mostly worked themselves out, the fear finally easing to something more... tolerable. She never wants to fight a primal again, not ever , but with the fear waning, she can also understand, a little, Harmony’s delight in the fact that not only had they fought Ifrit, they had won .

She lets her grip ease some, and tries not to wince as she definitely feels some fabric get caught in her claws.

“It’ll mend,” and there’s weary humor in Inle’s tone, though he doesn’t seem inclined to stop running a hand along her spine. “I’ve definitely done worse to it in the course of traveling.”

Miyahn doesn’t quite trust her voice yet; everything aches, from the tips of her ears, to the end of her tail, to the claws on her toes.

Which logically doesn’t make sense, claws have no nerve endings after a point, but they hurt just the same.

“Ready to lay down and rest?” he asks.

“W...would you... stay?”

Ugh, her voice is hoarse and harsh, and she sounds so bloody needy . He’s done enough for her--saved her life, loaned her a sword, carried her back to Drybone--and here she is asking for more?

“Sure,” and he very gently nuzzles the top of her head. “I don’t have anywhere urgent to be.”

That’s comforting. She’s not keeping him from anything.

She doesn’t necessarily let him go, just shifts position a bit so she can keep herself burrowed against him as they lay down; admittedly some of it is embarrassment. If she looks at him, it’s going to become even more awkward. Intense emotions usually make her feel all kinds of ridiculous...

“W...why’d you...?”

Inle was quiet for a few moments, hand still running along her spine. It’s softer now, less measured, and makes her want to purr. It’s a very nice touch.

“If you couldn’t tell, I’ve had to fight Ifrit before. I was with.. There was a few of us, but only I and one other managed to survive the onslaught, and dispel Ifrit. We knew one another, but weren't what could be called close, so...”

So he had been alone. No wonder he'd sought her out.

He had... sought her out. Right?

“I... thought you might need the comfort,” he admits softly, breath warm against her ears. “I do wish I'd been faster, perhaps then-”

“Fast ‘nough,” she interrupted, bumping her aching head against his chin. Hopefully he didn't bite his tongue, but she's not going to let him downplay what help he gave. “All'f us... we made it c-cause you... helped.”

He chuckles softly, sadly, and she nuzzles at him without thinking about it. He didn't have to help them in the fight, and he didn't have to help her ride out the panic. But he had, and she's not going to say that she isn't grateful for it.

“Th'nks. Mean it.”

His hold on her tightens briefly, then relaxes.

“Sleep,” he suggests softly. “We can talk more in the morning, if you'd like.”

She is not quite relaxed enough, but the feel of his hand along her spine, soft and kind, works a sort of magic that has nothing to do with aether. It's not really a conscious choice to start purring, and though he starts a bit, he doesn't pull away. If anything, she thinks it might have made him smile.

She almost wants to pull back and see, but she is now so very tired. And he is warm and soothing, and so her eyes close, and sleep comes.

Chapter 2: Dance on Water

Summary:

Miyahn and Inle find one another again. Is something there? Goodness only knows, but it's nice to be around someone who understands, isn't it?

Chapter Text

Limsa Lominsa is not Miyahn's favorite city. Not because of how often it rains, or how much chaos runs in the back alleys, but because her favorite guild is located at the lower docks, and for the life of her, she cannot swim .

She's still a little in awe of the fact that no one in the guild seems inclined to try and teach her this skill... then again, the only ones she might tolerate trying are Jacke and V’kebbe. Neither one of whom seem interested in prying.

They have to know about the Ifrit fight; she’s seen the concern in their eyes. But that’s what she likes best about the rogues; they don’t pry when it comes to their own. Everyone has secrets in the darkmas, and she’s allowed to keep her own council until or unless it’s something that would affect them all.

Which, it’s not. She’s not exactly sleeping well, but it’s not affected her work. She's still fast with her daggers and the other acrobatics that are part and parcel of being with the most dangerous Limsa guild. (Marauders can fight her on it. When pirates are scared more of them than the rogues, she might concede. Might.)

It seems oddly poetic that Inle had told her to bring his sword to the Dutiful Sisters when she'd gotten her own repaired. He does seem like the sort who would have found camaraderie with the madfolk of the rogues.

Miyahn leans back in her corner, absently contemplating the edges of the daggers she carries. She doesn’t like admitting that she misses Inle, but lying to herself isn’t really something she does . Which means owning the fact that she rather wishes they hadn’t needed to part.

But Inle has a mission of his own, something about a man named ‘Karasu’ (and what kind of name is that, anyways?) that he needs to track down, and she had really only been hunting in Thanalaan because she was waiting for the rogues to get more information on those three treasures.

She huffs a little in worn amusem*nt; Jacke stealing the earrings right from Milala’s ears was still sort of priceless. Sure, it hadn’t exactly been sporting, but it was that or the likely disbandment of the guild itself.

She was pretty sure Milala hadn’t understood until the whole mess with the Black Sarcophagus, just how much more work the already overloaded Yellowjackets would be left with if the Rogue’s Guild wasn’t there to take up the slack and deal with the dangers in the shadows.

The nice part was that with the guild safe, Jacke had decided a bit of celebration was in order. Mostly that had meant sounding out musicians among the rogues, ordering food and drink from the Bismark, and clearing out some junk so that there was space for the party. It hadn’t started yet--most rogues were nocturnal, and wouldn’t be at the guild til after dark--but it was nearing time, and here she was simply occupying what was probably going to be the last quiet corner she could find for the next few hours.

“Celebratin with us, lass?” Jacke asks, stepping up to her bench and plunking himself down without so much as a by-your-leave. “I thought I heard you say sommat about restin and steppin out f'the darkmas for a bit.”

“Rest, yes. That's why I came,” she replies. “No place more comfort than here.”

He seems pleased by that, at least. She knows he's concerned about her--he's been up front about telling her she looks like she hasn't slept well, and it's not like he's wrong --but until she brings it up, if ever, he won't stick his nose into it. If he wasn't so plainly attached to the guild...

“And I never said I'd step away from the guild,” she continues, sheathing the dagger then rubbing the tip of her nose. “Clearly you need someone like me to avoid another panic like we had with the Black Sarcophagus.”

Jacke scoffs, and cuffs her gently, which she has to admit, makes her grin.

“Who was panickin? T'wasn't us!”

“Mmhm. Sure,” she teases, reaching up to poke at the Silver Sorrows he is still wearing. “Not at all worried, not you.”

He huffs, but it's amused, and bats her hand gently away from the earrings.

“They'll go to the Admiral with the big blue bauble we cloyed from the Curs. Just in the midday, not now.”

She nods, and leans back on the bench again.

“If you're asking roundabout why I haven't gone to change, I have to remind you that I don't exactly have spare outfits I can pull out of my ears,” she says dryly.

“Oh, we have a host of fancy, if that's t'taste,” and Jacke smirks at her a little as she eyes him. “Gotta infiltrate the uppers t'hear all things, lass. Did ye want tae?”

She considers. It's a party, and she's sort of the miqo'te of the hour considering she had been the one to disarm the Sarcophagus while the rest of them had milled the idiot Executioners. There's plenty of reason to celebrate, and dress up.

“...you know what, why not? I haven't dressed pretty in a while.”

Not since before she'd decided to learn the various martial and magical systems had she really had a moment to contemplate clothing or fashion. Mostly she was running around in various types of armor that would keep her from getting injured.

“That's the spirit, lass,” and Jacke claps her briefly on the shoulder. “Go see what Cherri's got hangin ‘round ‘er big ol’ wardrobe o'gewgaws, yeah?”

Miyahn huffs, but for the first time in a handful of days, the smile doesn't feel nearly as forced.

It's been long enough since she's worn fancy clothes that she balks at most of the outfits on offer; they're interesting, some are pretty, but few of them are tolerable. She finally settles on one that wouldn't have looked out of place in the upper crust of Ul'dah, with its cutouts to ensure breathability, and billowing pants that ended just below the knee. There are several variants of that, and Miyahn chooses a deep purple-blue option with the gold embroidery and mint-green for the gems of the jewelry.

She also decides very quickly to not ask about where the guild had come by such things, as they are very much not knock-off brands. The fact that it fits her with minimal fuss, and she tall for a Miqo’te is weird, but not unexpected. She and V’kebbe are only a few ilms apart.

The idea of V’kebbe in something like this is laughable though. She’s pretty sure the Sunseeker would rather stab someone in broad daylight than wear something like this.

Cherri had tried to pin some sort of fancy headdress to her hair, but Miyahn had ducked away from that. The not-her-clothes was going to be enough to contend with for the evening. Hells, she was definitely going to stand out among the rogues, unless Jacke, V’kebbe, or Perimu decided to ditch their usual gear and fancy up.

In fact, now that she’s thinking about it, she’s pretty sure Jacke has tricked her into being the center of attention with the pretty clothes. She’s not sure if she should be annoyed or amused...

But what’s done is done, and it’s not like she wants to walk around in her smallclothes instead (Cherri having ‘confiscated’ hers for a good clean and mend which means it will be some time before she sees them again. Good thing she has no plans to leave Limsa for a bit...), so she’ll just have to put up with looking fancier than the rest.

(It’s actually something of a comfort to return to the guild and see that she’s not actually the only one dressed up. Though some of the rogues have also taken the opportunity to dress down , Twelve bless them...)

The music starts not long after the sun goes down proper, and the guild fills up with people who are glad the whole Executioner’s mess is done and over with. Some people wander her way and tell her how amazing she was, which she brushes off gracefully. She’s gotten very good at humble in her moons of training in different martial and magical skills; no one likes a braggart, after all. And really, she just disarmed the mine; it was Jacke, V’kebbe. Perimu, and the rest of the rogues available at the time that had the rough work of dealing with the Idiot Executioners.

She’s fairly sure Jacke knows what she’s doing; he gives her wry looks every now and again from where he’s standing by the planning table. She’s almost certain there’s concern there too, but she doesn’t look long enough to confirm it.

At some point she gets a mug pushed into her hands, and the mead is better than beer or ale, though really she’s not a fan of drink at all. But when they’re very clearly bringing in the good things--Bismark food, and gods only knew where Jacke had hauled the beer, wine, ale, and mead caskets--she finds she doesn’t have it in her to reject the offers.

V’kebbe wanders her way for a bit, flipping a dagger in one hand while holding a tankard in the other, and she just leans against the wall next to the bench Miyahn is perched on.

“Not goin’ t’get out there?” V’kebbe asks.

“Mm. Maybe once the musicians aren’t quite so out of tune,” Miyahn replieds, making an amused noise as one of the fiddlers makes a horrible enough screech that at least three of their fellows pelt them with vegetables. “I know Jacke couldn’t hire, say, professionals, but that’s a bit painful.”

V’kebbe snickers a little.

“Aye, he’s a bit daft, just like them shinies he cloyed,” she says in genial, mocking amusem*nt. “Waitin for naught else?”

“....why? Should I be waiting for something else?” Miyahn asks, looking up at her Sunseeker friend with a raised eyebrow. “Is something supposed happen that I should be aware of or worried about?”

There is just enough silence from V’kebbe to make Miyahn concerned.

“Not as planned ,” she finally says. “But ye know how it be ‘round here. Plans get shredded sure as fools get milled.”

“...I am not reassured.”

V’kebbe snickers into her tankard, and pushes off the wall.

“We like the darkmas, love,” and she sheathes the dagger long enough to gently pull Miyahn’s chocobo tail hair. “Reassurances ain’t our thing.”

Miyahn makes a face as V’kebbe wanders back out, and more rogues wander in. The room is actually starting to get pretty packed, though she’s not surprised; free food and drink, and celebrating outwitting Milala?

She sighs a little and takes a drink of her mead before swiping one of the sandwiches she’d gotten earlier to nibble on. Muzzy head is fine. Drunk and stupid, not so much. And if she waits long enough surely, surely the musicians will start sounding more put together.

It’s true darkmas by the time the music sounds like music and she’s tapping her feet in time. She’s never been big on dancing, but she enjoys the rhythm and she does technically know the steps. She just doesn’t much feel like dancing alone. Perhaps ironically, the party makes her think of the others who’d face Ifrit with her, and she can’t help but wonder how they’re doing. Where have the gone, and what new troubles have they gotten into? Has someone faced another Primal?

She shakes her head a little, and pushes the thoughts away; she has no way of contacting them unless she goes to the Waking Sands, and she’s starting to feel like that’s not necessarily something she should do. What specifically she should , she hasn’t found out yet, but the Scions have a plan, an alignment, and she doesn’t feel like it fits her that well...

If nothing else, the music is as amusing as it is decent; about half the room is bellowing the lyrics to a bawdy song that’s being played, and it’s just chaotic and warm enough for her to relax. It is the closest she’s gotten to feeling comfortable since she’d returned to Limsa just in time to deal with more of Milala’s nonsense.

She’s privately amazed that she hasn’t gained a crowd, but that’s another thing the rogues are good at; picking up a cue. Her genial deflections of earlier in the evening have gained her some breathing room, other than the occasional random rogue swinging by to thank her for disarming the bomb. Jacke, V’kebbe, and Perimu have more people around them, and she’s almost positive Jacke is showing off those earrings he swiped and telling that story instead of how many Executioners he stabbed.

Her favorite guildmaster is a gold-hearted ass, and she rather enjoys that.

Miyahn hasn’t stayed up this late in a while, and she’s starting to feel both the mead and the hour when something shifts in the air; there’s no stumble in conversation or any outward hint, but suddenly there’s something just a little bit... more .

She glances around, wondering if maybe someone’s hidden, and blinks a couple times as she spots a familiar face over by Jacke; it’s hard to be certain with all the tall bodies between her and the Hyur, but she’s almost positive it’s Inle.

Which is wishful thinking on her part, isn’t it? Sure, he’d said she could bring his sword to the guild, but...

She’s tempted to stand on her bench and make herself taller, but that will draw more attention than she wants, and if she’s mistaken, she’ll look a fool indeed. Maybe it’s time for her to slip out, take herself, her borrowed fancy clothes, and her gently muzzy head back to the Drowning Wench and the inn room there...

She hears a loud cheer in another corner and that draws her attention; someone has started a knife throwing contest and she is not even slightly surprised to see that V’kebbe is the undisputed--current--champion of that. Anyone dumb enough to try and go against V’kebbe deserves the thrashing they get. Perimu is in another corner, and judging by the amount of tankards, someone’s challenged him to a drinking contest. Or. Maybe several someones. Which is dumb. He’s small, but that doesn’t actually mean much...

“-lass of the hour over here, aye.”

Miyahn can’t quite help shooting Jacke a small glare as he approaches, but it comes up short when she sees who he’s brought over.

It is Inle. And he looks just as surprised to see her as she does to see him. She can’t quite tell but... is he staring because he’s surprised to see her, or is he admiring her? A small part of her hopes for the latter, though the former is much more likely.

He looks... tired, she decides after a moment. A bit like he’s pushing himself too hard about something. She’s not sure it’s her place to say anything--Ifrit fight or not, they barely know one another--so after a moment she actually does glare properly at Jacke, who is just smirking.

“You keep saying that, but you know perfectly well that I couldn’t have disarmed anything if you lot hadn’t kept the idiots distracted,” she says tartly. “It was not a one-person effort, Jacke. Besides, I’m not the one who stole the Silver Sorrows from Milala and ensured that we had two of the three missing items to keep the guild around.”

Inle snickers a little as Jacke blinks at her. Plainly Jacke was not expecting so sassy a reply, but he rallies after a moment.

“Aye, we kept them busy, but who ran around as calm as you please t’disarm all four points o’that mine? T’wasn’t us, lass.”

Miyahn rolls her eyes in tolerant humor.

“You lot did more work than I did. I didn’t even get to stab Aisibhir,” and she mock-pouts at Jacke, who stifles a snort of his own.

She’s yet to admit to anyone that it was hard to muster up more than irritated concern about the mine. Apparently facing a primal had severely skewed her threat response...

“I’ve only heard bits and pieces from other folks out gossiping,” Inle says. “I admit, I’m curious about the whole tale. I had thought Jacke might actually tell me, but he’s been brushing off all attempts. Would you fill me in on the details?”

Jacke smirks at her; Miyahn rolls her eyes tolerantly.

“Sure, but it’s really not all that impressive, and most of it was running around and getting information, or waiting for it.” And she shakes her head slightly. “The short version is we ran into a Yellowjacket at the tail end of a slaver event, all up on her dignity, who ended up challenging our dear guildmaster for the rights of the guild to remain open.”

Jacke snorts a little, and Inle ponders this a moment. Miyahn just shakes her head a bit, and can’t help but wonder if Milala was really thinking the poorly spread Yellowjackets could have handled the whole thing.

“How’d that work?” Inle asks. “Jacke wouldn’t rise to any old taunt.”

“An I didn’t,” Jacke huffs a little. “The shrieking harpy came at us wi’a job only rogues could do, drippin her condescension all o’er the place. Bet that we couldn’t find three cloyed glimmers as was bitten by bollocks-for-brains marks, as if that weren’t already a thing we’d’ve done.”

Miyahn nods a little in agreement; the Rogues guild might not necessarily be in line with the law, but when it came to pirates and the underbelly of Limsa, they were the law. Also the boogeyman.

It was kind of fun being a boogyman...

“We found the one on a ship full of Grinning Curs,” she continues, “and Perimu tracked down rumors that the Executioners were involved.”

That makes Inle start a little, which isn’t surprising. The Executioners have a reputation for a reason, even if their little piratical empire has fallen apart with the death of their captain. If the collapse of it didn't look to cause problems for Limsa itself, she's fairly sure no one would care about them at all...

“Our leads dried up for a bit, which,” she tips her head gently from side to side, “is why that whole mess in Thanalaan happened. But once I got back, we were half-buried in new information, and we learned that one of the ‘treasures’ was actually a four piece mine that ‘Captain’ Aisibhir intended to use to blow up the mizzenmast. We did patrols for a few nights, making sure they couldn't sneak it in, and Milala helped mostly by being a bright yellow target,” and Miyahn sighs a little. “Honestly, I could admire her devotion to doing the right thing if she was a little less....”

“Stupid?” Jacke suggests.

Inle reaches over and sympathetically pats her on the shoulder. Before she can really think twice about it, she brings a hand up and loosely wraps her fingers around his. He seems more pleased than upset, so she decides to simply shift her grip so that she's holding his hand proper, and ignores the suggestive smirk on Jacke's face.

“Loud. Loud is probably the better word,” and she huffs a little at Jacke. “He stole the earrings right off her ears after she got injured, too.”

Jacke just smirks, and tips his head so that the Silver Sorrows catch the light. Inle makes an amused sound, and squeezes Miyahn's hand lightly.

“The Yellowjackets, us and any other guild members available plowed into the Executioners who were involved in setting up the mine, and then they kept everyone busy while I disarmed the pieces.” She shrugs gently. “It wasn't easy, but we got it done.”

Jacke sighs and shakes a finger at her in mock-reproof, likely for once more talking down her part, but she doesn't really care. Honestly, he's lucky she's fond of him, or she'd bite that wagging digit.

“How did you disarm the mine?” Inle asks. “I wouldn't think such a thing would be easy.”

“It was triggered by four remote detonators,” she explains, tail swishing lightly as she remembers. “Since the detonators didn't actually have the explosives in them, I just broke them.”

That makes Inle laugh, and Jacke stares at her for a moment.

“Ye never said that! ” He complains.

“You never asked,” and Miyahn smiles sweetly at him in response. “Really Jacke, I don't know how things go boom, but I can tell when there's explosive material in them. The actual Sarcophagus was a mine , remember? All around in the water of the Mizzenmast, ready to take out the base and make it topple into the bay, and that's the best case scenario.”

Honestly, it had angered her much more than it had concerned her. They didn't have to like that piracy was outlawed--or made legal by signing on as a privateer and raiding Garlean ships--but to target an entire city, thousands of innocents on top of Admiral Merlwyb? How dare they?

She fluffs up just a little, then lets out a breath as Inle squeezes her hand again, this time as if offering reassurance.

“Milala is, according to everyone gossiping, just fine thanks to the Yellowjacket healer,” she finishes after a moment. “And because we had two of three treasures, she doesn't get to put in an injunction for our disbandment. Hopefully she also walked away from that understanding the entire point of the Rogue's Guild, because really, I don't want to have to deal with that nonsense a second time...”

Her relationship with most Yellowjackets is cordial enough; some of them have seen her wandering around with a marauder’s axe, or an arcanist’s grimoire, and they wisely elect to leave her alone. Or sometimes ask her for help, as that is the heart of what most adventurer’s do .

So the adversarial attitude of Milala is really sort of an outlier as far as reactions go. She hopes--dears gods does she hope--that Milala has learned her lesson now, at least.

“It sounds like a dramatic event,” and Inle’s smile is empathetic.

“It’s definitely not been a slow few days,” she replies after a thoughtful moment. “I’ll take some quieter time for a bit though... Anyways, what’s brought you around?”

“Information, mostly. But business can wait, since there’s a reason to celebrate,” and Inle’s smile lightens a bit. “It’s not every day someone gets one up on the Executioners.”

She huffs a little, unexpectedly flustered, and waves her free hand at him. Not quite dismissive, but really, she didn’t knock down nearly as many idiots as the rest of them, and she’s not going to take credit for something she didn’t do.

“Oi Jacke, c’mere an settle sommat fer us!” one of the rogues hollers from across the room, to the groans and complaints of their fellows.

Jacke snickers and heads that way, leaving Miyahn and Inle to themselves.

“Seeing as this is a party, why are you back here in this corner?” he asks, a wry smile now crossing his face. “You look like you should be the center of attention.”

Miyahn makes a face and gently elbows him without letting go of his hand.

“I really don’t want to be. I told Jacke I didn’t have anything nice to wear and he threw me at Cherri and her wardrobe of clothes. I feel rather over dressed, if I’m being honest.”

“You look lovely,” Inle counters. “And you do deserve a good portion of the credit, even if you don’t want it.”

Which. She doesn’t. Every time so large event happens and everyone wants to make a big fuss of it, she balks. She’s not a fan of thinking she has some Grand Destiny, even if that whole mess with Ifrit and the protection of the Echo or Hydaelan means she can’t ignore it forever. She’s going to ignore it for as long as she can, curse it...

“I don’t really enjoy that sort of thing. I just... want to relax a little,” she admits.

“Ah. Well then, would you can to join in the dancing? I am fairly spry on my feet, and your tail has been twitching in time ever since i got over here.”

She huffs an amused noise, embarrassed, but also pleased. Dancing sounds like a fun idea... and it means no one can really talk to her.

“Sure. But no one is lighter on their feet than a miqo’te,” she teases.

“We shall see,” and there is fondness in his smile. “We shall see.”

The party is still going strong even as they duck out onto the docks to get some air; Inle had actually been pretty good at dancing, taking direction well, and not being at all bothered if he missed a step or two. He'd also had to intervene a time or two when a bundle of mischief makers had tried hauling Miyahn up and tossing her from person to person.

It would have been more fun, perhaps, if they hadn't done it out of the blue. She had scratched several people before someone had gotten smart and tossed her back to Inle.

Who had then decided that swinging her right back into the dance was the wiser option, which, it probably had been. She’d been thinking of going and punching the first person who’d grabbed her and started the whole thing, but by the time the dance had been done with, she’d calmed down enough that jumping headlong into the next had been more ideal.

The night has started edging towards dawn, hints of color on the eastern horizon as they walk along well-maintained piers, and she can hear the sounds of gulls stirring on the wind.

“You know, I half-expected you would understand the truth of the rogues,” he says after a moment, though his voice is quiet. “During that fight, the way you moved at times made me think of them and how their footwork goes.”

“I also know how to throw a punch, and swing an axe,” Miyahn says wryly, lacing her hands together behind her head. Her legs ache and she's not above thinking longingly of the bed at the Drowning Wench. “And let's not forget casting spells.”

He chuckles a little, and tips his head slightly.

“A veritable one-miqo'te army,” he teases gently.

“More or less,” she agrees. “If there had been time to pause and breathe, I might've been able to do more...”

“You did quite a lot,” he says, shaking his head gently. “Then and now, apparently. Do they...?”

“I didn't tell anyone,” and she shakes her head quickly. “I like them; I trust them. I just.. don't want them to look at me differently. Bad enough that Jacke keeps acting like I did the head part of the job with the Sarcophagus, when the rest were keeping the Executioners off me...”

“I think Jacke is letting you know how much he admires you,” Inle offers after a moment. “It's not every recruit that pulls off something quite so dramatic, and there's a fair number who just wash out or get themselves killed in foolish ways.”

“He can just tell me,” she huffs a little, feeling heat rise to her face. “Besides, I'm no fool. His first love and greatest devotion is the guild. I don't blame him, I just...”

She's not sure she can dedicate herself to the Rogue's Guild the way Jacke does. The more she thinks about the problems of the world, much as she hates the idea of some great destiny, the more she wonders what small peace she can bring.

“It's Jacke,” and he shrugs gently. “If you're straight with him, he'll be straight with you.”

Miyahn snickers a little.

“Unless he steals your food.”

“....that needs some details.”

“He ate V'kebbe's Bismark sandwich, and thought she wouldn't find out,” Miyahn says with a grin. “She strung him up so fast, and he had to get himself down. Took him a fair few~”

Inle laughs, shaking his head.

“I'm guessing he thought it belonged to someone not quite so vicious?”

“Probably. And I'm pretty sure Perimu let it slip on purpose while we were standing there.”

Inle snickers as they head up the stairs. The ache is starting to get more pronounced, and she’s lagging a bit, but he doesn’t comment, just... adjusts his stride so that she’s not quite so far behind.

“How did you join the rogues, if you don't mind me asking? They're not like the guilds of Gridania or Ul'dah.”

Miyahn hums a little.

“I guess I built up something of a reputation while I was working with the Marauders and the Arcanists to rank up,” she says thoughtfully. “Lonword stopped me and mentioned it after I dropped off an order from the Bismark, so I thought I'd go in and look around.”

She still remembers her first glance in after hearing the phrase ‘Rogue's Guild’ from the doorman. The room warm and dim after the bright light of day, smelling a bit of stale alcohol, a handful of people scattered around chatting mostly. Jacke at that center table with a map and a frown on his face, looking like if he glared at it enough, it’d give him answers.

“I’ll admit, it’s not what I expected,” she continues as they pause at a landing. She’s glad; her limits are greater after Ifrit, but she might have overdone things... “But it’s also the guild that’s made me feel most... comfortable. Since I started this whole venture of mine.”

Inle smiles a little, nodding.

“They are a strangely homey bunch, for all they don’t seem it at first glance. And exceptionally particular. Not just any adventurer gets to walk around with daggers the way those chosen by the rogues do.”

“Were you a rogue before...?” she asks, curious.

“I was actually a marauder first,” he says after a moment. Then smirks, just a little, “so I also swing a mean axe, among other weapons. There was actually a joint venture between the three guilds to handle a privateer who had decided he liked being a pirate and a slaver more, and that’s how I came to Jacke’s attention.”

She’s curious as to what he is now, because she remembers the fight with Ifrit, and what he’d done hadn’t been something she could do. Part of her wonders if she can get him to teach her...

“I can’t imagine there’s many things that get all the guilds working together,” she says instead, admittedly curious.

“Yes, well, Doesmaga was a special brand of nonsense,” and Inle frowns a little. “I’d heard rumor he’d been spotted in these waters again recently, but I haven’t had time to check on K’lyhia and see how she’s doing. I don’t suppose you know her?”

“I’ve met her,” Miyahn huffs a little in amusem*nt as they start up the stairs. After three steps Inle subtly offers his arm and she’s not slow to take it. She’s more tired than she’d thought apparently. “I think she had a recent upset in her life; from what I can tell she’s had to restructure some of her thinking recently, so she’s stumbling a little over it. But I think whatever it was, it ended well enough. You’d have to ask Thubyrgeim about it.”

She’d meant to check in on the arcanists herself, but then Perimu had found her with news about the Sarcophagus, and everything had moved rather quickly after that.

“I shall, if I get a moment. I suppose it’ll be a day or so before any of the rogues sober up, so that should give me time to speak to my old guildmasters,” and he chuckles a little. “I’d have thought the party to die down before dawn, but I expect they’ll keep going for a while yet, even if the musicians give up the ghost for a bit.”

“I suppose that’s the benefit of the guild being where it is,” and Miyahn covers a yawn with her free hand, leaning a little more against Inle without really thinking about it. “No one’s going to complain if they get raucous, so long as it stays in the building.”

Chapter 3: Learning Process

Chapter by Laina_Inverse

Notes:

Karasu is a Dramatic Bastard. Not necessarily *stupid* but 100% committed to the drama and f*ckery.

Chapter Text

Miyahn enjoys the rain of Limsa Lominsa. The way it rushes and drenches is far different from rains in either Gridania or Ul’dah. In Ul’dah, rain is rare and a blessing for the desert city and its surrounding areas. For Gridania, rain is just a thing that happens, and makes the Twelveswood even more green.

The rain is not special in Limsa. It makes wood and stone slippery, and chases people indoors. But Miyahn likes it best here anyways, and there is something soothing about being drenched in the rain while staring out at the Aetheryte plaza.

It’s been a quiet few days, which she very much appreciates. The rogue’s have mostly been in recovery since the celebration of their security once again, and thus far, there hasn’t been a single peep out of Milala, or any other Yellowjacket, about anything the guild has, or hasn’t, done.

It’s allowed her to actually rest, and explore the strangely comfortable relationship that she can feel growing between herself and Inle. He’s like her, studying every available martial and magical discipline offered to adventurers across Eorzea, which has led them to some intense discussions about the different styles of aetheric use, as well as debates on which weapon is most comfortable in their hands.

He’s also far more advanced than her in several subjects, which she has been leery with asking about, as some things she simply wants to discover for herself, while others... well, like most rogues, she doesn’t try to pry into the lives of fellow rogues. Just the situations around them.

She’s kept an ear out while walking Limsa during the day, for news about a strange, foreign man named Karasu, but so far, her eavesdropping has gained no leads. Which is probably the other reasons she’s sitting here, letting the rain drench her; she hates disappointing people, even knowing it’s inevitable at times.

It’s more frustrating because Inle has become important to her, in a rather short frame of time. Disappointing people she’s met maybe twice and won’t have a rapport with is one thing. Disappointing someone who is becoming a friend?

The rain is abruptly halted, pattering off something held over her head, and a towel is promptly dropped around her shoulders all in one move.

“For someone who doesn’t swim, you certainly do enjoy being wet,” Inle says as she glances up in surprise. “Stay out here too long and you’ll get sick.”

It’s on the tip of her tongue to say that’s what potions are for, but she doesn’t; Inle is concerned about her, and it’s not unfounded.

“Rain is not the ocean,” she replies instead, obligingly pulling the towel around herself a bit more. “I don’t have to swim through the rain.”

She’s going to have to learn, she knows. He’s already said it’s one of the things he wants to teach her, and she’s not really looking forward to looking ridiculous in front of him.

But she does need to learn. Costa del Sol with Jacke while tracking information on the Sarcophagus and the Executioners had been an exceptional brand of tense, trying not to get knocked off the piers and into the water.

Inle huffs a little in gentle amusem*nt, and then sits down on the wet wood next to her, covering the both of them with the umbrella.

“What’re you doing out here?” he asks.

“Thinking. Being vaguely annoyed by the lack of progress,” she admits.

Inle chuckles softly and wraps his arm around her, gently bumping his head against hers.

“He’s a ninja,” he says wryly. “Even if he’s an overdramatic asshole, they’re more stealthy than rogues. Rogues take to the shadows; ninja are the shadows.”

Given the times she’s seen Inle literally melt into and out of them, she can believe that. It’s definitely a trick she absolutely wants to learn.

“It’s not like you’re alone in no progress,” he continues, squeezing her shoulder gently. “Jacke’s keeping his ears open, and so are the rest of the rogues. He’s dramatic enough, he’ll slip up, if only because he wants to be found.”

“He needs a stage?”
“Maybe. But we’ll find him in due time. Since it’ll be a bit before then, if his track record is anything to go by, I was thinking we could relocate to Costa del Sol and get you started on learning how to swim.”

Miyahn eyes him, then huffs a small sigh.

“I suppose so...”

“The water is warmer, and the air is clearer,” and she eyes him a little more until he capitulates, “and I have a ninja contact in the area that I think you should meet. We’ll want his approval if you’re going to learn things like the mudra I know.”

Instantly she perks up. He’s explained some things about the Ifrit fight, how his ‘spells’ are a ninja technique known as mudra that allowed him to channel elements in a way that was different from conjury or thaumaturgey. As far as she is concerned, there is no such thing as useless knowledge, especially when it came to defending herself.

“Why do we need his approval?” she asks.

In response, Inle hands her the umbrella to hold, then rolls up one sleeve to show her a stone set into a bracelet. It shimmers in a way that gemstones don’t, and she squints a little at it; there’s something engraved on the stone?

“Ninja identify each other by these stones,” he says, rolling his sleeve back down and taking the umbrella back. “They call it a soul-stone, and the stronger your connection to it, the better your ninjutsu. I acquired mine the first time I ran into Oboro and the like, and I think if we present you properly, he’ll be amenable to getting one for you.”

Miyahn leans a little more against him, thinking. Then nods after a moment.

“Then let’s go to Costa del Sol and get started.”

Swimming is not actually all that hard, she discovers. Or maybe it’s that Inle is very patient and doesn’t make fun of her when she clings to the post of a pier with her claws as the ocean tries its best to yank her into even deeper water. Learning what a riptide is, that’s less fun, but the swimming itself really only takes a couple of days before she’s passable at it.

And she’s not going to pretend that Inle isn’t terrible attractive without a shirt. She won’t say it to his face, she’s not sure they’re close enough for that sort of admission yet, but she can’t pretend it doesn’t make her tail twitch madly to see him in swimming trunks and very little else.

It’s maybe the closest thing she’s had to a vacation since she became an adventurer, and honestly? It’s been needed.

“We’ll go see if Oboro is at the place I mentioned in a couple hours,” Inle says as they sit on the beach, sun nearly set. “A bit dramatic, I know, but right now the secrecy is better.”

She hums a little in acknowledgement, quite content to soak in the last of the sun. Sure, she's a Moon Keeper, working best at night and in the dark, but there is warmth in the daylight, and she has been enjoying it quite regularly.

“Do you think he'll have any information?” she asks.

“I'm optimistic, but if not, that's that,” and Inle shrugs lightly. “I can always give it more time and check in again at a later date. Did you say there was something with the thaumaturge's guild that you wanted to handle?”

She makes a face at the reminder. The Coco brothers give her a headache every time she has to interact with them, but she can hardly leave Cocobusi to being possessed.

“I should go check in on that mess, yes,” she sighs a little.

“What exactly is that all about anyways?”

She rolls her eyes a little and flops herself sideways before scooting around and putting her head on his thigh. He knows what that means by now, and it's only a few moments before he puts a hand on her head and rubs soothingly around her ears.

“So, for one of my trials, they wanted me to break a really fancy jar that contained a voidsent, Mormo,” she explains, feeling tension ease a bit. “I was planning to punt the thing off a cliff, I know better than to mess with a voidsent. But Cocobusi, their alchemist sibling, tagged along so I had to make sure he wouldn't get hurt by jumping in over his head. Naturally, we get jumped, and while I'm dealing with that, Cocobusi apparently got close enough to the jar that the voidsent must’ve said something to him, because the next thing I know, Busi and the jar are both gone, and I'm dealing with three new idiots. Next time I saw Busi was when thaumaturge murders started happening.”

“I heard about that,” Inle nods a little. “Flames and Brass Blades both stretched too thin, and the guild took an interest because it was their people. I asked Cocobuki about it, but he said it was handled.”

She snorts.

“Sure, because I'm a sucker,” and she can't help being just a little scathing. “I may not be a sibling of Cocobusi, but I'm a Miqo'te, and I could smell the difference. Busi is currently posessed by Mormo, who's trying to regain her power, and did, in fact, think I was dumb enough to not notice he was acting funny. Though,” and she lets her tone turn thoughtful, “it was kind of funny to see Buki's face when Busi clung to the ceiling like a lalafel spider.”

Inle snorts a little.

“They didn't really have a plan last I talked to them, but after showing the rest that thaumaturgy is powerful no matter the circ*mstances of the fight, I think they're coming around to a plan. I'd really rather not have to kill Cocobusi though,” and she huffs a little. “He's had it rough enough, not being able to be like his brothers.”

“You’re hardly a sucker,” Inle counters, gently tugging one ear. “You care about people, and that's not a bad thing. Just let me know if you hear from them, and I'll come help.”

“Assuming you're not off and busy with something yourself, I will.”

Miyahn has no illusions; Inle has his own life, and while she’s enjoying the attention, she's not foolish enough to think he won't continue on his own path eventually. It makes her a little sad... but she pushes that away after a moment because it serves no point. She's got a friend in him now, and that's enough.

Isn't it?

“I suppose we should go put on actual clothes,” and she sits up after a moment more, if really only enough so that she can flop properly against him instead of just using his leg for her pillow. “Get ready to meet Oboro and all that.”

“Don't be too surprised if he and Tsubame are wary of you,” Inle says, wrapping his arm around her. Really, the physical contact is the best part about their friendship... “I haven't talked to them in a while, and this soulstone thing is a bit on the odd side.”

“Do you think I’d be able to learn their skills without one?” she asks.

“...maybe. I know Oboro took to me because the stone I rescued from one of the fallen seemed to like me, and that might get me some leeway in teaching you,” Inle says thoughtfully. “But we won’t know for certain until we go meet them.”

She nods, but stays still a few moments longer. So sue her, she enjoys being cuddled after so long without even casual touch. Inle doesn’t seem inclined to move either, and they stay there until the sun finishes slipping over the horizon.

They don’t share a room except to sleep, so Miyahn is alone when she registers that something feels off; the window, open to the night air, is somehow a smidge wider than she left it, and something in the room feels wrong. She knows how to not tense up, not give away that she’s picked up on the change in air, and just finishes pulling on the short robe Inle called a yukata over her leggings.

She has a vague memory of Inle pummeling Ifrit with his daggers between casting mudra, so after a moment she reaches for her own... then throws herself forward and snatches them up just barely ahead of what probably would have been an elbow to the back of her skull.

“That’s how you kill people, you know,” she huffs, dropping the dagger sheathes to the ground; no time to buckle them on right now, no.

The man steps back from his lunge and she get a moment to take in the person before her; a tall Hyur, pale, wearing armor that reminds her of Inle’s, only it’s a rather garish red instead of the muted purples and grays. His hair is black tipped in green, and he has a dark streak of paint over his face like it’s supposed to be some format of mask.

“Oh, the little one can duck and weave, what an unexpected turn for our hero,” he proclaims. “But can she do so well enough to evade capture and enrapture?”

“....I see why Inle wants to punch you in the face.”

“Ah, the bunny with his strong back legs, who really should work on his temper.”

She’ll credit Karasu for his mocking limb squiggle that... doesn’t actually give her an opening to attack. The asshole.

“You say this, having broken into my room, knowing perfectly well that he’s my friend,” and Miyahn’s tail lashes in irritation. “You don’t get to make fun of someone not controlling their temper when you’re going out of your way to provoke them.”

“....you’re no fun at all, are you?” he complains. “You’re as bad as the dimwit he calls his teacher! Do us all a favor and be a good little kidnapee, hm?”

“....nah. Don’t think I will.”

Karasu scoffs, and Miyahn grins; she doesn’t have shoes on, the room is small, and the door is blocked, but there’s a window if she can move quick enough, and he’s no Ifrit. He’s just a Hyur, and she’s taken down plenty of those.

She’s no V’kebbe, both fast and sleek, but she’s no slouch either, and she sees the surprise flash briefly in Karasu’s eyes as she doesn’t try to run, but lunges at him, slashing in a low-high pattern that she’d learned from Jacke. He blocks, counters, and then does one of those hand signs Inle had demonstrated; she manages to dodge by going up into the rafters that support the straw roof just ahead of the lightning that throws her belongings around.

“Hey!” she protests, scowling down at him. “If you break my stuff, you’re buying me new!”

Maybe she should have just grabbed her sword and shield...

Karasu scoffs at her, and she ducks the throwing knives--weird ones--using one of the rafter poles to launch herself feet first at the ninja. She doesn’t have the weight to kick him through the wall, per se, but she makes him stagger. Even as he does, his hand flashes in another one of those mudra, and she takes a blast of wind to the chest that sends her out the window and onto the dock decking outside.

She digs in with her claws--point one for bare feet sometimes--and daggers, just barely managing to keep herself on the dock. She wants to take a moment to wheeze--air as a hammer is new--but she doesn’t get that as Karasu rapidly follows her outside. At least here there’s more room to dodge, and the things she brought and bought won’t get wrecked by an idiot.

“I’ve heard someone doesn’t like the water,” Karasu mocks, doing another one of those annoying full-body wiggles that don’t give her an opening to stab him. “Perhaps I should get her all wet?~”

Miyahn focuses for a moment, reaching for the elements; it’s harder to cast magic without a wand, staff, or scepter, but not impossible, and throwing an aero at Karasu’s face makes her feel a little better, even if it only just nicks him.

“That’s cheating!” he protests.

“I’m sorry are we fighting? I was under that impression,” she retorts, and throws herself back into it.

He’s annoyingly fast for a Hyur, and honestly better than her with the daggers. She’s going to lose, but she’ll make him work for it, damnit. First things first though, is getting off the dock and away from other people. She manages to turn the fight so that her back is to the shore, and lets him press her back until they’re both on the sand before throwing another aero. Not at his face, but at the ground, spitting sand upwards in a cloud.

Karasu sputters and makes various annoyed sounds about her not playing fair, but Miyahn hardly cares about that.

She spots Inle before he does, and wow. Her friend looks furious. It’s not aimed at her--and she quickly returns her attention to the fight, jumping back from the lightning strike and wishing she had the space to return one of her own--but it’s a little intimidating just the same.

The lightning attack that hits Karasu in the back makes him stagger, and Miyahn jumps back on reflex, looking for who might've done it. Inle, she realizes, who is now at the foot of the docks, dagger in one hand, and she can see his other moving, feel the aetheric energy shifting... She gives him a fierce smile, though she's not sure he sees it, and feels comforted by the help, even if his attention is entirely on Karasu.

Karasu recovers annoyingly quick and half-turns. He actually falters a moment, only really noticeable to Miyahn because of proximity, before laughing mockingly.

“And lo, the little bunny arrives to thwart our hero, but too late!”

She’s not sure how Karasu finds a hole in her guard, but his fist impacts her diaphragm before she can block him, leaving her half collapsed over his arm, seeing spots and wheezing involuntarily. Not hard enough to make her throw up, but definitely hard enough to disorient her, and he swipes her daggers in the process.

The asshole.

“Will he come to rescue his fierce maiden in time? Ohohoho~”

Karasu throws down something even as Inle throws himself forward, and Miyahn is treated to massive disorientation as she is pulled suddenly something like thirty yalms away.

“I suppose it’s only fair to give the intrepid fool a helping hand, so come to the falls near the string of severance, or your darling companion will remain my own!”

If she could get a full breath, she'd bite him, but he's holding her like she's a damn sack of potatoes! She hears Inle's frustrated yell, even as she's treated once more to that massive disorientation. Which is followed by a precise blow to the head that leaves her in darkness.

The sound that wakes her is a familiar one; the scrape of whetstone against metal. Her head hurts abysmally, she's tied up in an uncomfortable position with ropes that are rough and biting into her skin, and she's about as unarmed as she can get. She's not, strangely enough, blindfolded or gagged. Does he not care that she’ll be able to see and speak? Just because she’s bound doesn’t mean she’s helpless!

Though trying to reach for a fire spell is a bad idea, which she discovers quickly. Her head aches far too much to concentrate on controlling the more dangerous thaumaturge spells.

Maybe she can whisper to the elements for some sharp stone? She has to get free and get away; being rescued is not her idea of a good time, and Inle does not deserve to be upset like this.

But hells, her head aches.

There was a pause in the scrape of metal on whetstone, and a small snort.

“I did not hit you that hard,” Karasu complained.

Damn. She must've given herself away somehow. Oh well.

Miyahn cracks her eyes open carefully, slowly, and has to immediately close them again; double vision, and the lantern nearby do her no favors.

“My migraine begs to differ,” she mutters.

He scoffs again, and the sound resumes with regularity.

“Don't bother trying to escape, you can't,” and while she can hear the arrogance in his tone, there's significantly less posturing. Interesting. “You step outside this little shelter, and you're facing great beasts that would tear you limb from limb.”

Ever so carefully, she scrunches herself around until she can reach the rope with her claws.

“I'm small, fast, and maybe I'm not a ninja-” yet. Inle will push for it now, she knows, and probably get what he wants. Which is good, because she wants it too. “-but I'm a rogue and we know how to hide in the dark.”

The silence hovers, and she appreciates it; she can't concentrate on fraying the rope, and whispering mental requests to the elements for a low grade cure, and hold a snarky conversation with an asshole all at the same time right now.

The cure spell washes over her like a gentle beam of sunlight, and the pain recedes to an ignorable level. Now she can open her eyes, and even if the light still makes her head ache, the double vision has gone away. She’ll take it.

It's a crude lean-to that they're in, and she has to admit just from a cursory glance that it's probably well-hidden. There's a few boxes and crates, the lantern, and not much else; no solid flooring, no real walls or roof to speak of... if it rains, they are going to be doused in minutes, so she rather hopes the clear weather holds.

She also has no idea where they are; she and Inle stayed around the Costa del Sol docks, so at most she knows she's somewhere in Eastern La Noscea, which is an unpleasant place to be lost.

“Honestly, who gave you these knives?” Karasu grumbles, and yes, he is sharpening her daggers. “This edge is pitiful.”

“First of all, rude,” and Miyahn glares at him. “That’s my backup set.”

Her usual set is with Jacke, who’d said something about putting a keener edge on them. It means something, she knows, but she’s not thinking about it just yet.

“Secondly, why the hells do you care? Are you gonna give them back?”

The rope is good quality; the fraying of strands with claws is going to take time, and probably a few claws. Being snappy is justified.

“I’m half-tempted to replace them instead,” and Karasu flips the one he’s holding a few times, shaking his head. “Shoddy quality for such a fighter.”

She huffs an annoyed growl in the back of her throat, tail lashing in irritation. He’s doing it on purpose, she can tell, but that doesn’t make him any less annoying.

Or maybe that’s the concussion talking. When Inle gets here, she’s going to have to ask him to check her over before she uses another cure spell, or lets him do it.

“What’s this all about anyways?” she asks after another tense minute of working at the damn rope. Ugh, her wrists are already starting to ache... “Are you that concerned about Inle’s participation in your nonsense?”

“Hardly,” Karasu scoffs. “It’s no fun if the players aren’t worked up into a froth!”

“....except when you saw him actually angry you flinched, and ended that fight,” Miyahn points out. “You’ve got dramatic posturing to an art form, should be a mummer, but you’re clearly not an idiot.”

She’s not going to pretend she wouldn’t have flinched if Inle turned that sort of look on her. There had been something in his eyes, even from so far away, that had screamed dangerous.

She wonders if he can teach that. She still looks too baby-face for fighting, which is sometimes fun as it means she’s underestimated. But most of the time it’s actively annoying to be treated as someone without a brain because she looks younger than she is.

Karasu just scowls at her, then looks away in a clear pantomime of a snit. Miyahn is not convinced.

“And since you’re not an idiot, I have to wonder how much of what Inle and I have been told,” she continues. “Did you really betray your people and give the war to the Garleans? Seems awfully ambitious for one person.”

“Hmph. Someone’s been hearing stories from the dim one,” and Karasu sneers a little.

“Well, I haven’t actually met Oboro. We were supposed to do that tonight, but you got in the way,” and she shrugs slightly. “Which, rude. But also, dodging the question.”

He actually puts her daggers down, and frowns at her.

“Kidnap victims are usually quiet,” he complains.

“Uh huh, if you gag them,” and she sticks her tongue out at him briefly. She thinks the rope is frayed enough to snap if he tries that. Granted, if he gets in range, she also fully intends to bite him. Jackass. “I happen to be intensely curious about what the hells is going on, so you can either try that, or answer the questions, because I’m not going to stop asking.”

Karasu gives her a narrow-eyed stare, but again, the man is no Ifrit. If he’s trying to intimidate her, he’s not succeeding.

A tiny part of her mind quietly acknowledges that facing Ifrit really has broken something in her. She’s not sure if it’s sad or pleased, and she promptly ignores it.

“What does it matter if I did or didn’t?” he finally says, picking the dagger up again and resuming careful passes against the whetstone. “The dim one will believe what he wants without checking the truth of the matter.”

“So you didn’t. Then why are you letting yourself be blamed for it?”

He splutters a little and scowls at her; it was absolutely a shot in the dark, but she’s met too many idiot braggarts at this point to be fooled by the bluster. She’s pretty sure he’d be much more smugly insufferable--not to mention more devoted to defending the Garlean actions--if he actually had betrayed his people.

“Is it that there’s no proof?” she asks as he continues to try and come up with a retort. Ah, the rope is actually loosening now. Good, her wrists hurt. “Are you using the cover of some of your work here in Eorzea to find the proof that someone else did the deed and you got the blame for it?”

That shuts him up and he stares at her looking more startled than anything else. She elbows herself upright, stretching what she can while still being mostly tied up, then smirks at him.

“I’ve met plenty of people like you, Karasu,” she said pointedly. “Without proof, what’s the point in protesting, hm?”

“...who sent you?” he demands.

“I wasn’t sent by anyone,” and she shrugs. “I read a lot, people watch, and listen.”

She’s not going to admit that she was in his position when she was a kitten. It had taken her days to find proof that she wasn’t the one who’d stolen her dam’s pie, and it was where her desire to learn how to defend herself had been born. Defense was often as much psychological as physical, after all.

“So you’re hunting proof to clear your name,” and she smiles thinly as he looks away, clearly having not been prepared for her to be anything other than a mute victim. “Have you found it yet?”

“The dim one and your bunny friend keep interfering,” he grouses, a petulant frown crossing his face. “But I’ve gathered more than they know.”

“Is it enough?”

Karasu is silent for a long moment.

“Oboro is dim and naive,” he huffs a little. “He believes what others have told him, instead of seeking the truth as I did.”

“You have plenty, but don’t think he’ll believe you,” she translates, smirking a little as Karasu scowls at her. “But you clearly have some plan, otherwise you wouldn't be harassing him. Again, I know dramatically stupid. You’re one, but not the other.”

She ignores the petulant, pouty look, and twists her wrists carefully. She feels fibers snapping and the ropes loosen a bit more. Good. She'll be free sooner rather than later, though she is definitely going to need some personal care for her claws after.

“You do plan to present that evidence, don't you? I can't think of another reason you'd be bouncing around and trying to upset every ninja in the area otherwise.” She shrugs at his huff. “It's a bit more dramatic than the route I'd take, and frankly, riling up someone you want to convince of your innocence is dumb, but you do you. Do you even want to go home?”

“Back to that dusty old place?” he scoffs, this time more genuinely. “I'd be bored silly in a day.”

“So, you want to clear your name, but not go home,” she hums a little, tailtip twitching lightly Damnit, her ears are itching and she's not free enough yet to scratch. “Inle said that you said you, Oboro, and Tsubame were once friends. Did you never think that they might listen to you?”

“I, who chose life over foolish nonsense?” Karasu scoffs a little, even as he looks away. “Surely they would treat that as the greater betrayal.”

So, that was a no. Which makes her wonder how good of friends they were, or if they were even friends at all. With his penchant for drama and mocking nicknames, she can't help thinking they weren't.

Which is really not her business; she's not here to help him regain friendships, she's here because he's a jackass, and because she wants to help Inle.

How can she use this to help Inle...?

From what she remembers, the ninja are very big on honor, glory, and all the nonsense of the gladiators taken up to twelve. (She likes Mylla, and even sort of likes Aldis, but she fights to win, to live, and not really for any other reason. Not yet, at least...) So long as Karasu is alive, even with proof that he wasn't the one who did the thing, they'll likely keep sending people after him. (Something something stubborn old men, tradition, all that rot.)

“...have you consider faking your own death?” she finally asks.

“What good would that do me?”

Miyahn snorts a little.

“You're plainly caught between a rock and a hard place,” she points out. “You mock and you taunt, and you're keeping plenty of secrets I don't really care about, but you're also tired under that stupid face paint of yours. If you gather up all your information and drop it on Oboro's head--and no I don't care if you take that literally or not--then kill yourself in a suitably dramatic fashion, you'll at least get a chance to breathe and plot your next step towards whatever it is you want to actually accomplish.”

Karasu eyes her, but notably doesn't actually dispute the comment. Insead, he puts the sharpened daggers down--in reach if she wants to lunge for them, that's interesting--and seems to be actually taking her seriously now.

“Why do you care?” he asks bluntly.

“I don't,” and she shrugs slightly. “Not about you. I care about Inle, who's going to be pissed off, and mitigating damage because he's had enough sh*t in his life without you adding more on top. I can about giving him a break between fires he has to put out, and people he has to rescue. Also, I am a meddlesome person who just wants people to stop being stupid for thirty gods-damned seconds and consider other options.”

He stares at her a moment more, then starts laughing. It's weird, but not exactly an unexpected response to her blunt response, so she just sighs and waits for him to stop.

“Are you doing this because you don't expect him to come?” and there's a mocking edge to his tone. “Saving yourself, if that's even plausible?”

“First of all, if I wanted to be saved, I wouldn't be talking to you,” she says tartly. She twists her wrists firmly and feels the rope snap, which allows her to finally sit in a way that's actually comfortable, and smiles sharply as Karasu blinks. “We would already be fighting. Secondly, I know he'll come.”

He'd come when he hadn't known her from a hole in the ground, just to comfort her after Ifrit. He'd stayed when she'd asked him to stay, and gone only when she'd said she could handle herself again.

So he would come, even knowing she could rescue herself. That was just the kind of person Inle was.

“And until he does, let's talk about the best way to kill yourself and get you out of a mess of your own making, hm?”

Karasu glares, and Miyahn smiles.

Point to her.

“-it's more of a dislike than any real limitation,” she admits. “It's harder to channel aether without a focus.”

Summoning is the most focus-dependant, if she's being honest. The patterns to draw Carbuncle forth are specific in their intent, though she's pretty sure she can kludge a workaround if need be. She's just never needed it. But both conjury and thaumaturgy can be done without a focus. Focuses just make it easier.

“What a waste,” Karasu snorts a little, shaking his head derisively. “Casting times and physical mediums, how backwards. Mudra just need hand signs and will power.”

“I don't know mudra, and I doubt I'll be that progressed by the time you want to blow yourself up,” she counters dryly. “Therefore, me casting a high level fire spell as a blind is your best bet.”

“I could just keep you,” he huffs. “Make you my student, I'm sure you'd l-”

Miyahn senses Inle's approach a bare ten seconds before he comes flying into the lean-to feet first, aimed straight at Karasu. She prudently ducks out of the way, and she’s not going to pretend it isn't hilarious to see the Hyur go flying, not after all the bullsh*t she's been sitting through trying to get him a ‘fake your own death’ plan.

He's at least leaning into his own dramatic nature for it, but still.

Inle hits the ground in a crouch, glances over at her, then zeroes in on Karasu, who is now several yalms away from the lean-to and picking himself up off the ground. She has no intention of stopping her friend from handing out a few injuries, because frankly, it's cathartic, and she's still hurting enough that she's willing to pass on it for the moment.

Besides, Karasu is still armed, and armored. He can take a few hits for being unnecessarily dramatic.

So Miyahn doesn't bother watching the fight. She sweeps up her second-best daggers and tucks them carefully into the belt of the now dirty yukata, then goes through the supplies Karasu has stocked for some bandages to wrap her wists and ankles with. The rough rope was very rude to her skin, and while she's no longer bleeding, even sluggishly, she's not going to take the chance of something getting infected on the way back to whatever passed for civilization out here.

Huh, he even has some ointment. Well, she'll just use that too.

She can vaguely hear Karasu mocking Inle, and shakes her head as she finds a pair of spare sandals. Not ideal, definitely too big to really be comfortable, but better than walking barefoot, so she pulls them on and steps out into the muggy night air, letting her eyes adjust to the moonlight and shadows. It takes a moment to orient, and it's more based on sound than sight, but eventually she finds that Inle is pressing Karasu towards open spaces instead of allowing the man to dart between the shadows of the trees, throwing smoke bombs and taunts.

Inle's pursuit of Karasu is relentless, and maybe just a little bit concerning, but Miyahn still takes her time in picking her way through the jungle to them. Karasu's taunts have stopped, and he is plainly far more focused on actually staying ahead of both the daggers and the mudra Inle is bringing into play.

The more she watches, the more she wants to learn those mudra. The fire Inle lobs at Karasu feels stronger than her strongest fire spell, and she has to begrudgingly admit that it'd probably be far more effective a ‘death’ if she could use that instead.

It's when Inle actually has the man down that she deigns to interfere. Karasu is injured, using a tree to keep himself upright, and that's enough for her. Her ankles hurt, but she still darts across the open space, and plasters herself to Inle's back, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her forehead against his neck.

“I know, Inle,” she says as he stills. “I know. It's enough. You’ve done enough.”

He's trembling slightly, and she can feel the tension in him... but he lets her pull him back a step. Then two. She takes brief note of Karasu's black eye and bloody nose, then gives Inle a small squeeze.

“Oh please do-”

She points at Karasu without looking at him.

“Shut up. I said we're faking your death, not actually killing you, and don't think Inle won't.”

It would certainly ruin her attempts at planning--not that she's certain Karasu won't do that anyways, since he was being unhelpful in general--and she's quite sure Inle will if she lets him go.

“...Miyahn...?” Inle asks quietly.

“I know you want to beat the crap out of him and maybe throw him off a cliff, but can I convince you to listen for a minute?” she asks. “There's some details about all of this that Oboro isn't privy to.”

Inle is so tense. Miyahn doesn't, can't, blame him. She'd be upset too if someone kidnapped him when she was in a position to do something about it.

“You can watch him, that's fine,” she says softly. “But I need you to trust me, okay?”

I do trust you,” and the immediate response makes her feel warm. “I don’t trust him.”

“...that’s fair,” she allows. “But will you listen to me?”

His nod is slow, but it's a nod, and she lets out a small breath of relief. He doesn't have to go along with this, and she won't blame him if he disagrees with her methods, but at least he's giving her the chance to explain.

“Karasu is a dramatic asshole, we're not going to pretend he's not,” and she ignores the noise of protest Karasu makes. “And his hands aren't clean. But he's also a bit of a victim. He's taking the blame for someone else, who told him ‘follow or die’. No, I don't know why he's making every last second of this as dramatic as a play, but he has evidence of who really betrayed Doma.”

Inle remains tense, doesn't drop his guard or his eyes from Karasu, but she can tell he's listening by the position of his ears.

“I just spent the last however long between waking up and you drop-kicking him convincing him that faking his death so that he can at least have a chance to breathe and recalibrate is a good plan. He’s not helped me plan how he’s going to give Oboro the information he has, but he’s been very interested in the most dramatic death possible.” She smiles a little, burrowing her face just a bit into his neck so he can feel it. “Blowing him up is honestly going to be the best part.”

She feels the snort of amusem*nt, and Inle’s head cants just slightly, pressing a bit more against her own.

“Revenge?” he asks.

“Damn straight.” And she lifts her head a little the scowl at Karasu, who is mostly looking put out by the whole conversation. “Breaking into my room while I’m changing, picking a fight to rile up my friend, and mocking my daggers, is totally grounds for a retaliatory explosion.”

She’s not going into detail about the other things. Inle’s only just slightly calmed down, she doesn’t want to make him bitey again.

“And... honestly. We’re not from Doma,” she says quietly. “We, you since I don’t have a ninja soulstone yet-”

“If you’d become my student, you wouldn’t have that-yeow!”

Miyahn’s headache is getting worse, even as Inle moves back into a position where she can latch onto him again. Which she does, because really, he seems to need it. He’s trembling with suppressed anger again, and that’s frustrating for her as well, because he was calming down, damnit.

“And that, Karasu, is why I told you to shut up and let me talk,” she says tiredly. “Besides, I already have a teacher, even if I never get one of those stones. So. Stop being a provocateur and let me talk.”

She rest her chin on Inle’s shoulder so that she can glare at the Doma Hyur, and wonder of wonders, he actually shuts his mouth and looks away. Sure, he’s pouting again, but she prefers that to him actively upsetting Inle.

“Is there a plan?” Inle asks.

“Not much of one,” she sighs in weary resignation. “He’s singularly unhelpful, other than being entirely for the idea of me blowing him up. Or.. well, nearly so. I suspect your friend Oboro is going to be very irritated with me when it happens.”

Inle sighs a little, and his head presses gently against hers.

“You’re sure about this?” he asks. “He’s...”

Inle hesitates, and Miyahn nods a little.

“He’s not the one who sold out Doma. This doesn’t make him innocent of other crimes, but he’s not the reason their province fell. And... honestly, if the ninja were broken up like any normal military party, Karasu’s a foot soldier. How would he have the information to route all of Doma?” she points out.

“Hey!”

“Shut up Karasu, still not your turn to talk.”

Finally, finally Inle puts his daggers in their sheathes. He’s still watching Karasu with a wary eye, still tense and mistrustful, but at least now he’s not likely to stab the Hyur if he says something stupid again. She won’t rule out punching, but that’s less immediately lethal. Mostly.

“All right,” he says, “so he’s being used to cover someone else being the actual traitor. And you want to help him fake his death because...?”

“....mostly I just want to light him on fire,” she admits. It gets her a snort of laughter at least. “But also, if they think he’s dead, then that can clear a path to the one who actually is at fault, especially since he’s got all the drama of a mummer, and I just bet you Oboro would allow him a monologue if he times it right.”

Karasu nods, but wisely says nothing. Inle considers, and she gets the feeling he’s eyeing Karasu like he wants nothing more than to throw him off the nearest cliff.

“I’m only doing this because Miyahn is asking me,” he says finally, and there’s a pressure to the air that is dark and dangerous. It’s not aimed at her, and she’s not going to pretend it doesn’t amuse her to see Karasu looking distinctly discomforted. “If you touch my friend again, in any manner, you’ll find I won’t be so forgiving a second time.”

Karasu doesn’t scoff. He eyes Inle, and Miyahn thinks if he were any species with fur, he would be all poofed out in agitation.

“Then our hero will make a quiet exit,” he replies, sounding much less boisterous dramatic. “And tend to his injuries.”

He straightens and moves slowly away from the tree; Inle shifts to watch him go, and Miyahn does too, so that she can maintain the largest amount of full body contact, even if Inle’s armor isn’t the most comfortable thing to be wrapped around. It’s not until Karasu vanishes into the forest that Inle relaxes a little more.

“Is there a town nearby?” she asks.

“Wineport,” he replies, shifting in her grip until they’re facing each other properly. “Can you walk?”

“I’m standing just fine, Inle,” she says patiently.

“Standing and walking aren’t the same thing,” and oh, she can hear the concern in his tone. A hand comes up to cup her cheek and she leans into the touch without really thinking about it. “And I know you’re wearing bandages...”

There’s an unspoken question there, and she sighs a little, nuzzling more into his hand.

“He hit me hard enough in the head that I was seeing double when I first woke up,” she admits, grabbing his arm before he can do more than tense again. He just let Karasu go, she’s not going to let him go after him again. “And the ropes were rough. I’ll be all right.”

She can tell he wants to go after Karasu, maybe bounce him around like a ball for causing her harm, but right now that’s entirely counterproductive. So Miyahn tugs gently at the loose hair by his face, just enough to get his attention.

“Hey. Let’s go to Wineport where there’s better light and nothing wants to eat us,” she suggests. “You can check me over there, olay?”

He looks at her for a long moment, then sighs and leans forward to press his forehead against hers.

“All right. And you’ll tell me everything?”

“Promise.”

He ends up carrying her back to Wineport, and she doesn’t protest because it’s as much a comfort for her as it is for him to be carried like she’s a princess. She’s not, and never will be, but as he runs through the jungle with her tucked securely against his chest, she spends a few minutes pretending for the fun of it.

She talks as he picks the best, safest path to Wineport, explains what she learned by being observant (obnoxious), and what she guessed that Karasu gave away with body language more than words. By the time they reach the small town, with its innkeeper that eyes them but asks no questions when given a small sack of gil for discretion, she’s caught Inle up on what happened, and also how injured she is.

Most of the injuries from her fight with Karasu were handled by the low level cure spell, but she lets Inle check her over patiently, undoing the bandaging on her wrists and ankles so that they can be properly washed and looked at. He gets most upset about the head injury, and she’s pretty sure if she asked him, he’d go right back out to give Karasu one of his own.

She doesn’t, mostly because she wants him to stick close. She wouldn’t say the event was traumatizing, but she feels... more at ease with him close.

The cure spell he uses once he’s finished checking her over washes over her like a wave, taking the lingering aches and pains with it. There's not even a hint of where the rope had torn into her skin, though she's still going to have to trim her claws all over again. She just leans against him and purrs softly, nuzzling gently as he wraps his arms around her.

“You're sure I don't need to go back and punch him a few more times?” Inle asks afte a moment.

“Tempting,” she admits with a faint huff of laughter, “but I'd save it for the next meeting. He has to have something up his sleeve, for all he was very invested in me blowing him up with... I think he called it can ton?”

“Kanton,” Inle corrects. She shifts around, scrunching herself down so that she can tuck her head under his chin, and he doesn't seem inclined to protest, just rearranging his limbs so that she can do so comfortably. “A fairly strong fire jutsu. We can try and teach you that one, but I think it'd be safer if you just used one of the high level thaumaturge spells. You know how fire is.”

She nods because she does know; she'd started as a thaumaturge when she'd decided to be an adventurer, and fire had been the second spell in her aresenal. Balanced well by the ice, but fire liked to be wild in her hands.

“Are you going to say anything to Oboro?” she asks. “Did he even know you were coming?”

Inle presses his face against her hair and sighs a little.

“He knew because I asked him about soulstones,” he admits. “And I did say I would be bringing you....”

“We could just tell him part of the truth,” she suggests after a moment, absently playing with the loose hair next to her face. Braiding it was honestly pretty fun... “Karasu tried to kidnap me to mess with you, and when he realized it was a bad idea he... reversed direction, threw me at you and ran like he was being chased by angry aurochs?”

Because honestly, she can picture Karasu doing just that. Hells, he probably would have if she hadn't decided to talk him down from whatveer metaphorical ledge his ovverdramatic ass was standing on.

“...I mean, it's probably accurate,” Inle says, and he sounds more amused than upset. “Though I imgaine you would have tried to bite or stab him in the process.”

“Believe me, I was tempted,” and she pouts a little, staring at her ragged claws. “Now I have to cut these and shape them all over again.”

“They don't grow like that?”

There's a teasing note in his voice that makes her lean back long enough to stick her tongue out at him. He huffs a small laugh as she tucks herself back against him, one that makes her relax. She's not necessarily likely to sleep, but the warmth and the strength of him... It's nice.

“...I’m sorry,” she says after a moment.

He goes still, and she thinks it's surprise.

“You've done nothing you need to apologize for?”

“...I mean, I did get grabbed up by an idiot...” she grumbled a little. “That's twice you've basically come to rescue me from something.”

“Neither time was your direct fault though,” and he gently taps the end of her nose. “And you were doing fairly well on your own by the time I got involved. You may have needed some help, but we all do. That's why I went to the rogues, after all, and you've been more helpful than you might think.”

She's not sure she believes it, but honestly, she's not really despondant so much as she is annoyed by her lack of skill. She has to get better, be stronger, and then maybe she can do more. For him, for...

Something hits the shutters of the room with a soft but solid thwack, and they immediately untangle. Inle moves towards the shuttered window, stride soundlessly threatening, and she thinks maybe both of them are less okay than they're trying to pretend. She sticks close to him without touching, hand on a dagger hilt, and bites her tongue gently when Inle decides to open the shutters and peer out.

She wouldn't say he relaxes when he sees who's there, but the threatening air fades. She's still cautious when she peers around his shoulder to see an unknown Hyur in the courtyard, with short dark hair and armor like Inle's and Karasu's.

“...Oboro?” she asks softly.

“Oboro,” Inle sighs a little. “Not even slightly how I wanted this meeting to go.”

Miyahn laughs softly, and rests her chin on his shoulder.

“We can blame Karasu for that too.”

“Believe me, I intend to. Do you... I mean, you don't have to meet him now. You could stay up here.”

Sticking the daggers back into the belt--stupid Karasu not letting her have her dagger sheathes--she proceeds to loop her arms around his.

“I think I'll stick with you,” she replies. “I wasn't really planning on sleeping anyways.”

He gives her a concerned look, but she doesn't want to elaborate just yet, instead nodding in the direction of Oboro.

“A dramatic jump down, or are we taking the stairs?”

He huffs a little, but doesn't try to shrug her off.

“I just healed you, you know,” and the mock-insult in his voice makes her giggle. “We're taking the stairs.”

Up close, Oboro is not too much different in appearance from Karasu; his hair is much shorter, and he wears no facepaint, but he looks just as tired. His armor is a deep blue that blends well into the shadows of the night.

“Is everything well?” he asks. “You did not arrive when you said you would.”

“Karasu decided he wanted to cause some trouble,” Inle replies, tone annoyed. “We had to disagree about that.”

Miyahn huffs a little, but she's not getting involved just yet; she trusts Inle to not say anything about what she's told him.

“Karasu? And you didn't come get me?” Oboro sounds both worried and annoyed.

“I didn't have time,” Inle says with a small huff. “I didn't know if he was going to hurt her, so I just went.”

“....I see.” Oboro glances between them. “I suppose I understand your reasoning.”

She can tell he really doesn't, but it's not out of malice. More out of confusion. Does he not understand interpersonal relationships that well?

....not her problem.

“When he realized he might have misstepped, he essentially threw her at me and ran off while I was making sure she was okay,” Inle continues. “We were planning on resting here for a bit before heading back.”

Oboro nods a little, and frowns.

“Whereabouts were you?” he asks. “I shall go scout the area. He may yet remain.”

“Somewhere between Red Mantis Falls and Severed String, but I doubt he stuck around,” Inle grimaces. “I barely found the camp as it was, and only because he was bragging so loudly.”

Miyahn can't help but admire the ease with which Inle is lying to Oboro's face. She's glad he is, because really, the next confrontation should happen on Karasu's schedule, not Oboro's, if only to give Karasu time to recover from being stabbed and also to decide what information he might give to Oboro when the time comes.

“I see,” Oboro sighs. “Blasted Redbeak.”

“If he crosses my path again, he really will be,” Miyahn says pleasantly. “I am not a fan of being kidnapped in order to upset my friend. Just because I don't know ninja skills doesn't mean I won't launch him into orbit if he gives me the opening.”

Inle snorts a little as Oboro stares at her. He seems surprised by her words.

“You are one who uses... ay-ther?”

“I can, yes. I know how to conjure, heal, summon, and destroy. I'd show you, but I don't have anything to channel with since Karasu tried to blow my room up like the complete pile of auroch sh*te he is,” and she props her hands on her hips, tail swishing in irritation. “Honestly, breaking into a lady's room just to try and kidnap her is so rude.”

Inle is laughing softly, and Oboro looks like he has no idea what to do with what she has just said. Or really, what to do about her at all.

“This is Miyahn,” Inle says helpfully. “The one I wanted to see if you would be willing to loan a soulstone to.”

“...there are many stones of my fallen kin,” Oboro says after a long moment. “And you have already faced one of the worst of us. Did he harm you any?”

“He tied me up with coarse rope, gave me bruised ribs and a concussion, but honestly, the painful part was listening to him brag about swiping me from under Inle's nose,” and she shakes her head a little. “He's a dramatic idiot. If you need a demonstration of skills, I don't mind showing you what I can do.”

“If you reinjure yourself, I'm not healing you,” Inle says.

Miyahn elbows him gently.

“I can heal my own self, thanks just the same, starlight.”

The nickname slips out without her intent, but other than a slightly startled glance, Inle doesn't seem to mind.

“No,” Oboro says with a small shake of his head. “If Inle says you are trustworthy and honorable, then I will take his word for it. He may bring you to the storehouse later, and we shall see if any of my fallen brethren's stones sing for you.”

“...and if they don't, I'll just have to do it the hard way.”

Oboro blinks, then smiles a little.

“I see why Inle has spoken highly of you,” he says gravely. “I have no doubts that one of my brethren's stone will speak for you.”

Miyahn ducks her head a little, feeling admittedly flustered; Inle had spoken highly of her? She doesn’t know how to respond to that; compliments are probably one of the few things that can utterly disarm her.

“Tomorrow?” she asks instead.

“We shall be there,” Oboro replies with a nod.

Then he turns and looks northward, and Miyahn can guess he’s going to look for Karasu, which... well, not her problem. She doubts Karasu has stayed in the same place after Inle so thoroughly stomped him, so she doesn’t try to stop him when Oboro heads off, instead leaning a little against Inle.

“....I’m kind of surprised that worked,” she admits as Inle wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“I like Oboro, and respect him, but he is very.... Linear in his thinking,” Inle says, nudging her around so that they can go back inside. “Karasu is likely going to have to be very drastic in his information giving, just to make Oboro listen.”

“...Good thing he has all the dramatic timing of a professional mummer,” she replies dryly.

It makes him laugh, and he hugs her gently.

“Come on, let’s rest up. Tomorrow, you get a stone, and then I can teach you all the tricks that have been taught to me.”

Tsubame is eyeing her like she’s a thief in the night, which.... Is not wrong. So Miyahn pretends not to see it as she looks over the displayed soulstones; she’s not really sure how to go about choosing one, and no one is giving her any sort of hint. Which both makes sense and is terribly unfair, but she hadn’t been lying about being willing to do it the hard way, if that is what it takes.

She hears it after a few moments though. Something... soft. Almost like singing. It’s faint, almost buried under the rest, and she carefully moves a few stones to find one all but buried. Unlike the other stones, this one is glowing faintly from within, changing the dark stone to a deep, shadowy purple.

She loves it immediately.

“That’s an old one,” Oboro says; she nearly elbows him in reflex, hands closing protectively around the stone. “That it speaks to you is an honor.”

He doesn’t even seem perturbed that he almost took an elbow to the throat. Ninja.

Inle looks more than a little pleased, and he’s the one who tosses her the bracelet into which she can fit the stone. She does so with care--if it’s old, it should be treated with respect--before sliding it onto her arm and tightening it so that it won’t fall off.

She feels it, after a moment. Something unfurling in her like a flower to the sun. a slow release of something subtle, something that has her shifting her feet just slightly.

“Inle has expressed the desire to teach you as he has been taught, but you should also work with Tsubame; she can show you specific kunoichi skills that we male shinobi are not allowed to learn.”

Miyahn glances at Tsubame again, and she dips her head in a shallow nod, but Miyahn can tell she’s not entirely thrilled to be volunteered like that. She’s curious about what these ‘female only’ skills might be, but frankly, she wants to learn from Inle more than Tsubame.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” she says neutrally. “Did you find Karasu last night at all?”

“No,” and Oboro frowns. “Barely even the remains of his camp, and likely only that because he wanted it to be so. He left this, and I believe it was meant for you.”

She can tell he’s reluctant to hand her the wrapped item, but she isn’t sure if it’s because he doesn’t trust Karasu, or because he doesn’t trust her. Since she straight up doesn’t trust that overdramatic idiot, she eyes the bundle warily before reluctantly taking it, and isn’t even slightly surprised when Inle comes to stand at her shoulder while she unwraps it.

It’s a fancy hairpin of some format, and she sighs a little, checking it over with care. Nothing odd about it, just... a fancy hair thing.

“....well, I don’t want it,” she says with a small huff and shake of her head. “I’d never wear it. But my baby sister would; I’ll leave it with Mother Miounne next time I visit Gridania.”

It’ll annoy Karasu too, and she’s down for that.

“Baby sister?” Inle asks, chin on her shoulder. “You have siblings?”

Miyahn smiles a little, absently leaning her head on his.

“Several, but Mi’una’s the only one so far that’s wanted to come be an adventurer. She’s exceptionally aetherically gifted, and has mastered the art of soft-but-scary.” Miyahn grins a little. “I almost hope she meets the Scions; she’d be a good mitigating force on a couple of them.”

That makes Inle laugh softly, even as Tsubame and Oboro exchange middling concerned looks.

“That’s mean,” Inle teases.

“You can’t tell me they don’t deserve someone who will make them stop and nap on occasion,” Miyahn replies with a grin, elbowing him gently. “Maybe if Thancred had gotten a nap, he’d not have upset Reede so much after Ifrit.”

Inle snickers a little, and doesn’t protest; Miyahn rewraps the fancy hair adornment and tucks it into her pack. Mi’una really will love it, and unlike Miyahn, she can afford to have a hairstyle that will show it off.

“Okay. So. Ninja training,” and she smiles brightly at Inle. “Where do I start?”

Karasu gives them roughly a week before he causes trouble again, and he actually manages to catch her off-guard with it; she is preparing to go to Ul’dah, talk to the Coco brothers and see if they are ready to face Busi yet, when word reaches her and Inle that Oboro wishes to see him and teach him one more skill. Inle goes on ahead--he will teach her the skills once she catches up to him, and she is determined to do so quickly--as he is already prepared to leave, while she must now change rapidly.

She brings her thaumaturge scepter, with a sneaking suspicion that she’s going to need it, but she is farther behind, and everything keeps trying to fight her as she passes! Her daggers are well-used by the time she catches the tail end of the battle in Raincatcher Gulley, having needed to trace them there from the warehouse. It’s strange seeing Oboro in a rage, but even furious, the skills of him and Inle working in tandem are too much for Karasu.

(She wonders, later, if Karasu let them win. She doesn’t intend to ask him, but she wonders.)

She keeps herself concealed in the trees, even as she meets Karasu’s eyes just the once as he falls back before a bridge. His grin was already a bit manic, and it grows more-so as he spots her, and she is well aware that he does, in fact, let Oboro’s next hit drop him like a doll into the earth.

Inle grabs Oboro and pulls him back, just a step; he knows she’s there too, they both probably do, but only Inle knows she’s planning on ‘blowing up’ Karasu with a high level fire spell.

She sheathes the daggers--she’s going to have to clean them thoroughly later--and pulls her scepter from its spot on her belt. Karasu is speaking, but she is far away enough that she can’t actually hear them, doesn’t know what he’s saying to Oboro and Inle; concentrating first on the casting, and then holding the spell--fire wants to be free, and it is a tricky element to hold for long--until he leaps into the air and shoots her a look.

Miyahn releases the fireball, and it slams into Karasu with a burst of fire and smoke. She has hit many creatures before with fire spells, and her attention is caught up enough in the flames at the monet of impact that she knows immediately that she did hit him. She would feel bad about it, but he’d kidnapped her first damnit, and this is as much her revenge as it is helping him.

She doesn’t think he stays in the flames that long though, her sense of him almost immediately disappears, even as she falls back into her body. Oboro is looking around in alarm, and when he sees her, his expression is somewhere between anger and despondency.

“He earned that,” she says shortly, putting the scepter back on her belt. “And you can’t tell me you weren’t going to do it yourself.”

Oboro’s mouth opens and closes a few times, like a fish, before he looks away, confliction clear on his face. Inle raises an eyebrow at her, and Miyahn shrugs minutely; she knows Karasu lives, but where he’s f*cked off to is not her problem unless Karasu decides to make it so.

“Come on,” and she gentles her tone some. “Let’s get Tsubame back to a safe place so we can heal her up.”

Whatever comes next, it’s Inle’s problem. But she’ll do what she can in the moment, and if they want her help again, all they need to do is ask.

“So did he come clean and make himself useful?” Miyahn asks drowsily as Inle runs his fingers through her hair.

They'd agreed one last night in Costa del Sol, just so they can be close if Tsubame gets worse overnight, but she'll leave in the morning to Ul'dah if not. She has multiple people to check in with, after all.

“Useful is probably granted too much of a concession, but he did disturb Oboro by what he said,” Inle replies, his voice a thrum in his chest that soothes her. “Apparently their grand traitor is the ninja master that trained them, and he's going to be at Candlekeep Quay in the near future. I don't think Oboro really knows what to do with that information, and your dramatically timed explosion meant he couldn't actually ask the questions he wanted.”

“It's the dramatic ‘death’ the bastard would have wanted,” she scoffs gently.

“Oh, I'm not arguing that,” and Inle's other arm tightens briefly. “I still wanted to kick him off the edge of that cliff into the gully. And I'm quite sure we haven't seen the last of him.”

“Probably not,” she agrees with a small yawn. Oh, she's going to miss this when they part company... “Do you still want to come with me tomorrow, or do you want to stay in the area in case Oboro decides to be nobly stupid?”

She can handled Mormo with the help of the Coco siblings, but she can't pretend it won't be nice if he's there too.

“I’ll come. We have some time, I think, before Oboro will do anything too reckless at Candlekeep Quay. And I promised to teach you.”

She smiles a little, pleased, and nuzzles at him fondly. She’s not so fussed about the teaching, she’ll learn no matter how the lessons come, but having him close, just for a bit longer.

Yes, she likes that.

Chapter 4: Swallow's Flight

Chapter by Laina_Inverse

Notes:

Smut chapter!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Miyahn isn’t sure what to think when Jacke presents her with the newly refinished daggers. On the one hand, it’s certainly taken him long enough to return them to her--she’s still annoyed with Karasu’s commentary about her second best pair, yes--on the other, they seem far too fine to be the pair she’d left with him. It makes her uncertain.

“Heard you an’ Inle found some trouble fer y’selves up at Costa,” Jacke says.

“...f*cking Karasu,” Miyahn mutters, picking one of the daggers up cautiously. “I blew him up for it.”

Jacke smirks a little.

“Aye, I ‘spect ye did,” he replies. “A lass as fierce as you wouldn’ stand f’r no disrespect.”

He’s not wrong. True, it had been part of a plot to get him some breathing space, but it had also been some catharsis for him having the sheer audacity to try kidnapping her to stress Inle out. It had not working in Karasu's favor, honestly; she's pretty sure Inle would have just straight up murdered him if she had been visibly injured when he'd arrived.

She tests the weight of the dagger, flipping it carefully in her hand; the blade has a keen edge, and there's some odd engravings down the middle that she doesn't look too close at just yet. It doesn't quite feel right in her hand, but that's unfamiliarity more than anything else.

“...what's this about, Jacke?” she finally asks, looking him square in the face. “None about but us, daggers far too fine to be the ones you borrowed from me to pretty up... What are you up to?”

Jacke blinks at her, then snorts a small laugh.

“Ah, V'kebbe did say ye wouldn’ take kindly ta roundabots...” He shakes his head a little, and the smile changes some. It makes her think a little of Inle, but with... something more. “The gifts are gifts, lass. Let me make tha’ clear, ‘cause I don't fancy V'kebbe stringin me up fer implyin anythin else. Or Inle. Pretty sure he could carry me higher up...”

Despite her wariness, Miyahn has to snicker a little. Inle would probably be happy to display him from the Admiral's balcony if he thought Jacke was causing Miyahn trouble.

“Okay. So. A gift. But you still want something.”

“Want... mmmm, tricky word. I would like t'have a specific outcome, but it ain't a r'quirment, an in yer not int'rested, I'll take no hard feelings from it,” he says a little more seriously now. “Would ye be open t’ joinin me in bed sometime?”

Miyahn blinks. She's startled more because he said it so bluntly than because it's an unpalatable idea. She likes Jacke; he's wicked sharp with a sense of humor, and a slight of hand that has won them the day more often than not. When she'd sprained her knee rescuing those kidnapped people, he'd let her climb on his back until they were back in Aleport where she'd left her extra gear and could heal herself. He was fierce to his enemies, and kind to those of his guild...

Even dumb, on occasion. Like stealing and eating the Bismark sandwich without checking whose it was.

He's probably the first person who has spoken so bluntly about wanting to bed her, and she finds the approach refreshing.

But.

“....Not turning you down,” she says finally. “I need... I need to think about it.”

Rather, she needs to talk to Inle first, and he'd headed for the ferry to Costa del Sol when she'd decided to check in on the guild and see if Jacke had her daggers yet. He'll likely be some time, as he had intended to check on Oboro and Tsubame, which means either she waits, or she follows after.

“The offer's open, lass,” Jacke says with a nod and a small smile. “Take yer time.”

She huffs a little, and straps on the new daggers, before eyeing him briefly.

“Is there anything interesting happening in the guild that I should be aware of?” she asks after another moment.

“Nothin’ major as would need the interventions of a dimber hand as yours,” Jacke says with a small, nonchalant shrug. “Culls makin deals an’ bitin’ their share without crossin lines as yet.”

“Okay. I'll try not to leave you hanging too long.”

He huffs a small laugh, and she slips out the door to walk past Lonword and down the docks. She can go after Inle, but she needs to have her thoughts in a row before she does, so up she goes to sit outside the Drowning Wench and look down at the aetheryte plaza.

She doesn't start with Jacke, no. She starts with the idea of sex. She’s had it before; sometimes it was good, most times, it was bad. The first time was definitely a disaster, and she tries not to think about that first time too often. But she understands it. She’s never really felt like she needed it, so it’s a little strange to think of Jacke, and think of sex, and feel.. Interested. The tip of her tail twitches meditatively, and she admittedly spends some time contemplating what sort of lover he might be.

She has to admit, plain-speaking is definitely attractive.

But there’s also some comfort in ambiguity. She’s not tried to define the relationship she and Inle share, some out of concern that trying to lock it down will make him want to leave.

She’s not sure if it’s love, but she cares about him fiercely, and has ever since he gave her the soft comfort she needed after the fight with Ifrit, when all the fear finally caught up to her. She sleeps better when he’s near, and the casual contact, the ease of being able to just lean on him when he’s there and know he’ll catch her, wrap an arm around her without prompting...

Miyahn sighs and flops onto her side, tail thumping against the solid wood in mild irritation. It’s ridiculous to be this tangled up about a thing, but she is, a bit. Mostly, she just needs to know if it will bother Inle. Because honestly, if required to choose, she’ll take Inle and the regular sleeping cuddle sessions over sex with Jacke, no matter how interested she might be.

So then.

She needs to find Inle.

She sits up, then hesitates. Inle is at Costa del Sol by now, if not farther inland, meeting Oboro at the warehouse. And Inle’s been a good sport about her tagging along, as well as dragging him around to help with her problems.

Maybe... maybe she should wait. Let him have some space?

She nibbles uncertainly at the edge of her thumb, and considers how pressing the questions are. Admittedly, not very. She could go find him, but it’s not... urgent. Or at least, Jacke hadn’t made it seem so. Which is rather sweet of him, thinking on it.

That or he really does think V’kebbe will string him up if he f*cks things up, which is not inaccurate. V’kebbe treats her like she’s the younger sister, and it’s novel enough that Miyahn doesn’t actually mind. And if he's heard anything about what happened with Karasu, he should certainly know that upsetting her will bring Inle down like a cannonball.

He’d promised to come back quick if it were possible, and she’s not got anything urgent now that Mormo’s been handled for the Coco siblings. (Stupid Busi. Stupid Buki. Stupid all of them, but at least there’s no more voidsent.) This doesn't need to be rushed.

She can wait.

She is anxious by the time Inle shows up at the Wench. She had spent most of the night awake, waiting for him to come back so they can talk, only falling asleep in the early morning hours when it becomes clear that he's really not coming back. She sleeps maybe a handful of hours total, too restless and worried to fall completely into the darkness and risk nightmares. The sun wakes her, and she frets more when she realizes he still hasn’t returned. She spends time debating if she should go after him, but resolves to wait; something must have happened, but he had not come to ask for help, so perhaps... perhaps he has it handled?

She knows he can take care of himself. He is stronger and faster, and more knowledgeable. But she still worries.

It’s edged past noon into the early afternoon hours when the door opens cautiously. Inle pokes his head in and she brightens immediately, sitting up more and tossing her book onto the nightstand next to the bed. She had been trying to read, but she’s quite certain that it’s all in vain, as she can’t remember what she was reading, and it matter less now that Inle’s returned.

Inle, for his part, slips in and closes the door quietly behind him. He looks tired, and walks like he’s been injured, though she can see neither blood nor bandages on him. Mostly that means he’s healed himself, and washed up, as well as changed from his armor to something less dramatic, which does absolutely nothing to make her less concerned.

He makes for the bed, and her, and flops across both, head dropping to her shoulder as he wraps his arms around her. She lets the weight of the move push her back into a more reclined position and returns the embrace, resting her cheek against his hair as her tension bleeds away.

She knows he’ll come back, but it’s nice to have that confirmation. She’s no stranger to the fact that her intensity has driven away plenty of others in the past...

They stay like that for several moments, and then she lifts a hand to start running her fingers through his hair. He’s done this for her often enough, it’s nice to be able to give the comfort for once...

“What happened?” she asks softly.

“What didn’t happen?” Inle groans a little, and presses his face a bit against her shoulder. He smells faintly of smoke, and the air around him tastes like aether; the mudra he’s still trying to teach her? Or the more typical sort that she’s used to? She can’t quite tell... “I told you Karasu’s story about how their master betrayed Doma, right?”

“Mmhm. Complete with dramatic flourishes,” and she smiles a little as he makes an annoyed sound, arms curling a bit tighter. “So?”

“So Oboro said with Karasu dead, he was going to be leaving for Doma soon, but he wanted me to watch over Tsubame until she was healed. I went to check on her, and she’s all but recovered. Karasu’s antics were very clearly the most dramatic with the least damage,” and she can tell Inle is rolling his eyes, which makes her chuckle slightly. “She told me to go check on Oboro because he was hiding things again, so I did, and Oboro admitted he was going to find out the truth, and asked me to not get involved.”

“You obviously did get involved,” she says, bringing her fingers up to rub around the base of his ears. It’s fun to feel the tension go out of them. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be moving like you’ve had a hard fight. Are you hurt at all?”

“Not any more. The worst of it was handled by my Eos, and then I followed up with some physick after everything was done,” and he sighs a little, relaxing more against her. She smiles; being the pillow is kind of nice. “Tsubame is absolutely in love with Oboro, but I doubt either one of them actually recognizes it as such; she just proclaimed a desire to fight always by his side, and when she learned he’d gone after their master, basically bullied me until I agreed to go after him, with her in tow.”

Miyahn huffs an amused laugh, and presses a small kiss right between his ears.

“Poor you,” she teases gently.

“It would have been poor both of us if she’d let me come get you,” he grumbled, but there’s no real heat to the complaint. Miyahn snickers a little, then covers a yawn. “Karasu wasn’t lying, if that helps. We had to poke around the docks of Candlekeep Quay for a while and wait on a ship that wasn't due til dawn, which is why I couldn't make it back last night...”

She nuzzles at him gently. It's not his fault she was hoping he would return, and she's not going to make him feel guilty about it.

“So you waited for dawn,” she prompts, admittedly curious. “What happened?”

“Tsubame didn't want to tip anyone off, so we waited instead of looking for Oboro,” he replies, shifting a little bit as if making himself more comfortable. The weight and warmth of him, plus his voice, is making it hard for her to stay awake... “A ship pulled up just after dawn, and apparently one of the men on it was their former master, and Oboro did, in fact, try to confront him alone.”

She has to snort, a sound Inle echoes. Oboro is not a bad person, but he has shown himself to be very linear in his thinking, which makes it a little difficult for her to like him. But she can sort of understand his feelings; she wouldn't exactly be happy knowing she'd trained under someone who'd sold out an entire country.

“Tsubame jumped in, and I could hardly let them handle it on their own, so I did as well, and it was certainly a fight I don't want to repeat,” Inle continues, sighing a little as she runs a hand carefully along his back; there's tension knots, she can work on those. “And naturally Karasu showed up at the end of it. He shocked both Oboro and Tsubame by doing that, but kept his mouth shut on you helping fake his death. He handed over his soulstone, gave me the last bit of armor he'd stolen, and then walked off.”

“By turning in his soulstone, I suppose that would let his village thing he's dead?” Miyahn guesses.

“Something like that. Either way, he seemed ready to be out of it and have some time to himself. He did ask if you liked his present, and I told him to f*ck off.”

Miyahn laughs and nuzzles at him again.

“I suppose it's better than him going to find my sister,” she says dryly. “Though Mi'una would probably find his theatrics hilarious. She's got a weird sense of humor sometimes.”

“I'd like to meet her, if possible,” Inle says after a moment, his voice having gained a drowsy tone.

“I'm sure our paths will cross eventually. She's left me plenty of notes with guild receptionists lately, so she's at least moderately aware of my whereabouts.”

He makes an amused noise, then sighs a little in relief as she gets another tension knot in his back to let go. It's a bit awkward with him sprawled over her, but not impossible...

“Something's on your mind?” he asks gently. “Or was it nightmares last night?”

“The former... but it can wait,” and she yawns, then nuzzles him. “It’s not urgent, and I think we both need to sleep first...”

He hums a little, but fortunately doesn't protest. He just eases off a bit so that she can properly lay down, before returning to using her as a pillow, which makes her laugh a little, even as she snuggles up just as much.

“Comfy, starlight?”

“Mmhm. You're not in,” a yawn interrupts him, “trouble?”

“No. Just... something I wanted to clear before I do ‘nythin’,” she replies, loosely wrapping her arms around him again. Inle is honestly better than any blanket. “S'not urgent...”

“Sure?”

“...we're both fallin’ t'sleep,” she points out with a small, amused huff. “Promise. it c'n wait.”

It's nearing midnight when she wakes feeling properly rested, and mostly she wakes because Inle is trying to very carefully wiggle out of her grip. She makes a faintly complaining noise at him, even as she moves her arms so that he can get up, and he nuzzles her a bit, clearly apologetic.

“Back in a moment,” he murmurs.

She huffs and waves him off blearily, sitting up and watching as he slips out of the room. No doubt to use the privy or something like that. Maybe get something from his room? She not sure, and only yawns again, rubbing at her eyes to clear them.

Her stomach rumbles low, and she realizes she hasn’t actually eaten that much. There’s a dumbwaiter that goes down to the innkeeper’s post, and there’s a menu for the Bismark right there in the nightstand drawer. And Inle’s probably hungry too, and she has the gil to cover more than enough food for the both of them...

She nods after a moment, and digs out the menu and a piece of paper to write on. Her handwriting is getting neater--she’s had plenty of reason to write notes lately--but she still takes extra care to make her words legible as she considers what they should be eating to refuel. Inle needs more, since he’d just come back from a battle that required a lot of physical and aetheric energy use...

She’s digging for her pouches of gil when Inle returns, and he makes an inquisitive noise at her.

“Food,” she replies, coming up with a pouch and smiling. “I’m hungry. Aren’t you?”

“....I could eat,” he admits after a moment.

“I put the order on the table,” and she gestures towards the paper. “Add on if you’d like.”

He hums and walks over as she digs for another bag of gil--keeping it separated out in pouches of two hundred and fifty is probably paranoia, but she’s willing to be called paranoid if she keeps most of her coin in case someone cuts a purse on her.--and huffs a little in amusem*nt.

“Are you going to roll us both out of here?” he teases.

“You’ve had a busy and active time of it,” she replies, twisting to stick her tongue out at him. “And I’m hungry.”

She’s not going to admit she was too worried to eat. They need to talk, but doing so over food seems like a better choice than either before or after. And really, looking at him now, she feels like she knows what his answer will be, but she has to know.

“We’re still going to have leftovers.”

“I see absolutely no problem with this.”

He huffs a small laugh, shaking his head in clear fondness as she gets to her feet.

“Oboro wanted me to let you know that he’s staying in Eorzea,” he says, handing her the food order. “It’ll be interesting to see what he and Tsubame get into next.”

“What about Karasu’s soulstone?” she asks.

“He’s sending it back with some of his remaining countrymen. They’ll make sure it gets back to the village in Doma, and he’ll be free to learn all he’d like about this chaotic country we call home.”

It’s her turn to laugh, and she slips out the door with the order and the money to send down to the innkeeper.

“...we’ve eaten, I’ve given you the blow by blow encounter with Gekkai, and you’ve shown me the new daggers Jacke had for you,” Inle says, propping his chin on one fist. “Will you tell me now what’s on your mind?”

Miayhn rubs the back of her neck sheepishly. For all she wants to ask the question, words about this sort of thing aren’t her strong point.

But.

Well, better to sound foolish than to never know, right?

“Jacke asked if I was interested in sleeping with him,” she finally admits.

Inle blinks at her. Squints a bit suspiciously. Then huffs a little.

“If it’s in return for the daggers,” and there is a threatening note in his voice.

Miyahn raises a hand, shaking her head.

“No, he’s said the daggers are a no-obligation gift,” she says soothingly. “The bedding is something entirely separate. I just...”

She falters. Looks down at her hands.

“....I don’t want to hurt you,” she finally says. “So I suppose I’m asking if... if you’re all right with it.”

The silence stretches, but it’s not necessarily tense. More like she’s surprised him. And then his hand comes over and covers her own.

“I care about you,” he says gently. “And if you think Jacke is on the level and won’t hurt you, then your decision is what I’ll go by.”

She looks at him tentatively, but he doesn’t seem hurt or upset. He seems... earnest.

“I just... this. I don’t want to lose this,” she says, curling her fingers around his palm. “I...”

Love is a word she’s not sure about. Her dam had said it was as much a decision as an emotion, and it still didn’t entirely make sense.

“You won’t lose me,” and his smile is sweet and understanding. “And I’m reassured that I won’t lose you just by how much you’re plainly agonizing over this. Miyahn, I...”

He sighs a little and squeezes her hand gently.

“I’m not interested in sex, or anything like it,” he says. “You’re a lovely woman, and I enjoy being with you, being able to hold and comfort you, and getting that same affection in return, but getting physical is... just not for me. If you want to go and have sex with Jacke, I genuinely don’t mind it. So long as he doesn’t hurt you, I’m happy for you, if that’s what you want.”

Oh. Oh, is this what her dam meant by a choice as much as an emotion?

“Who gave you the right to be so damn sweet anyways,” she grumbled, rubbing a little at her face with her free hand.

He laughs a little, and doesn't seem at all bothered by the seeping tears.

“Just let me know if you're not going to be here so I don't worry,” he says as she rubs them off her face, and shakes her head sharply to clear it. Ugh, emotions. “That's all.”

“Sure. I can do that.”

“Were you going to go tonight?”

Miyahn reaches over and punches his shoulder gently with her free hand, making him laugh a little.

“As if he'll have time for me at night; it's the rogue's busiest hours,” and she yawns a little. “Besides, I'm still tired. I'd rather pack up the extra food for later and go back to bed.”

“I didn't mean to worry you.”

“Yes, well, that's what comes of a partnership like ours,” and this time she squeezes the hand she's still holding. “Also, I'd rather not indicate anything to other guild members if I can avoid it. I don't... there's a balance there, and I'm not going to disrupt it if it can be avoided.”

She knows when it comes to Jacke and the guild, he may like her, but the guild will always be first. But she finds that doesn't bother her, so long as she has Inle.

“...twelve bless it,” she mutters.

“Hm?”

“Now I get to have the reverse conversation with Jacke!”

Inle, bastard that he is that she loves just chuckles.

Miyahn decides on early afternoon for her visit with Jacke, which gives her most of the morning to mend more of her gear that had been damaged in the fight with Mormo, while Inle goes out for some supplies. While neither one of them has anything major to handle, they both agree that one cannot go wrong with extra supplies laid down.

She doesn't expect the hairpin he comes back with, and blinks at it in surprise. It's lovely, a cascade of dark pink blossoms that sits just ahead of her ear, the ends of it tickling the side of her neck.

“Tsubame insisted I give you this,” he says as she curiously studies herself in the mirror. “As thanks for healing her after Karasu's nonsense.”

“She didn't have to,” Miyahn says, though she’s smiling a little. She doesn't have many nice things, and she likes it. “But I appreciate it.”

“She spoke Doma, but I believe the gist of it was that even warrior women need nice things,” he replies, with a wry smile. “I wasn't going to argue with her, and you do deserve nice things.”

“I'm hard on nice things,” she points out. “There's a reason most everything I own has armor or extra padding added to it.”

“Doesn't mean you can't have something pretty. Are you going soon?”

“Mmhm. See if this is a deal-breaker for him before getting further invested in my own curiosity.”

Inle's smile is a shade too mischievous, and she eyes him suspiciously, but honestly, she's not inclined to pry. She trusts him.

“You should wear something nicer than your armor,” he teases gently.

“You say this like I have something nicer than my armor,” she retorts with a faint huff.

“Well, there’s the swimsuit you wore in Costa del Sol~”

She contemplates the idea, briefly, of smothering him with a pillow. She doesn’t really have casual clothing, because she’s been spending the past moons running from one disaster to the next, trying to keep ahead of things, and frankly, it’s just easier to wear some format of armor when you don’t know if you’re going to get attacked by something on the road or not.

It’s not like she’s trying to impress Jacke anyways, she just needs to talk to him and make sure he's not going to have a problem with her being... whatever she is with Inle. Partners? Romantically inclined?

Well, she's called it a partnership, and Inle hadn't protested. That encompasses enough without bringing more emotions into it.

And it's not like he won't have other things to keep him busy while she talks with Jacke; no doubt he has his own armor to mend, and messages to send, and-

She gives herself a firm mental shake. She's stalling, and that's not going to make this any easier. Best to go and get it done with while no one's around to witness, so Jacke can save face if need be.

“Unless you have something I can borrow, then shush and shoo,” and she waves him towards the door.

“You know, I just might have something to pair with those black pants you own. I’ll be right back.”

Miyahn blinks, because she hadn’t been serious, but before she can protest, Inle is out the door.

“....you seem almost more excited about this than I do,” and she shakes her head a little, baffled, before turning to grab a brush so that she can put her up hair.

The guild is, as she'd thought, all but deserted; early afternoon is much too early for most of her guildmates, who prefer their work done in the shadows and dead of night. They'll sleep the day out, and show up in the early evening and well into the night for jobs, to report in, that sort of thing.

She still thinks Inle is presuming too much, but it’s admittedly nice to walk around Limsa in something not armor. She’d turned down the billowy shirt, but the vest had fit well enough, and covered decently enough to be comfortable. He’d insisted she wear the hairpin from Tsubame, and kissed her forehead when she’d pointed out he was having entirely too much fun dressing her up like a doll. At least he had good taste and she was able to wear her own leggings and boots.

And all right, she’d glanced over at the mirror and had to admit that the combination didn’t look terrible. But really. She was just going to talk.

(Inle had given her such a look when she’d insisted on that, making her wonder why he thought otherwise, but he’d only smiled, kissed her on the cheek and gently pushed her until she was outside the Drowning Wench and heading down to the docks.)

Jacke is leaning over what is commonly known as the plotting table, and doesn't look up when she walks over to see what he's staring so hard at. It's just a map, but he's scribbled notes all over it, and...

“Your handwriting is worse than mine,” she observes after a moment, amused. “I don't know how anyone translates what missives you might have to send to get people in here for specific jobs.”

Jacke jolts a little, then huffs and scowls at her. She smiles brightly back as he straightens, and snorts a little as he braces both hands briefly on his lower back; she knows that feeling all too well.

“Made a decision then lass?”

“Mm.... came to broach a conversation about it,” she says after a moment, tailtip twitching back and forth. “I’'m going to assume you know Inle and I are... close.”

“Aye. Saw that th other day,” Jacke cuts a glance to a shadowy corner, “an recently...”

Had Inle come to threaten Jacke? That was amusing and sweet, and she's kind of curious how he'd done it... Jacke isn't someone who spooks easy.

“He says he doesn't mind. So I'm here to ask if you mind. We're not... physically involved. We just sleep when it's time for bed. And we sleep better together because we have similar... similar experiences and the dreams that come with.”

Maybe if she hadn't faced Ifrit before the Executioners, she might've had nightmares about that, which Jacke might've helped with. But Ifrit is still the dominant monster, and she has almost come to a decision on how to handle it.

Almost.

“Lass, I make no nevermind about who ye sleep with as ain't me,” Jacke replies with a wry half-smile. “Long as ye ain't got sommat I might catch.”

She makes a face at him.

“That is what cure spells are for,” she informs him a little tartly.

If nothing else, it gets an amused chuckle.

“It worries ye?” he asks, plainly curious.

“....Some. In the way you’ll choose the guild as a whole over me if it came to it, I’d pick Inle over you,” she says honestly. “It’s not like sex is a requirement for being close to someone.”

Surprise flicks across his face, and consternation... but he doesn’t deny her words. Strangely, that makes her feel better; if he’d tried to say she’s more important than the guild, she’d have had to check him for a head injury.

“Well, I’ve no mind for that,” Jacke shrugs lightly. “As long as ye’ve naught fer me ta catch, and an int’rest in sharing some time...”

“...I’m interested.”

It’s still reflex to move back when he moves forward; he’s a head of height on her, and he’s fast enough to-

He stops.

“Lass?”

“...sorry.” She presses a hand briefly to her face. “I... threat assessment mode. You moved too quick.”

That gets her a concerned look.

“Has sommat been fool ‘nough ta hurt you with beddin’ b’fore?” he asks.

There’s steel in his tone, and a flare of anger... they’re not directed at her, and it’s not coming from Inle (who will probably hunt people down if she admits the truth), so she offers a half-shrug.

“A long while back. People don’t generally stay interested in me for that long. I’m rather intense,” and she spreads her hands with a small shrug. “But also, Jacke, I’m an adventurer. It’s a reflex.”

Fast means threat, and it’s become her default reaction. Jack huffs after a moment, and shakes his head gently.

“Never had a proper seducin then, have ye?” And now there’s an almost playful lift to Jacke’s eyebrows.

“A what now?”

He smiles, and it’s slow and warm. There’s a heat in his eyes that she can recognize as being something akin to lust, but not... aravistic. Not greedy, wanting to devour or claim. Oh, there’s wanting there, but it’s not demanding. It’s...

Inviting.

She doesn’t know what to do with that look, and averts her eyes, feeling heat rise to her face. Jacke moves slow, takes one of her hands, and presses a kiss to the back of it, then turns her hand palm up and presses a kiss to her wrist. Nips it, then works his way up her arm. Nips the inside of her elbow, and oh, she does not know what to make of this.

It makes her shiver to feel his mouth brushing so softly against her skin, the warmth of his breath and the slight moisture of his lips as they part and his tongue drags along her neck. He’s slipped his other arm around her waist, and without really consciously deciding it, she’s wrapped her own arms around his waist, loosely gripping the back of his vest.

And then his mouth in on hers and it’s soft. Sweet in a way she hadn’t known Jacke could be. A hand cups the back of her head, his other arm around her waist, but it’s so... she could easily escape if she wants, and maybe that’s what makes it easy to kiss him back.

When he pulls back, she peers at him through half-closed eyes; her heart is pounding, and she feels entirely too jittery, but...

“Are you going to do that again?” she asks finally.

He grins, delight in his blue eyes, but to her surprise pulls back.

“Ye don’t strike me as a showin type,” and he tugs her towards the back wall of the guild. “C’mon lass, time t’learn a new secret.”

Miyahn follows--admittedly lured by the promise of more kisses like that, so plainly Inle was more right about this than her--and startles a bit as he pulls one of the daggers embedded into the wall and part of the rounded corner pops open on well oiled hinges, revealing a staircase that goes up and down.

“....I always did wonder where you slept, to be so readily available,” she admits, looking around curiously as the wall closes behind them. “This makes more sense than you throwing down a bedroll in the common room, that’s for sure.”

He snickers a little, and she follows him up; the way is lit by lamps of glowing crystals tucked into the walls that remind her a little of those crystals of light Raubahn had mentioned... gods, that felt like a lifetime ago now. There are several landings they pass, until they finally stop at one, and Jacke opens the door with a small flourish. The room is as dark as the inside of a pocket, and she eyes it tentatively.

“....this is not what I planned, but clearly I need to stop planning,” she mutters, cautiously stepping inside.

Jacke makes an amused noise at her back, snapping his fingers and several more crystals flare to life, if... dimly. Aether briefly stings the air, and she flinches a little on reflex; aether had saturated the air with Ifrit-

She’s in Limsa, not Thanalaan. There is no Ifrit here. The air smells of the ocean, the tang of salt, and the subtle damp of moss. She's safe. She's not with Inle, but she's still safe.

She looks around the room as Jack pulls the door closed, though she turns warily when she hears the sound of a bolt being thrown.

“Won’t stop sommat like the Stray or Underfoot inf they’re d’termined, but most all recognize a locked door fer me means shove off,” he says. “S’all right?”

Miyahn considers, then lets out a breath with a small nod. She’s already decided this is something she wants to do, and if anything happens, she knows Inle will raise hell.

But she trusts Jacke. Jacke may pick the guild over her if it came to it, but until that point, he’ll move mountains. Because his people are the guild, and she is one of his people.

So she turns her attention to the room and gives it a curious once over. It’s a basic room, rather like her one at the inn; the bed is large enough for five and shoved all the way back against one wall. A dresser and armoire occupy two different corners, both closed up, though she can see some blade-care items on top of the dresser. It makes her wonder, abruptly, if he’d etched her new daggers himself... but that’s nonsense.

Isn’t it?

A round table occupies the middle of the room, with a few cups and maps on it. It looks rather like a tracker’s map; there’s little pieces arranged on it that she thinks might be ship locations, and she peers at it curiously for a moment. Supply lines and ‘privateer’ ships, maybe. The big black ones much be Garlean...

There’s thick tapestries on the walls, and she can feel currents of air moving gently through the room from hidden holes. There’s no windows in this tower, which is a bit of a shame because the view of Limsa and the coast is delightful...

One of the tapestries draws her eye; it looks familiar, and when she gets close, she stifles an amused laugh.

“What?”

“One of my aunties and her kits worked on this for nine months,” and she gestures to it wryly. “They were so mad when the Garleans stole it, they’d been looking to get three thousand gil from the commissioner. They had to do it all over again and only got half that because the lord got mad about the delay and blamed them instead of the Garlean pirates.”

She shakes her head a little; she remembers late nights carding fibers and spinning threads as a kit and deciding whole-heartedly that she absolutely did not want to be someone who made things for others.

“Not yer own ma?”

“No, my dam was a huntress and cook; she had no patience for things like spinning and weaving.”

“Ah,” and there's a quick grin. “So yer adventurin ways were come by honest-like.”

Miyahn sticks her tongue out at Jacke with an amused huff.

“You think I'm bad, you should meet my baby sister,” she says dryly. “Though I doubt she'd come here. Strongest aetheritc talent around, but absolute rubbish with anything that’s got a blade.”

She's honestly proud of her sister, and hopes that eventually things settle enough for her to figure out a location to visit. because really, being a big sister is all about ambushing your siblings. Plus, having Mi’una around would make half the work easier; it’s hard to balance the combat and the magic sometimes...

“No one said anythin’ about bad, lass,” and she's surprised by the way Jacke's voice goes gentle. “Would've been rougher on us all ifn ye weren't here now.”

Miyahn waves a hand in awkward acknowledgement. She still doesn't know what to do with compliments... Jacke catches her hand, tugging her close, and while Miyahn expects that they are now going to ‘get down to business’ as it were, she is once again surprised.

He just tucks her close and rests his chin on her head.

She can't help but be confused. In the past, it's always been a rush to undress and insert tab a into slot b, but he seems... content. To just hold her like this. After a moment there's a little noise from him that she's not sure about; is he amused or resigned?

“Ye really don't know how ta relax, do ya?” he asks, tone somewhere between concern and amusem*nt. “We've got all day, an however long o'the night we d'cide ‘pon.”

“..wait, what?” she has to pull back and give him a bewildered look. “What? Why so long? It shouldn't... I mean, it's not... what?”

“You,” and he says it so firmly that she goes still in surprise, “are in need f'a proper seducin’. Cause ‘pparently, ye ain't got the right sort o'treatment ‘bout this in the past, and I aim t'fix that.”

She was very very certain that this hadn't been the plan when she'd walked in. Definitely not hers, not before she'd admitted to something she probably should have just kept to herself.

“But... the guild?”

“Can survive a night wi'out me,” and he very gently tugs at her chocobo-tail. “No big jobs. No worries ‘bout who's cloyin from who. It ain't all gon t'fall apart if'm not there fer a night.”

She gets the feeling he wants to add more than a night, but the idea of sex itself taking longer than maybe thirty minutes is still weird to her. It's not like it's a complicated act...

Jacke seems to read this in her doubtful expression, and there is mischief in his eyes as he grins down at her.

“Ye didn't think I was goin ta stop at just kissin, did ye?”

“....I honestly just came here to see if you were okay with my relationship with Inle, beyond that, I... I didn't actually know what would happens,” she admits.

“Oh lass,” and he leans down to press his forehead to hers. “The thing I'm goin t'enjoy showin ye...”

“That sounds like a promise and a threat, cut that out.”

He grins, and his mouth presses lightly against hers.

Jacke, she realizes quickly, is very hellsbent on doing things in a very deliberate manner. He's honestly the first male who's thought to go slow, and he keeps catching her hands to keep her from rushing thought even the removal of clothing.

She doesn't understand. Males always wanted their own pleasure in the past, ready to tumble her onto the bed--literally--and dive on in.

Jacke... is not. He's taking his time, letting his fingers trace along her skin as he presses kiss after kiss to her mouth, to her neck, to her shoulders. He nips at her skin, not hard enough to mark, but it makes her jump a little each time, and she gets the feeling that every deliberate action has been thought about and planned.

She honestly doesn’t know what to do with it.

Because the only light in the room is artificial, she has no idea how long it takes between those starting kisses that send pleasant buzzes down her back, and Jacke actually starting to unbutton her borrowed vest. In a way, it’s kind of a relief, because here is something she understands, and can actually mimic. The borrowed vest is draped over a chair--she has to give it back to Inle, and she’s not going to mistreat it--but Jacke’s own vest and shirt are tossed off into a far corner, along with the bandanna she’d already removed.

She likes playing with hair, what can she say?

She has suspected scars, but it’s one thing to guess, and another to see. Judging by the way his hands are tracing over a few of her own--his touch so delicate, despite callused fingers--he’s feeling rather similar.

The thing about cure spells--any healing spell really, and potions too--is that if they are applied quick enough, scarring just doesn’t happen. One has to either be slow to reach a healer or potion, or specifically ask to have a scar. Some of her scars fall into the second category, as proof that she’s survived a blow that would be detrimental.

But there are a few from her youth, fifteen, twenty years past, that still linger. Very few of them are good memories. He’s noticed the one on her elbow... that one’s actually pretty funny. His puzzled look is also kind of cute...

“A Moonkeeper was raised in a tribe of Sunseekers,” she said dryly as he pondered the fang marks. “Sunseeker males do a harem thing, and like to leave bite-bruises as a claim sign.”

“Yer lot has fangs though.”

“Mmhm. I told him not to bite me, since I had no interest in being ‘claimed’,” and she rolls her eyes a little. “He went for it anyways, so I fed him my elbow. That pretty much ruined any thoughts he had of mating.”

Jacke snorts a little, shaking his head.

“Ain’t goin ta say we Hyur don’t also do stupid sh*te like that, but that does seem ta be a special brand of nonsense,” he says, lightly rubbing his thumb along the scars. “Moonkeepers do matin different?”

“Mm. Our males are typically the wanderlust filled sort,” and she shrugs lightly. “My dam and her sisters and their kits made one big family unit, and we lived near three others so the work was always spread around evenly. My sire wold visit occasionally, always bringing new stories.”

After a moment she chuckles a little.
“Ma always did despair of me after his visits, so I suppose it’s no wonder I finally decided to come be an adventurer.”

Jacke’s fingers are wandering again, finding other scars to explore, but he pauses to give her a very thorough, delightful kiss, that has her melting just a little against him. She’s quite willing to return it, even if she still doesn’t understand why he’s going so slow...

His fingers trail up her back, and she mimics the motion; her own fingers run across what have to be whip scars, but she says nothing. Jacke’s past is his own, and she sees no reason to pry into it. Not if he doesn’t want her to know.

The breastband comes off next, and that she doesn’t mind being haphazard with. She’s always been rather small-breasted, and all the work she’s done to gain muscle to swing the heavy marauder’s axe, to be strong and swift and nimble, has never translated over to a size increase.

She’s never minded. Having a more lush figure would just make her life difficult.

Jacke bends down a bit, brushing kisses over her collarbone in a way that straight up cannot be comfortable. Even going on her toes doesn’t necessarily put her torso in easy reach, and after a moment he straightens, and looks around the room.

“Half a tick,” he says, and gently tugs her towards the dresser. “Need a bit more height fer ye fer this.”

She’s well and truly intrigued, so she goes along with it, and huffs a little in amusem*nt as he carelessly sweeps the top clean--the blade care items are at least sturdy in their wrappings--then startles a bit as he bodily lifts her up and sits her on top of it. This puts her head actually a bit above his, and he seems satisfied with that.

“Jacke, wh-oh.”

His mouth is on her breast, teeth just delicately tweaking the nipple, and oh, that feels good. More than the kissing did, that’s for certain. One hand comes up to gently play with her other breast and she makes a faintly plaintive noise, pressing into the touch. She can feel his smirk, and a tiny part of her wants to smack him for it, but with the way warmth is rippling down her spine, she’s more inclined to be forgiving.

All she can really do is run her hands along his back--he’s lucky she’s not gotten her claws back into scratching shape just yet--and through his hair, and he takes that for the encouragement it is.

The warmth is building into that something more feeling that only a couple partners in the past have managed--and then she’s fairly sure those were by accident--and she can’t help the plaintive noise as Jacke leaves off his treatment of her chest. He kisses her, then brings a hand to the waistband of her pants.

“Think I c’n remove these?” he murmurs.

“...you’re the one who... put me up here,” and she can’t help but grin as he makes a face at her. “You can try.”

Jacke is a deft hand at removing pants and smallclothes from a seated person, because he’s got them off quite quickly, and her shoes too. She’s fairly sure that’s as much practice as it is eagerness, but he doesn’t move her from the top of the dresser, doesn’t try to bring her to the bed. He kisses her firmly, sweetly, then trails those kisses down, trials his hands down over her skin, sweet, firm touches that she leans into as his fingers run along her breasts again.

She lets out a pleased noise as he gives attention to her brests, and is so distracted by that, that she doesn’t realize his other hand has continued to go lower, until the fingers on his free hand brush against damp folds. She jerks more out of surprise than anything else, and Jacke immediately stop, straightening up to give her a concerned look.

“Too fast?” he asks.

“I... n-no,” she shakes her head a little, but she feels... bewildered. “I just... W-why?”

The kiss he presses to her mouth is more gentle than passionate, and then he presses his forehead against hers.

“We’re havin fun,” he says. “Aye?”

“....yes...?”

“Fer me, some o’th fun o’tumblin is pleasin my partner,” and he sounds patient. Like he’s had to explain this before? “Ye should feel good, as that makes it all the sweeter in th end.”

He lets her consider this, hands resting on either side of her bared thighs. His hands are warm against her skin, and she finds that she wants him to go back to touching her...

“It’s.... not what I’m used to,” she says finally.

“Aye lass. But don’t ye worry,” and his eyes seem to glitter with mischief, “I aim t’teach ye.”

“Didn’t I already tell you to stop threatening me?”

He gives her another kiss, pressing close without making her feel hemmed in. It leans her back enough that he’s able to slowly run his fingers along the slick folds of her vulva, and it feels strange. Not bad, but definitely strange. She squirms a little, not entirely sure as to what he’s doing, but she’s more curious than anything else.

He lightly presses a little more in, and his fingers brush against a small nub of flesh that makes her hiss a little. It’s not a bad feeling at all, and it’s certainty tied to that more feeling that is building up.

“Easy now,” he murmurs. “Trust me, aye?”

She does. That doesn’t mean she expects him to slip a finger into her, nor for it to feel that good. His thumb is brushing along that little nub, sending jolts up her spine and he makes a faintly plaintive noise, rocking her hips into his touch as much as she can.

His mouth is on her skin again and she can feel the smirk, even as he trails kisses and very gentle nips alone her shoulder. She’s very tempted to bite him; she may not have many experiences with good sex, but she can tell when she’s being teased.

The finger moves slow and gentle, his thumb rubbing along the bud of flesh to make more lightning dance up and down her spine, and her hands scrabble a little, wanting something to cling to as he works her up. The dresser is too wide, the back of it flush to the stone wall, and if she leans forward, she’s going to end up flattening his hand between her and the solid wood.

Jacke nips along her jawline, and she mewls softly with sensation, barely noticing as he uses his free hand to guide her arm up until it’s over his shoulder. Her hand curls somewhat involuntarily into the soft, dark brown strands of his hair as he starts moving his finger faster, pressing his thumb down more firmly as he rubs.

“Sing out for me, lass,” he encourages. “None but us t’hear.”

The part of her mind not being buried in pleasure wonders if he’s ever had a miqo’te lover before because if so, he should really know better. She remembers hearing adults mate when she was a kit, and the noise of that had been hard to sleep through.

He nips at the skin over her pulse and she jerks, rocking her hips into his hand. She feels it when a second finger slides in, hitting a spot inside that’s nearly as sensitive as the spot he’s working with his thumb, and it doesn’t take long after that before the pleasure bursts in her.

She arcs and shudders, pulling Jacke’s hair as she does. He hums a little against her skin, and again she can feel his smile, even as he slips those clever fingers out from between her legs.

The smell of his arousal is much more subtle than her own, but she thinks maybe there is something to what he’d said about getting pleasure from giving it. So surely... surely the bed is next?

He gently pulls at her and she curves to the move, letting him tuck her head against his neck.

“I’ve got more t’show,” he murmurs in her ear, breath warm against the thing, fur-covered skin. “If ye’d like.”

“...f’it... feels that good?” she’s panting a little still, the shivers not quite all worked out. “Think so...”

He huffs an amused sound, and eases her off the dresser. He doesn’t put her down, and after a moment of uncertainty, she wraps her legs around his waist loosely. It feels... odd. Not bad, but odd, and he doesn’t seem to mind the feel of her wet vulva pressed against his skin.

“This’ll be more comfort t’both f’us if we’re on th bed. Ye ready, lass?”

Ah, so it is that he’s going to lose pants and move on. She just nods, and tucks her forehead against his neck, shivering a little in muted pleasure as his movements brush against still-sensitive parts and that warm feeling flickers at the base of her spine again.

She feels more than sees him get his shoes off, and settle on the edge of the bed. His hold loosens enough that she can move to the side, but Jacke doesn't actually seem inclined to let her go too far. She can feel proof of his arousal through his pants, but still he just sits and holds her, chin on her head and breath warm next to her ears.

It’s...

Nice.

And maybe it’s time to return the favor, just a little bit. She has to be careful, she can’t bite him for those little love bruises--fangs leave scars--but she can nip and nibble, and kiss and it’s actually rather fun to hear his pulse speed up, and the subtle grunt of a pleased noise as she rocks against him.

Really, those pants have to go.

“Ready fer more m’guessin,” and there’s a subtle breathless quality to his voice now. Good. She likes that sound.

“If you are~”

He huff a laugh, and shifts them both to be properly on the bed; she’s not necessarily a fan of being on her back, her tail makes it a bit uncomfortable, but he’s still not... he’s not doing things the way she’s used to, and she’s willing to see what he’s going to come up with next.

He is less slow this time, one hand trailing over her hip to brush against slick labia while he teases a breast with his mouth. She’s not going to pretend she doesn’t want his touch, and pushes her hips up into questing fingers, fingers running over his skin and through his hair. It’s weird to feel him chuckle against her skin, and a little bit maddening that he only strokes slow and delicate along the outer edges.

And then he shifts down. Kisses over her stomach. A little bite that makes her squawk, not sure if it’s because she doesn’t want to be bitten or because that f*cking tickled, damnit! She can feel the mischief in his grin, and he nudges her thighs apart a little more.

It’s not his fingers that go questing this time, it’s his tongue; Twelve bless it, that sensation is both pleasurable and strange, and she damn near kicks him for it. But when he goes to pull away she props herself up on her elbows and gives him her best ‘Do Not’ glare. Jacke grins at her, eyes alight with mischief, and brings his mouth back to her labia, tongue slipping between the folds to caress the nub of flesh that sends lightning up her spine, and then presses into her.

She grips the blanket with both hands as pleasure ripples through her, as he gently shifts her legs over his shoulders and hums in short bursts. He slips a finger in, but still his tongue and mouth add to the pleasure until she arcs and cries out, body going taut once more.

She doesn’t have to see him to know how smug he must be; it’s practically radiating from him, even as he moves to the side as she pants for breath. His fingers brush over her face, and she nips his palm without thinking about it. His hand twitches, and he laughs softly.

“Enjoyin yerself?”

She opens her eyes halfway, just enough to give him a look. He knows damn well she is, and he’s got a pleased smirk on his face.

“You...” and she’s catching her breath now, the benefits of so many martial disciplines helping her to recover quickly. “... are still wearing... pants.”

“Aye~” and the smirk grows more pronounced. “Want them off, lass?”

She growls at him, but it’s playful. She hadn’t thought something like this could be, but it is. Jacke’s smirk just gets bigger, and he laughs, laughs when she pounces him. She’s certainly more than strong enough to really pin him if she wants, but no.

This is play they are doing, and it really is enjoyable.

The pants come off at some point, and get haphazardly tossed away as they roll around on the bed. Jacke seems to enjoy the tussle as much as the sex, and while firm, there is also softness to every touch he lays on her skin. She is going to be dotted with little love-bruises, at least until the next time she uses a cure spell, but so is he. She’s had to take a little more care than he does, so it surprises her a little when they pause and he gently taps the end of her nose.

“Gonna bite me at some point?” he asks cheekily, raising an eyebrow.

Miyahn hesitates.

“Those can scar,” she says after a moment. “I do have fangs, you know.”

He huffs an amused noise, and gently drags her down into his arms. Sprawled across his chest, she can feel the head of him, and at first she thinks he’s ready, more than, to finish up. But again he just holds her, lets his fingers trail along her spine and through her hair--she’s not sure when she lost the hair tie--run over the base of her ears, and then back down again.

“M’not bothered by a few scars,” he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Might ‘ven be sommat t’brag ‘bout.”

“Don’t tempt me to smother you with a pillow,” she huffs, shifting up a bit to lightly nip at his chin. “That’s hardly a thing to brag about.”

“Ah, love,” and she jolts a little in surprise. Love? That’s... “You’re a lass t’brag about,”

It disconcerts her enough that he’s able to flip them so that he’s on top and she squawks as much in surprise as protest. It’s not that he’s heavy--he is, a bit, but it’s a nice weight--it’s more that her tail is now pinned in an uncomfortable position beneath her and-

He shifts his hips and she sucks in a small breath; he’s still not in her, but the feel of his dick along her labia? Oh. Oh that’s nice. Not what she wants--needs? Is it a need? She’s not sure--but close to it.

And then, like the jackass she knows he can be, he goes right back to teasing her. A hand runs along her side, up to caress a breast, down to brush over her hip, coming so very, very close, and then slipping back and away again. He kisses and, strokes, and his own breathing becomes heavier as he ruts gently against her-

And she loses patience with it rather quickly. If he wants to play it that way, oh, she can.

Her tail thrashes a warning, the part that isn’t stuck under her, and he ignores it. What he doesn’t get to ignore is the speed at which she turns the tables. Him on his back again, his playful, teasing hands pinned by hers as she straddles him. His expression is startled, but she sees that spark of mischief in the back of those blue eyes.

She bites him for it too, and the low groan makes her feel a little better. It’s not a hard bite, she’s not going to break the skin without warning, but she is going to express her displeasure at being relentlessly teased when this whole thing was his idea in the first place.

So she bites him a few more times, and she’s pretty sure if he hadn’t already been ‘at attention’ before, he would have been by the time she’s done.

Her grip on him is strong, but not tight. He’s not trapped in their current position, but he;s also not trying to get out of it either.

Miyahn pauses to examine the love bites; she’s been careful to keep them out of sight of where his shirt will be open. He is right, she’s not really one for showing off, not in a fight, and not with this sort of thing. It’s tempting, but she’s not fond of putting Jacke on the spot... not to mention she’s fairly sure he’d take the opportunity to brag if someone dared to ask.

“Not... given up now... are ye, lass?”

She huffs at him; his face is definitely more flushed now, and she’s honestly rather tempted to do to him what he’d done to her... except then she’ll have to wait for him to recover. While she’s quite sure he has enough stamina for multiple rounds--his comments about letting it be all night are still bouncing around her head--she rather wants to see if they can share that moment, at least once.

“Bite you harder,” she half-threatens, even as she shifts position carefully. “Don’t test me.”

He grins at her, all mischief.

“Tol’ ye. M’not both-ah~”

Miyahn can’t help her own soft noise of pleasure as she presses down onto his dick. It’s uncomfortable, a bit, it’s been a long while since she’s had sex, but honestly, he’s done a delightful job of making her want it. And if the position is odd, well, he’s Hyur. They don’t have things like tails getting in the way of laying on their backs.

She also suspects he’ll be quite willing to get more creative if she suggests it, but so far, letting him lead has been delightfully surprising.

“Gods above n’b’low, Miyahn,” he’s freed a hand, it’s on her hip now, and his fingers are firm, but not tight. “Warn a lad?”

She smirks at him, and trails her own hand along his chest. This scar has all but vanished, but it looks like it was from a knife...

“No~”

He snorts, and the grin is quick; she can see in his face that he knows he deserves it.

She doesn’t move right away; if this is going to be the end of it, she finds herself wanting to savor each moment that’s left. From the way he looks at her, one hand still loosely pinned with her own--that’s changed to their fingers being entwined and she has no issues with this--to the way the sweat highlights the angles of his body.

It has to end though. As all things do. The rhythm stars slow and sweet, as though Jacke is also in no hurry to have things end. His hand on her hip travels up to a breast and she can’t suppress the pleased little mewl that comes out as he plays with the nipple. Nor can she help the grin as she returns the favor and he shudders a bit, thrusting up into her a little bit harder.

She can tell he’s trying to hold back, but no, she doesn’t want that. She flicks her hair impatiently to one side and slides down a bit more so that she can nip at his skin. His hand slides up her back to tangle in her hair, and he pulls her up until his mouth is on hers again, a kiss passionate, almost desperate...

She releases his other hand to tangle hers in his hair in return, but that doesn’t last long. Briefly both hands massage her breasts as they speed up, as she comes down a little more firmly into his thrust, because gods that feels so damned good.

His hand moves down to that nub of flesh and she can’t help but cry out in pleasure. She’s going to-

Going to-

As it burst over her in a wave, she bites him, and though he swears, she is willing to swear that it is the bite that has him jerking up into her as he follows suit, spending himself within.

She licks the bite more out of reflex than anything else, though she does feel bad for it. She hadn’t exactly meant to bite him hard enough to bleed...

A hand moves up her spine as she considers using a cure spell for the injury, through her hair and to the base of her ears.

“S’fine lass,” he murmurs breathlessly. “Tol’ja. Sommat t’brag ‘bout.”

She snorts at him softly, and lets the half-collected energy go.

“Didn’.... Mean t’...”

A kiss is brushed to her forehead, and his other arm drapes firmly over her low back, just above her tail.

“S’fine. Lookin forward... t’more...”

She blinks and lifts her head enough to stare at him.

“....you’re a very mad Hyur, Jacke,” she finally says.

He just grins. And gives her a very firm kiss.

Notes:

Jacke is one of my favorites. Am Not Sorry.

Chapter 5: Ifrit, round two

Chapter by Laina_Inverse

Chapter Text

Miyahn likes the dimness of the aetheryte plaza in Ul’dah. The cool air, and the low hum of people teleporting in, meeting with others, and taking no notice of her in the corner is a comfort in contract to the plazas of Gridania and Limsa Lominsa. Ul’dah is where she decided to begin her life as an adventurer, and it feels like the right place for her to make the decision she’s been thinking about since she first faced the primal Ifrit on the hot sands of Thanalaan.

But she wants a second opinion.

If Inle hadn't been wanted in Gridania at the same time she'd been asked for in Ul'dah, they might yet be together, but neither task really needed extra help. Unlike stacking the deck with Mormo--and she still had questions about how angry Inle had been about the voidsent--she could handle fighting for Myla and Aldis as a gladiator. Honestly, while she found the most comfort in her dagger and her skills as rogue and ninja, she quite liked the feeling of a shield on her arm and a sword in her hand.

She considers, briefly, the idea of investing in a linkshell; it would be the easiest, fastest way to remain in touch with him. Which, right now, she wishes she could do. She wants to know if her plan is foolish, or worthwhile, and she's not sure of her own judgment about it.

They'd agreed to meet in Ul'dah, mostly because he'd mentioned having messages to pass along to a couple guild leaders (she's almost certain he intends to scold the Coco siblings again and she wants to watch.), and she's admittedly being a bit impatient about it. But that's also somewhat her fault.

She has been doing what a rogue and ninja does best; hiding in the shadows and listening. So she knows the Amalj'aa are still up to their tricks. That crystals and people are going missing again, and that something is hiding out in the desert.

She and Inle together will be better than herself alone, but she's not sure how much longer she can wait for him. She has to hunt, to track the Amalj'aa soon, or everything will go tit* up once again as they sacrifice people to summon and give power to their primal.

And those people never recover.

She let's out a breath and slides to the floor; it's late, she should go back to the inn and she'll just have to leave a message with Momodi. Inle will know what she means if she says Ifrit... won't he?

She ponders the question and decides she'll leave him a map of where she found the Amalj'aa hiding this time, and only absently clocks the footsteps that rush her way, stepping aside for the person so clearly in a rush.

“I thought I saw you leaving the plaza!”

She blinks and stops short, then turns. Inle grins at her, and is very clearly prepared for an excited greeting, so she doesn't bother with the decorum most people know her for. She half-tackles him in a hug, and oh, he smells of aether and smoke.

“You've been fighting again.”

“As if you expected me to do something else,” and his return hug is just as tight and comforting. “So have you, you've got a new scar.”

She makes a face.

“Aldis said it looks dashing,” and she huffs, absently fingering the newest mark on her cheek. “Mylla called him an idiot, but by that point it was too late for a proper cure to work.”

“You didn't even notice it until someone pointed it out, did you?” Inle's tone is amused, even as he raises a hand to run his thumb along the injury.

“I was a little bit busy,” and she frowns at him, even as she leans into the affectionate touch. “It's not hardly the end of the world.”

Despite the efforts of Inle and Jacke, she still doesn't really have it in her to think of herself as attractive. One of her younger sister's would have considered such a scar to be the end of the world, but Miyahn is a fighter, a mage, an adventurer. Such things are just... commonplace.

“Jacke's going to have a field day when he hears this, I just know it.”

Miyahn rolls her eyes in tolerant humor and elbows Inle gently.

“Jacke has his own scars, life, and guild to be worrying abut,” she chides fondly. “No tale-carrying. I need some help.”

“Help?” The playful air fades, though the hold he has tightens fractionally. “What's up?”

“I... have been thinking. A lot. About... About the primals, and the Scions. I don't know that I understand it all, or that I want to, but I do know that I want to keep people safe from the Primals.” She frowns a little. She's not sure she can explain this in a way that it makes sense, but she can try. “I've been gathering information while here in Ul'dah, about the movements of the Amalj'aa, and I think they're about to try again. People and crystals are going missing, and it's a quiet rate. They've learned some since the last time we beat Ifrit like a drum.”

“And you want to go after him again.”

It's a statement, and she nods.

“I don't want to... I don't want the Amalj'aa as a whole to die. And I get it, they're scared and desperate as we are after the Calamity five years ago. But I want all people to be safe, and right now that means smashing into the Amalj'aa plans like a fireball.”

She looks at Inle uncertainly... and he's smiling. Like he's proud of her.

“You really are something else,” he says fondly.

“I'm definitely not,” she protests, pouting a little.

“You are,” and now he grins and gently pokes the tip of her nose. “Most people wouldn't consider going toe to toe with a Primal once, let alone a second time. And here you are, considering making yourself a supreme pest towards Ifrit, just to keep the people of Ul'dah safe.”

She flushes and whines at him a little. She never knows what to do with praise, especially when it's sincere. He just chuckles and kisses her forehead.

“So, what help can I give?”

“Backup,” she says immediately. She's still embarrassed, but if he can focus, she can push that feeling away. “I don't know the ratio of people that've been captured, and I remember how it went last time. I'm going to need the help.”

He nods, and finally lets her go enough for them to start walking.

“Tell me what you've learned.”

Mi'una looks around the hollow with a moderate air of frustration; this was not part of the plan, and she is woefully underprepared for it to have gone this badly this quick. She has her ash wand, and one of the pages of her grimoire that she'd removed as a precaution, but channeling thaumaturgy through her wand is a good way to set said wand on fire, or freeze it into uselessness.

It definitely wasn't supposed to go this badly, but she can also see where it had.

She props her chin on her hand, elbow on her knees, and sighs tiredly; she's managed to quietly heal up every soldier of the Immortal Flames, but she can't fix dehydration or malnourishment with a cure, or even a regen. The energy has to come from somewhere, and she's been here two days herself with minimal food and water.

Thancred, she knows, is going to be a wreck.

Working for the Scions has been interesting thus far. Tataru had decided she was the perfect person to make sure they all took care of themselves, and Mi'una had agreed to the job because honestly, she is not good at much related to combat. She likes magic, loves learning about her summons as an arcanist, how to heal as a conjurer, and even, a little, how to blow people away with thaumaturgy. But actual combat is just... well. It’s not her strong point.

She's very good at the disarming softness though. And getting people to take the bloody rest they need, even if the sleep spell is cheating. (So maybe she's made Urianger fall asleep at his table a couple of times. He'd learned!)

And being a miqo'te, she's honestly quite good at the stealth and listening parts of getting information, so when she heard Thancred muttering about needing help gathering information on Amalj'aa doings, she'd volunteered. He'd been hesitant, but she'd promised to slap people with sleep spells if she was caught, and run as needed.

She hadn't actually done that because she'd been trying to prevent a group of people from being grabbed, so she was probably going to hear an awful lot about it later.

The sun is rising, it's her third day of being a prisoner somewhere in the Thanalaan deserts, and while many people had escaped the attack, rescue is still not in sight. She is going to have to figure out something soon, or they are all going to suffer...

Miyahn had tracked the Amalj'aa to an area around Little Ala Mhigo; at one point it had belonged to some sort of undead, but the Amalj'aa had cleared them out and taken it over for themselves. There is open space where they can summon their Primal, and a small cave system where they house themselves, and supplies. The prisoners are allowed to roam in the open bowl of space, where there is no shade and no comfort to be found.

Bloody Amalj'aa.

Inle is at her side, ears laid flat in distaste as he eyes the setup.

“It's only been a handful of moons,” he grumbles in clear disgust. “You would think they would remember that we're not going to let this pass.”

“You might think so, but clearly they don't,” she replies with a small shake of her head. “They-what the...?”

She leans forward on her perch, barely noticing as Inle grabs her belt to keep her from falling off the ledge. That shade of pink is familiar, even if the outfit isn't.

“Mi'una?” she breathes.

“Miyahn,” Inle hisses, tugging her back down. “What's wrong?”

“I... I think that's my sister down there.”

Inle looks from her, to the miqo'te on the sandy desert earth, then grimaces.

“Are you sure?”

“I can't see well enough, but that's her hair color, and her outfit style. She's always been the pastel-feminine one...”

She's not positive. But she's brushed that ridiculous pile of fluff Mi'una called hair often enough to recognize her from a distance. She's grown it out, it's straightened with the weight, but that color is impossible to forget.

“...I'll look around up here, see if I can't find them an exit,” Inle says after a moment. “Go see if that's your sister. If she's as aetherically talented as you say...”

A part of Miyahn balks at the idea of letting Mi'una get involved in halting the summoning, or punching Ifrit back into the aether if it does show. But he's not wrong, and she knows for certain how talented her sister was with aether, even before getting proper training at the guilds around Eorzea. And she remembers how much effort it took for them to defeat Ifrit last time; if Mi'una is the only adventurer, they are going to have some serious problems.

Mi'una has her grimoire page open and she's carefully checking the ink when she feels the breath of air that moves across her ears. There's no time to fold the page neatly, or even hide what she's doing, so she pushes aetheric energy into it, along the lines, and suddenly Carbuncle is there, growling at...

“Your reflexes are better,” and oh, she knows that voice. “But you should probably save your energy, little sister.”

Mi'una turns and that is Miyahn, looking somewhere between relieved, resigned, and frustrated. Her hair is still up in that ridiculous choboco tail, and she's wearing...

“Why are you wearing plate in the desert?” Mi'una asks.

That gets a snort from her sister, and then she's pulled into a careful hug, which Mi'una is happy to return. She's missed Miyahn, and even if she doesn't know how she got there, having her there is bound to make things better.

“Are you hurt?” Miyahn asks, pushing her back to look at after a moment. “There's blood on your skirt.”

“I am going to have to replace it,” and Mi'una makes a face. “It's not mine, no. I was... The Amalj'aa ambushed a caravan of refugees and I got bled on trying to make sure people stayed alive. I know some of them got away, but they didn't have any protection from anyone, so... we ended up here.”

Miyahn sighs a little, running a hand over her face; she's got a scar on her cheek now, something their dam would tut over and their aunties shake their heads. Mi'una chooses to just lean on her sister's shoulder; Miyahn has always been good at getting her out of the trouble she falls into, after all.

“Here is not ideal,” Miyahn mutters. “Here, drink slowly, and give me a minute to think.”

Mi'una is glad to take the waterskin, and gladder still to sip the water, but after a moment she looks around and is surprised that no one else in the bowl seems to notice them.

“Miya?”

“Hm? Oh. Ninja trick; they're not going to notice us until I drop it, and right now, I'd rather not. We're going to need the element of surprise, and if the refugees realize someone's here to help, they might over-react.”

She wants to protest, but given how many of them have fallen into despair at their captivity, she kind of can't. The Flames, and the handful of Brass Blades would probably keep it quiet, but the refugees were ordinary people trying to find a new safe haven from where they'd been ousted.

She hands the waterskin back to her sister, and Miyahn takes a drink herself, then hooks it back to her belt. And after another few moments, nods.

“You'll be upset if we leave without trying to help, and frankly, I don't intend to, so we'll have to think of something else. I'm going to grab my partner, see if he's come up with a way out, and if not, we'll be back to make a battle plan.”

Mi'una can't help her curious noise; her sister is notorious for being hard to partner with. She loves Miyahn, but she's always been intense. Never in a bad way, and honestly if not for her sister, she might never have decided to come learn conjury, arcanism, and thaumaturgy, but she knows her sister's focus and how often it's driven people to leave.

Miyahn just smiles.

“Back soon.”

And even though she is watching, Mi'una completely loses track of her sister from one step to the next.

“Anything?”

Inle shakes his head with a frown.

“Nothing I'd be willing to make these people climb,” he says, nodding down at the mixed bag of refugees, soldiers, and mercenaries. “Maybe the Blades and the Flames could make it, but even then, it's mostly sheer cliff. The Amalj'aa know how to keep their captive trapped, that's for certain.”

Miyahn frowns a little.

“There's no adventurers other than my sister down there,” she says. “And... mn... I think she has a version of the Echo. But she'd be the only one, and even if we three strand side by side, we won't be able to ablate a wide enough section to keep these people from being Tempered.”

“Do you think we have time?”

“Not much,” and she looks towards the caverns. “They're definitely getting ready for something in there, and I've got that uneasy feeling that it's not another raid.”

It would be easier if it were, because then they could just kill the Amalj'aa guards and get the innocents out of the line of fire (okay, maybe calling the Brass Blades innocents was a little much, but even those mercenary bastards didn't deserve to be Tempered.)

“Do you have a plan?”

“I have an idea, and it might work out well enough but we're not going to be able to get the innocents out of the way. Or at least. Not all of them.”

Inle presses his lips together, then nods after a moment.

“How many do you think we could cover if we stood shoulder to shoulder?”

Not enough. Not even slightly, but...

“Maybe five or six, if they're willing to pack into a tight triangle.”

“And the fight?”

“I have an idea about that too. But we need to talk to Mi'una. Come on.”

Mi’una looks at the Viera her sister has introduced as Inle, eyes how close they stand, and decides she absolutely must get all the information about them, just as soon as they're no longer in trouble.

“I do have the Echo,” she confirms. “It's a bit of a pain, what with being unable to control it and all...”

Inle snorts a little, and Miyahn sighs in agreement.

“I'm guessing there's no way out of this?” she asks.

“Not one I'd be willing to take malnourished and dehydrated people over,” and Inle's voice is both grim and resigned. “Unfortunately, we may lose most of these people to the Tempering process. There's too many Amalj'aa to set up an escape, especially since they grew brains and disarmed the fighters here.”

“I've got a few spare blades and shields, enough to cover those we might be able to protect, but not much more,” Miyahn says, arms crossed with a small frown.

“Protect?” Mi'una asks.

“Those of us with the Echo are protected from a Primal's Tempering ability. If we three stand shoulder to shoulder, we may just be able to keep a small handful from being Tempered,” Inle explains.

That doesn't sit well with her, not really. She's a healer, a caretaker, the idea of not being able to protect as many people as possible...

“We don't even know if we can do it for certain,” Miyahn adds quietly. “This is supposition, Mimi. Guesswork. Even with the three of us, there's too many Amalj'aa to cut through, and I didn't see hide nor hair of any weapons stored in their caves when I went to look.”

That... definitely makes it harder. And Mi'una is not familiar with this sort of combat, so letting her sister plan seems like the only real option.

At least she has Carbuncle with her. It's her first summon, so all it can do is cast shields at her command, but that's better than nothing.

“What's the combat plan?” Inle asks.

“Do you have your grimoire with you?” Miyahn counters.

“Yes?”

“Okay. Would you be willing to pull one of the attack carbie pages for Mi'una's use?”

Mi'una blinks at her sister in surprise.

“Oh don't give me that look. You've always been the magically talented one,” Miyahn scoffs gently. “You could probably handle a fleet of Carbuncle if we had the pages. I'll lend you mine too, and that way we might be able to cover all our bases.”

Inle hums a little, thoughtfully. Mi'una just continues to stare at her sister. She wants her to control three Carbuncle? What happened to the older sister that had always tried to mitigate her chaotic habits?

Miyahn glances at her, then chuckles softly.

“Mimi, you're literally a magical powerhouse, and we're going against a Primal. First time I did it, I had help from a pugilist, arcanist, lancer, and conjurer; even then, Inle ended up saving our hides. If we set you up with three carbies, even if we can't protect as many fighters as I want, we may have a better than average chance at walking away from this with our limbs intact,” she replies.

Mi'una winces.

“Wow, when did you stop pulling punches?” she asks.

Inle looks like he's bristling, but Miyahn just shakes her head, and gently cuffs Mi'una's head.

“I've faced Ifrit before,” Miyahn says patiently. “Inle's done it twice now. We know what to expect, and how to win. We aren't going to be uninjured, but the point of this is to survive and kick Ifrit back to the aethereal plane. And then I might kick a few damned Amalj'aa, see if that makes the lesson stick this time.”

“Thancred killed their shaman last time,” Inle says dryly. “I really don't think the lesson is ever going to stick, Miyahn.”

“Hey, I can dream.”

Mi'una spares a moment to wish for Thancred's presence. Not just because she thinks he'd have a way to get people out, but because she wants someone to lean on and plan with, the way Miyahn and Inle are planning. She wants that sort of support for herself...

“I did send Thancred a message a day or so ago, when I figured out where this lot was holed up, so he may be on the way with backup too,” Miyahn adds after a moment. “If you hadn't turned up when you did, I would've left the same with Momodi.”

“Good thing I found you first,” and Inle’s frown is as much resigned as concerned.

“Agreed,” Miyahn nods, and there's a rueful look in her eyes as well. “So. Mi’una, think you can handle three carbies and be on point for healing?”

“...I've never tried that before, but I'll do my best,” Mi’una says honestly.

“I'll have Eos out too, so you won't be doing all of it yourself,” Inle says, and there's a half-smile on his face that reassures her. Then he hands her a page and when had he gotten out a grimoire? She hadn't even noticed! “Here. I'm fond of the Emerald, the slicing wind attack often comes in handy.”

“You can have my Citrine,” Miyahn adds, also offering a page. “Normally I'd lend you Ruby, but we're dealing with a fire-based Primal, so probably best to go with something that will pack a wallop.”

Mi’una takes both pages, and studies the flow of the lines. They're not going to be her Carbuncles, so they might not listen to her that well, but... well, if her sister believes in her, she's going to give it a solid try.

“I'll go sound out the Blades and the Flames, see who's strong enough to hold a sword,” Inle says as Mi'una continues to study the pages. “Let's hope this works...”

“Agreed,” Miyahn says. “Bloody Amalj'aa...”

Mi'una can only nod in agreement.

Thancred knows how most others see him; f*ckless, a little reckless, a flirt and willing to sleep with anything attractive. Even those of the Circle of Knowledge see that in him, though they are more well-acquainted with his sense of duty, and his tenacity. He is in charge of watching over Thanalaan, and Twelve bless it, that is a lot of bloody land to cover, with a lot of people, creatures, and beastmen.

The Amalj'aa give him entirely too many headaches for it to be fair, though he knows the same can be said of the Sahagan in La Noscea, and the Ixil in the Twelveswood. The less said of the Sylph, the better, honestly. (He likes what he knows of the Sylph for the most part, but those who insist on trying to summon their Primal... well, it's not his headache, but he certainly hears about it a great deal. ‘Yda’ never stops talking sometimes...) He'd thought, hoped, damned near prayed that after the whole fiasco with Ungust and having to send Inle to save the adventurers caught up in the trap, the Amalj'aa would have retreated for more than a handful of moons before trying again.

It's been four, and he'd let Mi'una go for the information. Like an idiot.

Mi'una had joined them only two moons back, but she's made herself known in that time, and he finds he admires the pink haired, exceptionally feminine miqo'te. She is even tempered, but strong willed; gods help you if she finds you ignoring her instructions to take care of yourself, because she will use a sleep spell.

He maybe hasn't quite learned this lesson, but he also isn't going to admit that he likes seeing the flash of fire in purple eyes before she puts on the sweetest, most threatening voice he's ever bloody heard.

And she had volunteered to get him the information, had promised to cut and run if it became too dangerous. She was supposed to have reported in three days ago, and he's quite sure he'll never hear the end of it from Tataru if his desire to let someone else handle this one thing has gotten their most effective healer killed.

Hells, he won't forgive himself if that's the case. He likes the girl, as troublesome as she can be at times, and he's never seen her as the fighting sort. For all he's seen her cranky and ‘threatening’ his fellow Scions with a nap, she's just too... soft. Lush. She's not a fighter.

Stupid. He should have told her no, had her stay in the Waking Sands and gone to see the Amalj'aa problem for himself. He should have known better than to send someone like her out when he hadn't actually seen her fight before.

If he hadn't gotten the message from Miyahn, complete with map--and Twelve bless her for that, even if she's not exactly the most available to Minfillia--he wouldn't even have a place to start looking now. If he and the Flames he's commandeered as backup can just get there in time-

Miyahn cast a glance behind her at the six Flames Inle had decided would be able to withstand the coming fight, and let out a breath of relief. While the rest were tempered, those who had managed to duck into the shadows of the three of them--such small shadows, why couldn't there have been a Rogedyn with the Echo too?--seemed to be in possession of all their faculties.

“Thank f*ck,” she mutters, just loud enough for Inle and Miyahn to hear. “I didn't know if that was going to work...”

Inle's shoulders droop just slightly with his own relief, and Mi'una lets out a breath.

How many times wilt thou come to challenge?!

Ifrit's enraged roar has Mi'una pressing into her side, and despite her own resolve, Miyahn can't help but reflexively grab for Inle's hand. He squeezes firmly, pressing his shoulder against hers, and she breathes.

“Until you take a bloody hint and stop trying to be a corporeal bastard,” she shoots back.

Mi'una cringes even harder at her side as Ifrit roars in wordless rage, but that's more than enough time for the protected six to have picked up the arms near them. Some of them, either bravely or foolishly, roar back as they charge. Relieved of the need to hold Ifrit's attention, Miyahn's hand falls to one of her daggers; she may not yet be good with mudra, but she is as swift as Inle when it comes to fighting with these things.

“Mimi, stay as close tot he edge of the ring as you can, and focus on pummeling with carbuncle. At some point Ifrit's going to lose his temper and drop shards of aetherial slag. When it happens, we'll pummel that instead.”

Hopefully the knives Jacke had gifted her will stand up to the heat of that small pillar.

“And keep an eye out to make sure people get healed,” Mi'una adds, and if her voice shakes--Miyahn is not surprised it does, no one in their right mind wouldn't be afraid to fight this fight--there is also that familiar, stubborn note that Miyahn knows she's going to cause trouble whether the adults like it or not.

“Yes. But don't burn yourself out if you can avoid it.”

Mi’una huffs a little, and then the pressure of her sister's shoulder leaves her side, Mi'una backing away, and likely trying to keep as many of them in sight as possible. Miyahn glances at Inle, who nods, drops her hand, and the two of them leap into the fray.

She's got the three pages for carbuncle pinned under one foot, mostly because she needs one hand for her wand, and the other to direct the magical creatures. The Citrine and Emerald don't listen to her nearly as well as her own, but that's not unexpected, and they do attack as she asks. Her own carbuncle is on shield duty, for herself and anyone else she can convince it to shield.

For aetheric constructs that most people swear don't have a thought to call their own, carbuncle can be quite stubborn. She's managed, if barely, to explain that she's not taking them away from Miyahn or Inle, they just can't concentrate on fighting Ifrit with their help the way she can. At which point, Citrine and Emerald actually are more helpful.

Maybe she should talk to the acting guildmaster in Limsa about it...

Maybe not.

Ifrit, even being harried by eight other people, is a literal beast to fight. Fire, fireballs, flamming pillars, a concussive wave of heat... She's no idea how her sister has fought this thing once and then decided that she was going to do it again. Absolutely none. If not for the fact that they are tearing genuine chunks out of the construct, making it bleed aether, she would be more convinced that they're in the process of losing, of being toyed with.

But that excess of aether is something she can use, turning it right back around to add more damage to Ifrit, or calling for the rush of a medica to keep her allies standing strong.

She almost feels drunk with how much aether is swirling in the air, taking in as much as possible and shoving it mostly towards the trio of Carbuncle to power their attacks and defenses. She understands now why Miyahn was worried about her courting burnout, and oh, she will be feeling this later, but...

But there is a very real chance that they will come out of this with minor injuries at best.

She just has to keep up.

Thancred knows he is too late when he spots the ring of fire right where Miyahn's map had said it would be. He can hear the roaring rage of Ifrit as it attacks and is battered at, and his heart lifts a bit; perhaps Miyahn has managed to rally some adventurers, some fellows with the protection of Hydealan, and there will not be as many poor bastards to put to death for the not-crime of being Tempered by the blasted primal.

The Flames have peeled off to tackle the Amalj'aa that tried to stop them from entering this space, and Thancred is more than willing to allow them the chance to pummel the beastmen in vengeance for their fallen, or Tempered, compatriots. They are stretched so damnably thin.

Bloody Dalamud.

He eyes the flames; there's a risk to just jumping in like this when he can only just see the top of Ifrit's head as it's thrown back in a roar of rage. But if Mi'una's in there, and unTempered, he owes it to her to get her out. So though he eyes the flames, though he knows this is likely going to end with him being quite singed, he back up a few steps, then flings himself through.

He rolls, and the flames that try to latch onto his hair and clothes go out, but god, he is discomfortingly warm in the circle. He is forced to rapidly dodge a pillar of fire, and then another as a handful of--are those unTempered Flames? Do those people have the Echo too? Bloody hells--people in the uniforms of the Immortal flames dodge around the physical strikes thrown their way by the enraged Primal.

He spots Miyahn as she slides under the creature, sword held up over her head and spitting sparks where it connects to Ifrit. Inle as well, as he comes over the top, daggers flashing silver as he launches attacks at the glowing spike on Ifrit’s back. The Flames are taking chunks out of limbs, and-

He glances over, and for a moment relief courses into him. Mi’una is there at the edge of the circle, lit by the glow of aether. Her hair and clothes flutter in the heat and the play of magic, and she lifts her conjurers wand, washing the area with the wave of a medica spell. She follows it up with a gesture from her free hand and a Citrine Carbuncle launches itself towards Ifrit, raising a pillar of stone under the creature.

She looks...

She is covered in ash and dirt, there’s blood on her skirt--gods, let it not be hers--and still that does not take away from the fact that she is literally glowing with magic and looking like something out of a myth or legend. He's used to the rapid punch of attraction when it comes to people, but this is something other, something...

More.

He pushes the thought away, locks it down tight; he doesn't have time to stare, not when two shards of what look like molten slag have just dropped to the earth. One just barely misses him as he jerks back; the heat of the thing is like a wave of pressure all its own and it takes some effort to keep his feet.

Inle breaks off from tormenting Ifrit, and grabs the attention of the other Flames, pointing out the two slag pillars. Thancred spares a moment to glance at Miyahn, but she's got a sword out and seems rather hellsbent on keeping Ifrit from noticing the diversion.

“Thancred! So nice of you to join us this time,” Inle greets. And if there's a bit of bite to his words, well, Thancred can't exactly blame him. “Help us break this sh*t before Ifrit takes off, or we are in for a world of hurt.”

Thancred spares a glance for Mi'una--it looks like she's downing a Hi-ether, that can't be good--then nods. If he helps them defeat Ifrit, and then chase off what's left of the Amalj'aa, then perhaps in some way, he can start to make up for the people he didn't save in time.

Ifrit’s collapse and dispellment is greeted with the tired cheers of the Flames, and some roars of rage from what's left of the Amalj'aa. Mi'una sways where she stands; gods but she is tired. She's never used that much magic before in her life, not even through thaumaturgy, and everything hurts.

She starts to crouch, to collect the three grimoire pages so that she can return two to their rightful creators, and the world pitches sideways. She's more surprised that she doesn't end up in the dirt, but strong hands catch her, and she's eased down.

“Easy now, easy,” and she blinks through the fog of fatigue. Thancred? “Shh, it's all right. You did good, you're all right...”

It is Thancred. His warm brown eyes are concerned, and for once he actually seems to see her, and not just what he expects to see. Mi'una's breath hitches in her chest, and she throws her arms around him, burying her face in the sensible black cotton of his outer tunic. Maybe she's too damn dehydrated to really cry, but she can still heave dry, broken sobs as she shakes.

So maybe it’s kind of funny to see Thancred with a panicked look on his face. Miyahn has just faced Ifrit down for the second time in four months, with the help of Inle and some Flames that probably would have been better off in a medical tent than fighting a gods-cursed Primal, she'll take her humor where she can get it.

She's ready to straight up drop, and she suspects Inle's no better, for all he's holding her up. Maybe they're holding each other up?

“Hug her,” she hisses at Thancred when he shoots them a bewildered look. “Swear to Miphala, Thancred, just give her some comfort!”

Miphala isn't her goddess of choice, but she's the one they grew up with, so it's still easiest to swear by her. The fact that it also amuses Inle is only a minor reason to do that.

Miyahn knows her sister. Mi'una is picky about the people she lets touch her. And Mi'una’s only hesitance had been from exhaustion and not recognizing Thancred at first. For his part, the speed at which Thancred had actually gotten to Mi'una's side when she'd been about to fall spoke either of exceptional guilt, or attraction.

Knowing Thancred, who had a guilt complex several yalms wide, she was more thinking the former. Fortunately, that was not her problem to think about at the moment, and she just glared at Thancred until he did as she'd said, cautiously wrapping Mi'una up into a tentative hug.

She doesn't think her sister will be awake for long. Gods know she’d passed out once Inle had her in a safe enough hold the first time, and Mi’una has been slinging spells as fast as she could cast. Injuries are minimal to non-existent, they’re all just f*cking tired now.

The Flames that had come with Thancred mop up the last of the Amalj’aa, which is nice. The less nice part is knowing that the remaining Tempered people will have to be killed, presuming they don’t escape their imprisonment and find their way to the Amalj’aa again.

“We can probably make Little Ala Mhigo before dark,” Inle says after a moment. “If we hurry.”

Thancred looks down at Mi’una, who has, Miyahn can tell, a death grip on him. She feels bad about it; her sister really should not have been involved in this fight at all, but... well. They didn’t exactly have options about it. The uncertain look on his face still makes her roll her eyes.

“If she didn’t want you touching her, you would not be touching her,” she informs him a bit tartly. “Pick her up so we can get to a moderately safer place than here, hm?”

The sooner they were in a safe place, the better.

Thancred tries three times to carefully pry Mi’una’s grip off his tunic before he gives up and drops himself onto the loaned pallet in Little Ala Mhigo. The old curmudgeon in charge hadn’t wanted to let them stay, but Miyahn had gone off on him, chewing him out for such insular thinking. He doubted Gundobald would thank her for it later, but it had gotten them a few pallets, and a chance to rest before they tried tackling the trip back to Vesper Bay.

His linkpearl chimed softly in his ear and he grimaced a little, then adjusted his hold on the unconscious miqo’te so that he could answer.

“Are you all right?”

Ah, Minfilia. Naturally.

“I’ve seen better days,” he answers truthfully, quietly. “Miyahn’s map was right on target, and she managed to prove a theory that people with the Echo can shield those without, but it was hardly the way I would have liked it to be gone about.”

“Agreed,” and he heard Minfilia’s tired sigh. “Was Mi’una there?”

Thancred looks down at the head of fluffy pink hair, then carefully brushes some of that hair away from Mi’una’s face.

“She was,” he confirms, even more quietly. “I’ve yet to hear how she was caught, she’s passed out right now, but she held her own. Better than, really. She was controlling three carbuncle, while also keeping everyone who was fighting healed up.”

“I am glad you found her and that she wasn’t harmed,” and the relief in Minfilia’s voice is stark. Minfilia had known Mi’una had the Echo, and told them, but that didn’t mean they weren’t worried. “Pray, when will you return?”

“As soon as I am able. We’re at Little Ala Mhigo right now, catching breaths and resting up.” He wasn’t about to tell her he was being used as a pillow. He’d never hear the end of it. “There’s six Flames that they kept unTempered, as well as the ones I brought from Ul’dah, that are keeping watch on the poor bastards that didn’t escape the process. They’ll probably reach Ul’dah first.”

Minfilia hums in acknowledgment, and he can hear the curious note beneath. Bless her though, she doesn’t ask why he’s not arriving with the Flames.

“Report in when you are able, and thank you, Thancred. I know this is a lot for you to handle-”

“It’s all right,” he interrupts, not wanting to hear another gentle lecture on how he’s taking on too much. Again. “You’d best make sure no one’s misbehaving, or this pink-haired menace might just put everyone to sleep when she gets back.”

That gets a small laugh and the connect cuts. Thancred drops his hand, letting it rest carefully against Mi’una’s back, and tips his head back against the cool stone of the cave walls.

“M’no a m’nace,” come the mumble from the woman on his chest.

“You’re a delightful menace,” he replies absently, bringing a hand up to brush over her hair without thinking about it. “You keep us all on our toes.”

He’s not sure when she woke up. But judging by her tone, she’s only just, and moving her is probably going to get him yelled at--again--by Miyahn. Not that her grip has eased any, nor can he really blame her. Of the adventurers who’ve face Ifrit--and there have been distressingly many as of late--the most common reaction after kicking the arse of the Primal is belated panic.

Inle is likely helping Miyahn through that right now, and if he’s being honest with himself, Thancred does not want this to break Mi’una. They really do need someone with her sensible, somewhat bossy attitude at the Waking Sands...

So letting her stay on his lap, letting her cling... it makes sense. It’s perfectly logical to run his hand over her hair, to let her tuck herself close, and to put his chin on her head.

“M'not a m'nace,” she repeats, in a tone of bleary complaint. “M'a d'sas’er. Jus’ ask m'sis'er...”

“Your sister?” Thancred gets a subtle sinking feeling. “And who would that be, pray tell?”

“Mi-” her voice cracks a little as she yawns. “-yahn.”

Bollocks. He didn't need that confirmation. Miyahn had looked rather like she wanted to maul something earlier, and the only reason she hadn't was because she and Inle were holding one another up.

“Perhaps you should go back to sleep,” he suggests. “You were slinging around rather a lot of aether earlier.”

Mi'una hums a little, and nuzzles at him. Damned if it doesn't get a subtle response, though he's quick to quash it. He doesn't actually have time for that sort of thing, whether he'd genuinely like to or not.

“...s'not yer... fault,” she mumbles, though he's not entirely sure she's awake enough to know what she's saying. “Dun... b'mad t'y'self...”

Thancred wants to argue; how is he not at fault for this? She's been in harms way, could have very well been killed if Miyahn hadn't been there for her! He'd arrived late, so late, once again, and needed other people to cover for his shortcomings!

Something stirred at the back of his mind, a dark whisper that promised him the ability to do all he wanted. He ignored it, tucked it away to think about later. There had to be...

Mi'una forcefully bumps her head into his chin and he damn near bites his tongue.

“Hey!”

“‘ll put... y'to sleep.” and oh, now she sounds more awake. Damn and blast, he'd taken too long to respond, hadn't he? Even dead tired, he knows her threat is sincere. “F'bein... dumb.”

It's not a conversation he wants to have with her, and he's managed to dodge it successfully so far. He briefly rubs his chin with one hand, then drops that hand on her head, right between her ears. Most miwo'te he's met had had a soft spot for ear rubs, and the speed at which she melts, her breath evening out once more as she drop to sleep, makes him release a relieved one of his own.

Maybe she's right.

Maybe he does need a nap.

Miyahn makes a complaining noise when her pillow moves, reflexively tightening her grip. Inle's amoused noise is familiar and unthreatening, even as he taps a light pattern on the back of her hand. She doesn't want to let go, but she's not going to make someone bust a bladder because she's feeling clingy.

She sits up as he moves away, and looks around blearily; Little Ala Mhigo is nothing to write home about, but it's got its charms. She's probably going to have to apologize to Gundobald later, but she'd been too tired to put up with the isolationist sh*t when they'd arrived, and too worried about her sister to really keep a check on her temper.

They weren't given tents, but they did get the loan of a few pallets, which were better than sleeping on the dirt floor. Not by much but enough so that she wasn't swearing with every movement.

Mostly it means she can glance over and see that Mi'una is still using Thancred as her plush toy. Which is straight up hilarious, because the Hyur seems to have no idea what to do with that. At least now he seems to have graduated to holding her like she's someone he cares about instead of the fairly awkward princess carry he'd been doing on their way to Little Ala Mhigo.

Looks like he might even be asleep. Good. Maybe if he's getting some actual rest he won't be stupid about how everything is his fault again. It wasn't his fault she was involved the first time she'd met Ifrit, she's fairly sure that it's not his fault Mi'una was there. Mi'una was old enough to make her own ill-informed decisions, after all.

That was deinitely the problem most people ran into with Miqo'te who were on the smaller side of their species height. She's been lucky to be tall and regarded as a mature one, but Mi'una's always been small, and fluffy.

Much to the detriment of everyone who's underestimated her, really...

Miyahn rolls her shoulders carefully, wincing a little as she does. Fighting with a dagger and sword had seemed like a good idea, but she hadn't practiced with it nearly enough to make it natural, and now she was definitely feeling it. Stupid Ifrit. At least they'd managed to help each other out of their armor before passing out for a few hours, but still.

Inle arrives as soundlessly as he'd left, and wraps her up in that comforting hold again, though he doesn't try to make her lay back down.

“What's on your mind?” he asks softly.

“Sibling stuff.”

He makes an inquisitive noise. She only hesitates because she doesn't want to be boring, but when he gives her a gentle nudge, she sighs a little.

“Mimi isn't like me in a lot of ways, but where we are similar is in how close we let people get,” she admits. “I'm worried that she might be more attached to Thancred than is sensible...”

Inle hums a little, and leans his head lightly against hers.

“Worried for whom?”

“Yes,” shre replies promptly.

Inle snorts a little, and gives her a gentle squeeze.

“Miyahn...”

“I am worried about them both,” she huffs a little, then brings up a hand to rub at her eyes. She is so very tired still... “I honeslty don't know who concerns me more at this point. Thancred looks like he hasn't slept in a week, and you can't pretend a Scion's life isn't busy, especially being part of the inner circle as he is. Mi'una's more than old enough to get into and out of her own scrapes, but that fight...”

She sighs a little.

“Well, we can't do anything about Thancred,” Inle says after a moment, a thoughtful note in his tone, “but we could possibly help Mi'una.”

Miyahn blinks, and shifts a bit to look at him.

“She wasn't doing too bad,” he points out. “She was just inexperienced. You should see if she wants to come get that experience with us.”

She blinks again.

“Us?”

He huffs gently.

“I have several hunts that we could do together, on behalf of the Malestrom, and those would be a good way for her to learn how to handle herself in a less.... dramatically life or death situation.”

“No, not that, I just...” After a moment, Miyahn shakes her head a little, and kisses his cheek. “Thanks, Inle.”

He nuzzles her fondly, then yawns.

“I think we all need a few more hours of sleep though,” he says, and tugs at her. “I'm not really ready to go anywhere, and those two look so utterly out of it that I'd hate to wake them.”

She nods, and lets him tug her down, huffing a little in amusem*nt as he drapes himself over her. It's her turn to be the pillow, apparently.

Well. That's fine.

Everything will be just fine.

Mi'una is a bundle of aches when she finally wakes properly, from the tip of her ears, all through her tail, and down to her toes. She feels like every bit of her that has a nerve ended has been pummeled, and the idea of trying to use any sort of healing magic is absolutely anathema.

Aetherical burnout, to be concise, utterly, utterly sucks.

It doesn't help that she appears to be using someone as her bed, adding to the pain with a stiff and sore body that would have been better off laying down. It's going to take her at least a week to recover from the burnout, and that's if she's lucky. Her body will probably heal faster...

She cracks her eyes open to the dimness of a cavern, and moves as little as possible to try and figure out where they are. She remembers, if barely, that Thancred had been there at the end, had held her as she'd ‘sobbed'--too damned dehydrated to actually cry, but it had helped some--and...

She shifts ever so carefully and looks up. Yes. Yes she is sleeping on Thancred, and probably had been the entire time. She knows how she gets when she passes out while holding someone or something, and it's been many a well-founded complaint since kittenhood. A tight grip that very few people have ever escaped from.

Including, plainly, Thancred.

A small part of her wonders if he'd tried very hard. This close, she can see the dark circles under his eyes, the subtle sag of his skin that speaks of late nights, not enough food, not enough to drink... If they were back in the Waking Sands, she would have insisted he go take a nap. Have a meal. Do mroe to take care of himself than he currently was.

She sighs, and even that hurts. She's going to need help for the next little bit, probably from Brother E-Sumi Yan. She doesn't like the idea of other people casting cures on her any more than casting them herself, but he's undoubtedly dealt with this sort of thing before, and probably knows the best ways to mitigate it. Or at least make it more tolerable until her aetheric pathways have recovred from overuse.

And because it does hurt so much, even the Aethernet is probably off-limits. She's not a fan of airships, not even a little bit, but that's the only way she's going to make it to Gridania from Ul'dah all a mess like this. And then she's going to have to go to Vesper Bay and explain what happened to Minfilia and Tataru, and the rest of the inner circle of the Scions...

Maybe she should just go back to sleep and think about those things later? But no, she's been awake long enough that he body is protesting a few other needs, which will probably wake Thancred, but if she doesn't get up, there's going to be a very different problem and she doesn't actually want to deal with the embarrassment of that.

She likes the way his arms feel around her. The subtle feel of his heartbeat against her cheek, and the warmth that radiates through his clothing. He's not holding her very tight, but to be fair, he seems fairly asleep.

Maybe she can get up, and then come back without waking him?

The idea makes her snort, if only mentally; Thancred is only utterly oblivious for a few moments after she hits him with the sleep spell, and even then, it's dubious for how long it really lasts before he becomes aware enough to defend himself should an attack come.

Besides. She probably needs help just to stand. Once up she might, might be able to keep herself balanced, but...

Mi'una sighs, swallows her pride, and reaches up--Gods’ blessing everything aches--to tap Thancred lightly on the cheek.

Chapter 6: I'll miss you

Chapter by Laina_Inverse

Summary:

Mi'una and Thancred have a Conversation.
And some softness.

Notes:

THis was supposed to be a Thancred Offers Sex Because He f*cked Up And Mi'una Is Pretty, and it turned into this because *characters*.
I like this better, tbh. Cuter.

Chapter Text

Mi’una is glad to be at the Waking Sands again after spending almost three weeks under the watchful eye of E-Sumi Yan and the concerned attention of Sylphie. She doesn’t blame them, her burnout was apparently a fairly dramatic case, but the trees had become stifling by the time she was released.

Her magic still sends a tingle along her spine, but E-Sumi has said that she is all but recovered, and so long as she doesn’t sling spells like water--as she had when challenging Ifrit--it will fade soon enough. He wasn't best pleased with her when she's snuck out after Raya-O and A-Ruhn, but she couldn't hardly let them go alone when there's a multitude of angry creatures between them and the being they wish to pacify.

She's still not sure what she's meant to do with the stone of A-Towa Cant, but just holding it had made her feel so much better...

She’s glad to be at the Waking Sands, but sad as well. She won’t be staying long, after all. She just needs to tell Minfilia what happened... and also reassure the rest of the inner circle that's available, before she goes to the Quicksand to meet up with her sister and Inle. The hunts he has planned for the Malestrom sound interesting, Miyahn has said that her skill as a healer will help, and Inle has said that it will help her with the mindset needed to ensure her own personal safety.

She's still pretty sure he'd said that for Miyahn's sake. They're so cute together. Not what she would have expected for her sister, but cute. And Miyahn isn't trying to smother her or anything, she's just worried. And intense about it. Mi'una is used to that, and is very good at knowing how to redirect her sister.

Tataru waves as she walks towards the stairs, but the little clerk is too busy actually handling affairs--also known as greeting new Scions, goodness, that one’s a Rogedyn, they're so delightfully tall--to actually pull her aside and express whatever it might be that she's feeling. Mi'una feels only a little guilty, explaining to Tataru is going to be hard, since she had been the one to convince the rest of the inner circle that having another healer not Y’shotla--so often busy in Limsa Lominsa--was to their benefit.

There's always chatter in these underground rooms, mostly the common area where the majority of the Scion recruits gather. It's a comforting murmur that cuts off as she enters the short hall before the solar. The Scion guarding there lights up when he sees her, and immediately moves to open the door.

“Lady Minfilia left word you're to be admitted the moment you arrive,” he explains. “They've been rather worried about you, Miss Sorr.”

Mi'una flushes a little, smiling sheepishly.

“It's been a bit of an adventure, recovering,” she admits. “It's nice to be back.”

However temporary.

The guard nods and opens the door for her, letting her into the study. Minfilia sits are her desk, surrounded by papers and books, and looks about thirty seconds away from throwing her hands up at the entire lot. It's really rather comforting to see the leader of the Scions hating paperwork just as much as some of the rest of them...

“Mi'una!” Minfilia pushes her chair back from the desk and gets up quickly as Mi'una steps in. “Welcome back! Thancred's tale was woefully incomplete, and we've been wondering if you'd return to us at all.”

“...yes and no,” Mi'una says, though she's quite happy to take Minfilia's hands in greeting. The Hyur woman hasn't ever been anything but kind. “I do intend to come back for longer, but first I think I need a few more skills I don't yet have.”

“Ah, so this is a courtesy call to allow us assurances of your survival, your eventual return, and what you plan?”

Mi'una nods with a small smile.

“Is Thancred here?” she asks. “I need to thank him for his patience and help after the whole... mess with Ifrit. And apologize too...”

“Unfortunately, he's been away for a few days, and I'm not sure when he's going to return,” Minfilia sighs, a concerned frown on her face. “He's been pushing himself rather hard as of late, and we're all a bit worried.”

Mi'una sighs a little. Thancred's guilty conscience had led him to escort her all the way to Gridania, even staying for that first week when the nightmares and pain were at their worst. Miyahn had taken over after that, leading Thancred to simply vanish without even saying farewell, which had not sat too well with either Miqo'te.

“Well, if he doesn't show up before I leave, would it be all right to leave this letter with you?” and she fishes it out of the sensible shoulder bag her sister had supplied her with. “It's some things he needs to hear, I think.”

She'd shredded so much paper trying to say what she'd wanted to, and in the end the sealed envelop she hands Minfilia is really only a few pages long. Minfilia's eyes are lit with curiosity, but she nods and moves to tuck the letter into a drawer.

“So, please, tell me what happened.”

Thancred knows she's there the moment he walks in, and promptly hides himself in the shadows. It's not that he doesn't want to see Mi'una. He does! He wants to assure himself that she's all right, fully recovered from the aetheric burnout, and the trauma of facing a primal unprepared.

He can do that without talking to her though, can't he? He can just.. follow her. Watch her. He doesn't need to get close.

He lurks in the shadows as she passes by, waits as she speaks to Minfilia--she’s in there for a while, probably answering questions. It’s a wonder Minfilia doesn’t summon the circle to her, so they can all fuss at once.

Honestly, he’s glad that doesn’t happen. It means he can watch her interact with them himself when she steps out of the room.

He sees the shoulder bag she has, and his heart clenches a little. That’s new, and it means something. It must, mustn’t it? She hadn’t carried it before, when she’d all but made this place her home...

She finds Yda and Papalymo first, no surprises there; they’d been the ones she’d met first, helped out in the Twelveswood. They’d kept watch on her, among all the other Scion potentials, and eventually persuaded her to come to Vesper Bay. That she hadn’t immediately decided to run the opposite way hed been a blessing and a problem, because she really is their most scarily competent healer. Few others are so willing to use a sleep spell just to make a point...

He half-smiles as Mi’una explains something that makes Papalymo nod thoughtfully. Yda looks between them like she’s possibly confused--the woman is an alarmingly good actress, though sometimes he wonders how much is acting and how much is genuine--then droops like she’s sad. That’s... concerning. As is the long hug Yda then promptly gives the smaller Miqo’te.

Gods, please let her not be leaving...

Mi’una extracts herself from the pair, then goes to Y’shtola next. That conversation is much briefer, and Y’shtola nods in clear understanding. They clasp hands and... is he seeing things, or is that lasting longer than it should?

He throttles the reaction down; it doesn’t matter if it is or not, it’s none of his business. He can loosely care about the girl, he can’t let himself do more than that. He’s got too much to do, and not enough time to do it in, not if they’re going to stay ahead of the other Primals, let alone what the Garleans might be cooking up.

Urianger is last, and he fights down a smile as she props her hands on her hips. Minfilia must have said something about his long, late nights again, because that is the scolding pose. Urianger has a small smile on his face, and Thancred can’t entirely blame the Elzen man; Mi’una’s scolds are mostly born of fuss and worry. But does he have to look so fond of her while she’s scolding him?

There is a dark voice at the back of his mind whispering that she is sowing trouble among them. That she will bring all of them down, one by one, and then laugh about it later. It’s a creeping, niggling doubt that he’s tried so hard to ignore; Yda and Papalymo wouldn’t have asked her to Vesper Bay and the Waking Sands if they’d thought her duplicitous like that.

Urianger surprises her with something he says, it’s visible to anyone who knows Miqo’te tells. The way her tail lashes to the side, the way her ears twitch up and then lay back...

He wonders if he can pry it out of the other man after she’s gone, or if it’s more of his prophecy skills. He’s rarely known Urianger to share something prophetic if it’s personal. Relating to the Calamity, and the future of Eorzea, but never personal.

And then he has to throttle down another surge of... envy, jealousy, he's not sure what, as Urianger takes her hand and bows over it. It’s nonsense to be jealous here, because Urianger’s got his own miqo’te that is far too attached to him for any sort of sense, but...

Well, she’s not here. (Briefly he wonders if Urianger has A Type, then shoves that away. Between Moenbraeda and Darkest Dawn, Urianger’s love life, or whatever it is, is not his business.)

Thancred slips away, out to the main entrance area, and without really consciously deciding, he drops the ability to walk in shadows as he sits himself down on one of the stools. If she notices him, he can... he can be polite at the very least. And if she doesn’t, well, all the better really.

He regrets leaving without saying anything, but he needed to go. The Twelveswood is very much not his sort of place, and he'd felt so unwelcomed by the very air that the moment Miyahn had turned up to take care of her sister he'd just... he'd left. He remembered making the decision to leave, and then... it was like waking from a strange dream, he'd been in Thanalaan again, near Little Ala Mhigo. Getting back to Vesper Bay hadn't taken too long after that, and he'd given Minfilia the bare bones of his admittedly most dramatic failure to date.

He wishes he could shake this melancholia off; it makes it very hard to do his work and-

“...Thancred?”

He looks up, then nods an admittedly terse greeting.

“Mi'una. Pay me no mind, my investigations lately have been a pretty puzzle.”

There. That should sate her. Right?

Mi;una eyes Thancred for a long moment. Part of her wants to grab him by the shirt collar and shake him, because oh he had just lied to her face, and she's not pleased by that. Something is very very wrong, it's in the air around him, in the way he's holding himself, even in his tone of voice. Something is not right.

“Thancred...” She hesitates.

Then reaches out and puts her hand on his face. He jolts, but doesn't pull away, and she lets the gentlest brush of a cure pass over him. Nothing broken, nothing bleeding, but still something wrong...

“I'm mad at you,” she says after a moment, where brown eyes star at her in surprise. “You left without saying anything. Miyahn says she's going to punch you for it, and I don't think Inle plans on stopping her, so I'd suggest you dodge when she finally does catch you. I'm mad. She's puffed out furious.”

That seems to make something of an impression on him, and he looks away. She can't tell if he's embarrassed or upset. Probably both. The man is more emotionally constipated than he seems inclined to acknowledge.

“I'm... sorry,” he says quietly. “I just.. I needed to go.”

She hums a little, gently, then tugs his hair.

“I'm hurt because you did that. You didn't even let me say thank you. Or apologize. And knowing you, you've been turning over how late you were, how poorly you did... do you know, when Miyahn and Inle showed up, I was hoping to see you too?”

At least he's not looking at the floor any more.

“Me?”

“Yes, dummy,” and she gently cuffs him before grabbing a stool to perch on. “And you did come.”

“But I was-”

“Nyeh,” and she puts a hand over his mouth. The incredulity flashing over his face makes her smile. “You came. You caught me before I fell, and even if you left me like a jerk, you were still there that first week when I really needed someone. You stayed because I asked, and you didn't leave until Miyahn showed up to take over. You did everything that was in your power to do, and then just a little bit more, so thank you, Thancred. Even if I am still mad and hurt that you left, thank you for staying as long as you did, and doing as much as you could.”

She lets out a breath, and shifts her hand to press against his cheek again.

“And I'm sorry for worrying you, and not doing what I said I would. I didn't have the combat skills that would have let me get away with the people I was trying to protect and I knew that, but I still went in there and still-”

It's his turn to cover her mouth, and she’s as startled by the motion as he was. And then he mirrors her touch, and she’s almost certain he doesn’t mean for it to be nearly as soft as it is. His hand is large and warm, and oh, she has adored him for far too long to take this well.

“You protected people because you’re a good person,” he says simply. “Far better than a fair few with the self-same power you have. I wish you had been able to run, and hadn’t been forced to face a Primal such as Ifrit, but...”

His hand drops, and she misses his touch immediately... but he presses his cheek a little into her palm, and so she keeps her own hand in place.

“Well. You did no less than someone in your position could have.”

“Then so did you. You have... all of you have so much to do, with tracking the Primals, and recruiting for aid, and now this thing with the... what are they called again As... ascen...?”

“Ascians.”

“Yes, them. The point is there’s so much on you all. What happened wasn’t your fault, Thancred.” Very gently she pinches his cheek. “I was the one who volunteered to walk into trouble, eyes open. I always have. What happened was my decision, and my responsibility. So please, don’t blame yourself for that. As Miyahn will tell you, I am more than old enough to make my own bad choices.”

He blinks at her for a moment, then snorts a little as she smiles wryly.

“I make no promises, but I shall... I shall keep your words in mind,” he replies after a moment.

“Make sure that you do,” and she mock-pouts at him. Then, more gently, “You have enough burdens, Thancred. Don’t take away mine.”

He looks startled again, and she half-smiles, letting her hand drop finally. Oof, her arm aches now...

“I should be going. Miyahn threatened to come get me like I was a kit of five years and not an adult at twenty-eight,” and she rolls her eyes fondly, “if I took too long for her taste.”

“Go?”

“Mm. She and Inle offered to teach me better battle instincts, so that if I decide to run into trouble again, I’ll have a better grasp on tactics and the like,” and Mi’una’s smile is rueful as she gets up. “Inle’s got some hunts through the Maelstrom, and between him and my sister, I’m quite sure I’ll be safe from any dumb mistakes.”

Miyahn will be at her back, and she’s fairly sure Inle will cover Miyahn’s. She doesn’t at all understand their relationship, but Miyahn is happier than she’s been in a long time, so she’s also not questioned it.

“You will... be back, won’t you?”

“Of course I will. Someone needs to makes sure you lot stop staying up three and four nights in a row,” and she’s only partially joking. “But I’ll be back with the ability to better handle a fight, and be less of a liability.”

He looks so confused that it takes all she has to not lean in right there and give him a kiss. But she knows better; her feelings are her own to handle, not to be placed onto him. She adores him, even when he's being an idiot about resting, even when he's blaming himself for everything under the sun that was not in his control. Sure, she also wants to shake him and tell him he's being stupid, and to share the damned burden, but...

She doesn't have that right. She's only a Scion recruit, not really one of them. And Thancred... he has enough to worry about without adding taking her own feelings into account. There will be other days.

So she makes herself smile at him, and starts to turn away. She can retrieve her letter for him from Minfilia and then be on her way before Miyahn really does try to come collect her like she's so much baggage...

Thancred stares after her for a long moment as she makes for the solar, heart in his throat. Is this good enough? He's just going to... to let her leave them like this? Let her walk out and likely never enter their halls again?

It's not that he doubts Miyahn and Inle; Miyahn is her older sister, and there had been very clear fondness in her posture and her words every time they'd spoken. And he's known Inle loosely for a while; Miyahn settles the viera, and he's quite sure Inle would do anything--within reason--Miyahn could think of asking him. Protecting Mi'una is hardly going to be a trial for those two, so ready to learn every sort of magical and martial discipline as they are.

But... if she goes... Surely, she will find someone out there. And though that thought should be a comfort to him, all it leaves him with is a bitter cold. And the look in her eyes as she'd turned... longing, quickly hidden. Sadness. Regret?

He's on his feet before he can really think about it, and his long legs make quick work of the distance between them. He catches her just before she reaches the door to Minfilia's solar, and wraps his arms around her tightly, pulling her back against his chest so that he can bring his head down to press his face against her hair.

A tiny part of him agrees that she definitely needs better reflexes, because probably half, if not more, of the other Scions would have thrown him at this point, but all Mi'una does is go still in surprise, and he can feel the anxious twitching of her tail along his calf.

He has to say something, doesn't he? Apologize, make some... light-hearted, flippant joke, something to make the situation feel so much less serious, less dire.

He feels her relax against him, her hands come up to press gently against his arms, and she makes a soft little churring noise; not quite a purr, but something very close to it. He doesn't think twice about wrapping them both in shadows; this should be private, but-

“It's all right,” she murmurs, soft voice breaking into his wild train of thought. “I'll be back before you have time to miss me.”

“It's... truly not my fault?” he asks softly.

She huffs a little, and shifts; for a moment he panics, thinking he's made her uncomfortable, but no, she's just turning in his hold, leaning back in a way that all but demands he look down at her. Purple eyes are soft and sad, and the arms she drapes around him are tentative, but...

“I'm old enough to get into, and out of, my own messes. Nothing I choose to do can be laid at your feet, not even something that gets me badly hurt. Because it's what I chose to do. You're not responsible for my choices. Only I am. And you can feel bad about what happened, but I made the decisions that led to it. Trying to claim that it's all your fault is just... it's insulting, in a way. Just because I play up the face,” and she frees a hand to gesture at her admittedly youthful features, “doesn't mean that I'm actually young and dumb.”

He flushes a little; he'd fallen right into that trap hadn't he? He'd been convinced that she couldn't be much older than eighteen.

Four years. Only four years separate them. For all he knows, she could have been at the Field of Carteneau with them, one of their long forgottens. She certainly has the mannerisms for it...

“So no. What happened isn't your fault, and I don't blame you. I think you blame yourself for entirely too many things outside your control, which is endearing and also frustrating.... You've a good heart, Thancred, but you take on far too many burdens that aren't yours to claim.”

That seems to be the end of her little speech, because she proceeds to tuck her head against his chest, and her fingers curl briefly in the black of his outer tunic.

He doesn't know really what to say in response to that. Louisoix's death had been... it was still such a complicated subject that he really had no way to handle. He should have been better, done more for the Elezen who had given him a purpose.

He tightens his grip on her and says nothing for several long moments.

“I think... perhaps you see me far more kindly than is true,” he says finally.

“Maybe I do. Is that such a bad thing?”

A part of him wants to say yes. He's an archon of the Sharlyan, a student of Louisoix himself. There should be more he is doing, more he can do, to make this all stop happening. To make things better for Eorzea. He should tell her she knows nothing of what happened, of what he witnessed, of how Louisoix fell and then-

He closes his eyes and buries his face in her hair. She smells of the enchanted flower wreath she loves to wear, of the forest he doesn't know well enough at all, and somehow, this soothes him.

“...I wish you'd stay,” he admits softly.

“I'm not going to be someone who waits for rescue,” and there's just a hint of asperity in her voice. “This princess will rescue herself, thank you.”

It makes him laugh, if a bit ruefully.

“You really weren't supposed to hear that conversation...”

“Then next time remember that my ears are better than yours,” and she leans back to poke him on the cheek.

“It was supposed to be a compliment,” he protests half-heartedly. “I've not met many ladies who enjoy the style you employ. And you move effortlessly! Not a single stumble, despite various types of terrain!”

She scoffs, but it's so gentle he thinks she hasn't taken offense. And looking down... yes, there is more humor than insult dancing in purple eyes.

Thancred hesitates. Holding her like this, that doubting voice is finally silent. As though it has been chased away by her presence. He wants to keep her this close, if only for the relief it brings from his own damned paranoia, and the fact that if he goes too long, she will make him stop.

After all, she's been doing it for four months now...

“...you're coming back?” he asks.

“Of course I am,” and she huffs a little. “I could hardly leave you be after this, hm?”

The is a beat, and then she squeaks a little, and her tail lashes from side to side.

“A-all of you. I couldn't... All of you need-”

He huffs a small laugh, and she whines a little, pressing her face a bit more against his chest. He wants...

Thancred once more chooses not to think, simply shifting her so that she cannot hide, tipping her head up, and ever so gently pressing his mouth to hers.

It warm.

He could drown in it, it's so warm.

It's not like he hasn't kissed others before. While it might get him made fun of, very often being a charming, light-hearted flirt gets people to talk about things they've seen or heard. It gets him underestimated by people who might think him a threat (he is a threat, but he disassembles very well), and ignored. It makes him friends of a sorts that can laugh at himself, and know that he is, in fact, the most dangerous one there.

So yes, he has kissed other people before.

But this is the warmest it's ever felt.

Mi'una's brain had stopped working the moment his mouth had touched hers. Hoping, wishing, and wanting were a far cry from actually getting, and honest to the gods, she'd thought she might have the courage to say something after her return, but...

There is warmth here. Warmth and strength, and a whisper of something so deep she could drown in it. A yearning, a need so strong that it could very easily sweep her away, and she could be lost to it.

She brings her arms up and wraps them around Thancred's shoulders, going up on her toes to press into the kiss, to give as good as she's getting. He responds by bringing up a hand to cradle the back of her head, other arm slipping down to wrap around her waist and pull her up, making it a bit easier on them both.

Okay, mostly on him. She's not even touching the ground now, a curse of being the short one.

The door bangs open at the far end of the hall, and she feels Thancred jump. It's not abrupt, but he pulls away enough to move them both to the side, to the corner that would see the opening of the study door instead of them being in the middle of the small room. Two people pass by, another miqo'te and viera pair that Mi’una remembers vaguely; the miqo'te is a conjurer just like her, so they don't often come seeking her skills.

“Reede and Saoirse,” Thancred murmurs, and she can hear the genial frustration in his voice. “Minfilia, give them time to rest...”

Mi’una can’t help her snort.

“Coming from someone trying to work himself to death, that’s rich.”

Thancred heaves a sigh, and for a moment, Mi’una wonders if she was just a little too harsh there. But he presses his chin to her head, and holds her closer, and gods does she want.

“I suppose I deserve that,” and his tone is resigned humor. “It just... if I can do something more to help...”

“This is why I make you take naps, you know,” and she gently poke his arm. “You really are going to work yourself sick, at the very least.”

His huff of amusem*nt is warm against her ears.

“...Mi’una, I-”

She shakes her head and pulls back, reaching up to hold his face in both her hands. He looks surprised, and then there is something so soft in his eyes as he leans into the touch.

“There are... there’s a lot we need to talk about,” she says quietly. “A lot that needs to be said. But there’s not time right now.”

She wants him. Adores him. But the decision to get involved with him is a heavy one. And his decision to be involved with her can be no lighter. It’s one thing to kiss and say sweet words, but Mi’una has been there before, and has been left to the side before.

She’s not going to do that again.

“Surely there is, Minfilia won’t-”

Thancred winces a little, and lifts a hand to his ear, where she knows his linkpearl is.

“....right. I’ll be in soon.”

His hand drops and she gives him a wry smile as he very overtly pouts.

“...we will revisit this?” he asks softly.

“Once I’m back, we can talk.”

There’s a flash of heat in his eyes, and she knows talking is not what’s on his mind. But that’s a typically male thing, and she doesn’t mind the idea of having sex with him. She just wants to be sure they’re on the same page. Because if she commits to him, untangling is going to hurt a lot more than in the past.

His head dips a little, forehead pressing against hers. It’s very much not the gently affectionate bunting she indulges in with her sister, oh no, this is far more into the romance category, and it really doesn’t take much thought to tip her head up and kiss him once more.

Dear Thancred,

My sister is, in fact, going to attempt to break your nose. Or your jaw. She’s not pleased you just up and left me in the Twelveswood like that. I don’t think Inle is either, so don’t expect rescue from that quarter.

Being fair, neither am I, but... I think I understand. That doesn’t make it hurt any less though. I wish you’d at least said you were leaving...

Jerk.

But also, thank you. Thank you for letting me cling to you like I was a kit, thank you for being there and soothing the nightmares away these first few days. Thank you for bringing me too the Twelveswood, even if it makes you horrifically uncomfortable. (Yes, I can tell. I’m a healer, body language is my job.)

And thank you for not insisting that I, as a healer, couldn’t take on a listening mission like that. I definitely messed up, but you never told me I was too young, too pretty, too feminine to do what I wanted to do. Thank you for showing up, and helping us against Ifrit, and doing what you could for the poor people who were Tempered. Even though all that can be done is releasing them from their mortal coils, you did it with compassion.

I know you hate what you couldn’t do. You blame yourself for things outside of your control so much. It’s frustrating, and endearing, and you really do need to stop thinking everything is your fault, because it’s not. You cannot keep blaming yourself for things outside your control; you’re only going to work yourself to death, and I know the other Scions would be sad about that.

I would be sad about that.

I’m sorry I’m not here when you get this, because I think you’d be more receptive to me saying it rather than writing it, but this whole... mess has convinced me that even if I don’t pick up a weapon with a blade, I do need to learn how to better defend myself. Miyahn and Inle have offered to take me mark hunting with them, and I’m going to do it. They both know plenty about the magic that I prefer to use, and Miyahn swears that by the time it’s done, I’ll know some basic hand to hand if I need it.

She threatened to make me use daggers. So mean.

I reserve the right to smack you upside the head for not saying anything to me about your discomfort of the Twelveswood, and your abrupt leaving, but at least a smack from me won’t hurt as much as a punch from my sister will.

As far as I know, we’re going to be wandering around La Noscea, so if you need us, I think leaving a message with Maelstrom command will be the fastest way to get in touch.

Be safe, Thancred. Don’t let the shadows eat you, okay?

~~Love~~ Your friend,

Mi’una

Warriors of Light Who Are Not Following The Script - Laina_Inverse, Lieutenant_Nonsense (2024)

Chapter 1: Ifrit

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Chapter 2: Dance on Water

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Chapter 3: Learning Process

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Chapter 4: Swallow's Flight

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Chapter 5: Ifrit, round two

Chapter by Laina_Inverse

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Chapter 6: I'll miss you

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