victory_road | (no subject)

[How a fish got to a puddle in the middle of the road is unclear, but even Estinien can't ignore the plight of a creature pathetically flopping in a few ilms of muddy water--he'd not had a spare pokeball on hand so catching it was out of the question, but he could take it back to the beach and toss it back into the waves.

It's shortly after that he feels eyes on him--a familiar malice, a chill down his spine.

He spins on his heel and steps backwards at what he sees--a massive dragon with baleful red eyes, smoke and embers swirling from between its fangs.

Reflexively, he reaches for a lance that isn't there, as Nidhogg's ghost cranes its neck over him. "Pathetic creature. Thou ought to have perished alongside me."

Oddly, the words cause Estinien to relax slightly. It is the shade of the dragon that killed his family and whose presence overshadowed most of his life, but it's nothing but a ghost. A...very large, and very threatening ghost, but if this spirit had been capable of taking his body, it would have done so without announcing its presence.]

Maybe so, but I did not. Your siblings regard me well enough.

[The annoying part comes when he tries to go into a building to escape the looming presence. In a swirl of red and black smoke, the dragon shrinks down and reforms into--well, him, white hair hanging limp around a face marked red with angry streaks clawing up towards his eyes, two massive dragon eyes fused to the armor at his shoulder and arm that roll around independently of each other.

The ghost continues to hurl insults and threats, enough so that even Estinien is beginning to look unnerved--until another presence makes itself known.

The chill that precedes this one is bracing, like the wind coming down from Abalathia's Spine, and he catches sight of white hair in the corner of his vision before he sees her entire--Ysayle Dangoulain, the Lady Iceheart.

She smiles at him, but says nothing. Even so, her presence causes Nidhogg's to fade, and the wyrm does not follow them out of the Pokemon Center.

Even though she's silent--almost unnervingly so, for they'd done little more than but bicker in each other's presence when she was alive, she looks delighted by the variety of Pokemon they pass, and by her namesake as they both settle on the ground outside. Estinien is hesitantly filling the silence himself, quietly speaking of the end of the war and of Thavnair. She doesn't respond, but she does at least look like she's listening.]

[ooc: Estinien will be followed by Nidhogg into the early afternoon, both in Big Fucking Dragon form and in 'bodysnatched Estinien' form depending on if you encounter him inside or outside. Ysayle will be following him in the afternoon. Wildcards can be arranged!]

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[Okay, so, maybe there have been a few headaches that could have been avoided, or that he might have been better off without. Estinien makes it easy to overlook them, though. For all the turmoil, he was still Aymeric's best friend. And there was little he wouldn't do for those that he cared for.]

Perhaps.

[He should like to believe it, and with Estinien's staunch assistance, maybe one day he might. It is hard to forget, however, the thought that his forebear had wanted him to take a much different path.

Which already brings him back to the subject he had intended to avoid.]

My... The former archbishop paid me a visit this morn.

[Thus being a better man than they (and he) deserved.

Estinien hisses at the comment, a brief flash of deep rage igniting before it sputters out. Thordan's dead and can't hurt anyone anymore, much less Aymeric, but...well, there are more pains out there than just physical ones.]

The old goat couldn't possibly have anything to say worth heeding.

Edited 2022-05-17 17:59 (UTC)

He had naught to say at all, actually. His spectre was silent as the grave.

[But Aymeric had years of experience reading the nigh-impenetrable expressions of the Ishgardian elite, never mind all the times he had studied Thordan's own face. There had once been the hope of understanding the man, of coming to grips with his history and intentions. And while his efforts had borne precious little fruit then, it'd given him a foothold today.

Disappointment and disproval had lingered in those pale eyes. Only to be expected, all things considered. And perhaps not the worst thing, considering the man Thordan was.]

He gave a fair few of our companions a fright.

Hmph. Only thing worth listening to out of him.

[He's grateful at least that Aymeric didn't have to actually hear him again, though he knows that the lack of acknowledgement--the silence that he'd heard from Thordan for most of his life--had been incredibly painful for him all the same.]

Perhaps I ought to count myself lucky that the only person I've managed to run into thus far is you.

[Aymeric doesn't need to say what he's thinking. Estinien knows him well enough to have already arrived at the same conclusion, after all. The silence had likely hurt just as bad as anything else Thordan could have said.

Instead, he offers a thin, hollow smile, before shaking his head.]

Is that a blessing, or a curse? Doubtless, anyone else might have listened to you when you said to leave you be.

[Estinien snorts. G'raha, maybe, but even then he finds himself doubting that. G'rhyf...absolutely not. Similarly, he doubted Emet-Selch would have listened either, though probably more to needle him than out of any concern for his well-being.

Fury, he's grateful Steven hadn't managed to spot him with the massive dragon trailing behind, he had not the patience for all the questions that might have gotten him.]

Might have. Though it's unlikely.

[Everything was so much easier when he could just Jump away from people.]

Then I am glad to hear I am not your only stubborn companion.

[It's a good thing that Estinien would not have been left to his own devices, even if Aymeric was not around. It's no small comfort, knowing that he's been in good hands -- whether it be malms beyond Ishgard's walls or countless worlds away.]

This is not an experience to be suffered alone, I think.

Truly, you needn't fuss so much, he's already quieted--

[Estinien turns around and...doesn't see the specter at all. Hide, hair, nor scale. Was all that it took to exorcise it to be in Aymeric's vicinity? Would it return should he leave?]

Hm.

[Not that he's fussed that the Ghost of Vengenance Past has parted with this world yet again, but surely there's something else...

He turns back around to face forward and stops short, eyes going wide and staring in absolute dumbfounded shock.

Ahead of them, to the side of the street, are three Elezen: a man, a woman, and a young boy no more than six summers. All three are fair haired, the boy and woman with hair as pale as Estinien's, the man a slightly darker ash blond. All three are dressed in simple, practical clothing--not tatters, but carefully mended and cared for.

All faces that he had forgotten in fire.

Oh, he'd remembered the broad strokes, but the details had all burned away over the years--his parents first, then his beloved brother. There were no paintings or drawings to recall them, no writings to preserve their words.

His mouth opens as if to speak, but there's nothing he can even possibly say. And, equally, there's nothing they say--there's recognition in their eyes, and tears, and love, but no words.]

I shall fuss as long as I...

[Like Estinien, Aymeric trails off. Not because he's spotted a familiar face, but because he can detect the abrupt shift in his companion's mood. His gaze flicks backward first, following the man's path. He anticipates... something, certainly. Mayhap the Dread Wyrm doing something unspeakable in an attempt to get a rise out of both of them. But when his gaze meets empty air, he's left to turn forward once more.

The family stands out, just as Thordan did. Unlike Estinien and himself, their features had not been altered, nor had they been supplied any clothes better suiting the environment or culture. People plucked from his home then, ghostly creatures sent to haunt...

Who? They certainly aren't familiar to Aymeric, and if they were meant to be abstract manifestations of his guilt, surely they would not look upon him so... kindly.

The pieces fall into place abruptly, and a chill shoots down Aymeric's spine when the realization finally dawns on him. He has not pried into Estinien's past in sometime, didn't need to when he had just enough details to not ask again.]

Estinien.

[Words don't come to him -- how could they when faced with a memory like this. Instead, his muscles move on instinct, taking hold of the man's hand. It's the closest thing to his own, after all, and perhaps it would ground him. Maybe it would do something to offset the fact that he was faced with the man's long-dead family.]

Edited 2022-05-20 20:33 (UTC)

[He can't help but stare--eyes searching, committing everything he can to memory--despite not recalling the lines encroaching around his father's eyes from laughter and squinting across the vast meadows outside Ferndale, or the curve of his mother's mouth when she smiled, or how Hamigant's hair constantly refused to lie neat, he knows this is right.

It's truly them. Somehow. If they're specters pulled from his deepest memories or actual spirits, he doesn't know.

He jolts when Aymeric's hand curls around his, but he can't look away, fearing they'll disappear if he does, or worse, that the fire will burn them away again. He does grip, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to reassure himself and Aymeric both that he's actually here and not lost in his head.

(His parents--they looks scarcely older than he is, if at all, Fury.)]

Edited 2022-05-20 21:22 (UTC)

[He can't blame Estinien for not looking to him. His intent wasn't to draw attention to himself, at least not beyond the bare minimum. This moment was Estinien's to enjoy as he wished. He even keeps his grip light -- so that the dragoon could easily tear away if he decided he wished to approach the family.

His family.

He knows not if he should say something in this moment -- can't say for certain if it would provide comfort or merely distract. He had spent some time thinking about what the man's parents had been like, or how much he resembled the brother he had lost. But now hardly feels like the time to say that much.

Eventually, he at least clears his throat.]

Would you... Shall we say hello?